Ian's Bride: A Highland Romp

by Hildie McQueen

  There was naught he could do about it, for a descendant of such a great man deserved the honor of a good life. The dowry offered by Sir Merritt was of a good size. Enough to entice any man to take her as wife. Although, a beauty as rare as Sorcha did not need a dowry to be worthy of a good marriage.

  Ian decided it was best not to think about it much. The next day or so, he would make sure to remind his uncle of the reason why he could never marry. Not that he thought his uncle, or anyone, needed reminding.

  His injury in battle years earlier had made every man unable to meet his gaze for many months after. The vivid reminder of blood gushing from between his legs as he’d howled in pain was enough to bring even the most hardened warrior to his knees in empathy. Thankfully, he’d not lost his staff, but almