Traitor Or Temptress

by Helen Dickson

  ‘No—I’m not saying that. But—I will confess to being confused at the time.’

  ‘And are you still?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And do you feel it is wrong being my wife—that it can be no true marriage made under such duress?’

  ‘No, I’m not saying that either.’

  ‘Then—do you believe it is wicked to want me as much as I want you?’ Iain murmured, placing his lips on her neck where a pulse gently throbbed.

  Lorne closed her eyes and trembled at the delicious sensations shooting through her as his lips gently teased. ‘No,’ she murmured softly.

  ‘And what of our child? Is that wrong, too?’

  ‘No. The child is one good thing to come out of all that has happened, and for that reason alone it is right that we are together. But our marriage will cause a furore of talk among both the affluent and lesser mortals in and around Norwood. Your friends and fellow nobles will be scandalised,’ she said softly, trailing her fingers long his forearm.

  Iain smiled as she voiced her concern. ‘Don’t worry, my sweet. It will die down soon enough. I am confident you will win them over. When you feel up to it and the weather improves, we will give a ball and invite them all—and they’ll come—out of curiosity, if nothing else.’ He chuckled softly. ‘Those who haven’t met you will respond to your beauty and charm and natural breeding. You’ll see. Like me, my love, they will find you enchanting and welcome you into their ranks with open arms.’

  Lorne had her doubts about that, but she wasn’t going to argue.

  Clasped together and bathed in warmth, they fell silent, neither of them moving, but Iain sensed that something continued to trouble her. Gently, he turned her round to face him, searching her face for some clue to what she was feeling, but her features were blank.

  ‘What is it, Lorne? Why so melancholy? There is something else, something you’re not telling me. I sense it.’

  Knowing Iain would not let the matter drop, that he would insist on an answer, she whispered, ‘You’ll be angry if I tell you.’

  ‘Since when has that stopped you from speaking your mind? Come, tell me.’

  Lulled by the warmth and quietness of the room and Iain’s amiable mood, raising her eyes she looked at him steadily. ‘I—I would like to go to Drumgow?’ she said, asking the question she had been too afraid to voice.

  Immediately the mood was shattered. The words hung in the air between them like a threatening blade. Iain’s arms dropped to his sides and he took a step back.

  ‘No,’ he uttered with quiet, controlled anger and absolute finality.

  Lorne quailed as she beheld the square set of his broad shoulders, the hardness of his taut jaw and the ice-cold glitter in his eyes. He seemed to emanate the restrained power and unyielding authority she often feared in him. Her mouth went dry and her heart began to beat with a terrifying dread as she sensed he had withdrawn from her, as if those moments of closeness had never been.

  ‘I would prefer it if you do not persist in this foolish determination to confront your brothers.’ Since the day of their wedding Iain had gathered and organised his thoughts to this end, knowing Lorne would be drawn back to Drumgow eventually, but he had not expected it to be so soon. Not since the night of the ball had he encountered resistance from this soft and graceful creature with her deceptive air of fragility. But no matter how hard she tried to persuade him, he would not allow her to go to Drumgow.

  ‘Do my wishes count for nothing?’

  ‘In this case nothing at all. Do not suppose that because I married you I will ever go to Drumgow. Like all their arrogant, savage breed, your brothers are still men of too much pride and small judgement, whose most conspicuous talent has always been for violence, and I, for one, would make an end to them.’

  Lorne put her hands over her ears. ‘Be silent, Iain. I will not listen to this.’

  ‘Yes, you will—you and ultimately anyone else who cares to listen.’

  ‘But you are wrong about them. They can be—’

  ‘Don’t defend them to me,’ Iain snapped scathingly. ‘Are you telling me they have been unjustly maligned? Forgive me if I do not share your new-found faith in your brothers. Have you forgotten that I have less reason to like them? You may cherish a certain nostalgia for Drumgow and Kinlochalen—although how this can be after all that has occurred there in the past defeats me. My own memories are by far less alluring, I do assure you.’

  Lorne listened to what he said with understandable dismay. She shrank before the hard, stubborn line that had settled between her beloved’s black brows. ‘I know,’ she whispered.

  ‘Your brothers remain blinkered in their ways,’ Iain went on angrily, ‘unable to see good as an alternative to evil, or intelligence and common sense as an alternative to thick-headed stupidity. They are lethal, abrasive Highlanders who antagonise everyone with whom they come into contact.’

  ‘Is it so wrong to try to forgive the past?’ Lorne dared to ask.

  ‘Not in principle. Practice is a different matter.’

  Lorne wished she’d kept silent about her desire to go to Drumgow. Tonight was their first night as man and wife at Norwood, and it was terribly important to her not to ruin it. The worst of it was that for all his curses and spleen, she understood Ian’s hatred of her brothers, and she couldn’t really blame him.

  ‘I merely expressed a wish to see my brothers,’ she murmured. ‘Their silence is unendurable.’

  ‘The fact that they have not contacted you is entirely their doing. They clearly feel no compulsion to rush to your side. Ask yourself how angry they must be feeling, as they lurk in their Highland castle—as well as humbled and humiliated—which is in the nature of things. Their enemy, like a common thief, ensnared their sister, stole her virtue and such affection I have no right to, and then married her—and all with the King’s blessing—a man who is also their enemy. There can be no question of you going to Drumgow. Do you forget that you are no longer a McBryde?’

  Lorne’s head came up and her cheeks flamed as though he had struck her. ‘Whatever name I am known by now, nothing can alter who I am. No one can take that away from me. I may be your wife, Iain, but my family is still my own.’

  His eyes glittered like ice. ‘You may visit Drumgow as often as you like within the confines of your imagination, but I will not allow you to travel such distance in midwinter, putting yourself and our child at risk. Is that clear enough?’

  ‘Yes,’ she mumbled. He folded his arms across his chest and regarded her with a terrifying firmness. Lorne gave a hopeless sigh and her eyes dimmed with tears. ‘Do you have to be so hard—so unforgiving?’

  ‘Unforgiving, yes—but not hard, Lorne. Sensible. I’ll be damned and in hell before I set foot inside Drumgow—and if you are hoping to persuade me to allow you to undertake the journey alone, forget it.’

  ‘So you don’t care that you will disappoint the King. You never did mean to try to heal the breach, did you, Iain?’ She turned away, tears clogging her throat. ‘You can be as thick-headed and as stubborn as my brothers.’

  Iain stepped close. ‘Knowing ours would be a marriage that would heal no wounds, I never did intend trying. I thought you knew that. I found it ran against my conscience. Besides, your brothers have given me no cause to be magnanimous.’

  ‘Oh—stop it,’ Lorne cried, with a grimace of pain. Feeling something snap inside her, she turned away, covering her face with her hands. ‘Stop it this instant.’

  Iain did stop. Seeing her shoulders shaking, he gently turned her round to face him. The sight of her tears drained the last of his anger away. Filled with remorse, he felt a melting inside of him, and a desire to hold her gently and beg her forgiveness. His arms went round her, clasping her tight. Bending his head, he kissed her wet cheek. ‘I didn’t mean to make you cry. I do not wish to cause you such unhappiness.’

  ‘I’m in no mood to fight with you,’ she murmured.

  ‘I have no wish to fight, eit
her,’ he said softly, his voice like a caress. ‘How quick you are to weep, my love—a weakness due to your condition, I think.’

  ‘I am just as quick to laugh, my lord, as well you know.’

  ‘Aye, and I thank God for it.’

  Lorne leaned back in his arms and looked up at him, her expression serious. ‘I shouldn’t have asked you to let me go to Drumgow. I know how angry any talk of my brothers makes you, but please try to understand how much their silence concerns me.’ Iain’s lazy smile was so unexpected and so contagious that Lorne’s heart warmed.

  ‘I would assume the reason you suddenly want to see them is to secure their blessing. Is that correct?’

  She nodded. Struggling with herself, she managed a smile, a weary and infinitely sad smile, but one full of gentleness.

  ‘In which case, knowing that you are capable of doing something rash to spite me, let me offer you a solution to your predicament which is quite simple and might appeal to you. Write to them if you wish,’ he suggested quietly, watching the reactions play across Lorne’s expressive face. ‘I have no objection to that. I will see that the letter is taken to Drumgow.’

  ‘You would allow me to do that?’

  ‘I’m not the callous brute you might think. I don’t expect you to break with your brothers completely.’ The joy that flared in his wife’s green eyes was almost blinding. Iain felt something dark, heavy and formless stir and rise up in his heart and fly away.

  Slipping her hands beneath his shirt and encircling his waist, Lorne buried her face against his naked flesh, her breasts measuring the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. The contact was like an exquisite explosion somewhere deep inside her. Unseen hands caressed her hair, exploring the length and texture, before coming to rest at either side of her face, the long, firm fingers touching the nape of her neck, thumbs sliding with sensuous slowness across her cheeks. Lowering his head, Iain kissed her long and deep before she rested her face on his chest once more, closing her eyes and inhaling the manly smell of him.

  ‘I love you,’ she whispered.

  ‘I know you do.’

  Iain stooped and picked her up, holding her as if she weighed no more than a feather. Carrying her to bed, he set her down and lay beside her, his embrace unbreakable as his lips claimed hers. That night he made love to her with painstaking gentleness, kissing and caressing her like a virtuoso playing a fine and beautiful instrument, in an effort to dispel any fears she might have that his invasion might harm the child. It was long into the night before their bodies finally succumbed to the lethargic aftermath of repeated consummation.

  When Lorne lay with her head on her husband’s chest and felt the slowly cooling furnace of his body, she knew how complete their passion had been, for there was nothing left within her that she could give him, and what he had given her defied the telling, because words were simply inadequate and not enough to define—but how she yearned for him to tell her that he loved her as deeply as she loved him.

  The dark closed around the bed and the woman who had lost her heart. And the man sleeping beside her knew he held the key.

  For better or worse Norwood was Lorne’s home and she was its mistress, and there would be many responsibilities thrust upon her. With a hard-headed realism she knew what had to be done. The fears she’d harboured about her reception at Norwood were slowly allayed during the weeks that followed as she set to proving herself. As she began to make decisions and take more and more tasks upon herself, things settled down, and when she was in her fifth month of pregnancy, apart from John’s quiet antipathy towards her, her small world was irrevocably won, much to her husband’s admiration and satisfaction.

  Her nights spent in Ian’s arms, as naked and unashamed they proudly bestowed the beauty of their bodies on each other, were a timeless enchantment.

  Iain was dismissive of Robert and James McBryde, of what their reaction would be to the news that their sister had wed their most bitter enemy, but when a missive, short and to the point, arrived at Castle Norwood, the issue could no longer be evaded. Robert and James would be in Stirling two weeks hence. If their sister was well enough to travel, they would meet her there.

  Iain was seriously concerned about allowing Lorne to embark on such a perilous journey so far into her pregnancy, which would have to be undertaken on horseback, but he reluctantly agreed to it.

  Fortunately the weather was reasonably fair when the Monroe retinue left Norwood, but when they eventually reached Stirling, situated between the Lowlands and the Highlands and fortified behind the massive, whinstone boulders of the town walls and with its castle towering on top of a frowning rock, they were being buffeted by an icy March wind that penetrated their clothes and chilled them to the marrow. The house where they were to reside for their short stay in the old town was impressive and spacious.

  The following morning, after confirming that the McBryde brothers had arrived in Stirling, with her husband, John and Archie, Lorne walked the short distance to the tavern. The air inside was thick with ale, food and sweat, and the greasy smell of tallow candles.

  A room had been allotted to the two Highlanders to entertain their guests. Lorne and Iain entered alone. Robert, his weatherbeaten face surly and suspicious, looked at Iain Monroe. It may have been the flash of light from the open door or it may have been the silence that suddenly descended on the room, a silence that could be felt—almost like something physical—but, whatever it was, it sent a cold shiver down the Highlander’s spine.

  Robert recalled the last time he had been in the presence of this man—the day the lad, David Monroe, had been killed and Iain Monroe had ridden into Kinlochalen at the head of his men. He also recalled this Lowlander’s unforgettable, unforgivable outpourings that day, and he silently cursed him anew.

  Their eyes met and locked, cold and unyielding, the dislike and distrust of each other clearly as great as they had ever been.

  Robert was the first to speak, addressing his sister. ‘I canna tell ye how it angers me to see ye yield so readily to Monroe and the King’s will.’

  The sudden vehemence of Robert’s words brought a shudder to Lorne’s spine. His coldness, his lack of the most elementary politeness, disappointed and hurt her deeply.

  Robert’s gaze shifted back to Iain. ‘I will speak to my sister alone.’

  Without shifting his eyes from Robert’s, Iain nodded. ‘You lay a finger on my wife,’ he warned, his tone low and deadly, ‘and I’ll carve you into so many pieces you’ll be fit for nothing but fish bait. With all the excuses I have to kill you now, ’twould be folly to add another.’

  ‘Please—stop this—both of you,’ Lorne begged, throwing Iain a look of anguish. ‘We are not here to settle old scores. It’s all right, Iain,’ she said, placing a hand on his arm. ‘Do as Robert asks. Please wait outside.’

  Raising Lorne’s hand, Iain placed a reassuring kiss on her fingers, and from Robert’s face he could see pure madness flame in his eyes at this simple, open gesture of affection. The balance of peace was extremely delicate, so delicate that Iain conceded to Lorne’s request and moved back to the door. However, he had no intention of leaving the room and his wife altogether, so he remained in the shadows in case his near presence precipitated a crisis. With his shoulder propped against the wall and his arms folded, the orange glow from the fire gave his face a satanic look. His features remained impassive, his reserve hiding the steel core within him, but each man present was aware of it and wary.

  Standing beside his brother, James, whose affection for his sister had deepened during the many days they had been together when they had escaped from Inveraray with their father, stepped forward and took her hand. His eyes passed warmly over her strained features.

  ‘Lorne—how are ye, lass?’

  ‘I am well, thank you, James,’ she replied, her lips trembling in a smile as she gave him a look of gratitude, relieved that one of her brothers could give her a kind word.

  Robert scowled at his
brother. ‘That’ll do, James,’ he said, his voice holding a ring of authority that had James releasing Lorne’s hand and stepping back a pace. Robert’s eyes passed over his sister, imagining her swollen abdomen concealed beneath the folds of her cloak. His expression was stern and pitiless.

  It was a few minutes before Robert had finished his speech, designed to demonstrate his severe displeasure at her conduct and her lack of restraint, and carelessness of her reputation while she had been Iain’s captive.

  ‘Why did ye conceal what had transpired between you and Monroe when we met at Arrochar?’

  ‘I saw no reason to tell you. When I left Norwood I truly believed I would never see Iain again. I entered into this most solemn contract with all my mind, my heart and soul, loving Iain more than I believed it was possible to love another human being—far, far more than he will ever love me, I think,’ she declared proudly, her head thrown back and her eyes blazing with defiance, daring her brother to challenge her words. ‘Rightly or wrongly there it is, and how can you censure me for seeking to make better a situation that for me might have been infinitely worse?

  ‘Iain is the father of the child I carry. How it came about is not important any more. I know you disapprove and I accept that. What I cannot accept are the reasons why you disapprove. You make poor excuses for despising Iain’s behaviour towards me—and other misdemeanours I know nothing about, I shouldn’t wonder, when your own conduct wouldn’t bear too close scrutiny.’

  ‘Enough.’

  Robert shouted the word, the force of it bringing Iain to a rigid stance at the back of the room and a murderous glint to enter his eyes, while his hand closed convulsively round the hilt of his dagger. Despite his apparent nonchalance, he was watching the scene across the room closely and listening intently. His jaw was rigid and a muscle twitched dangerously in the side of his neck. It took a physical effort for him to maintain his calm and stop himself going to his wife. Even though he knew she would be going through hell inside, unless her brother became violent towards her he had to let her get this meeting over with in her own way.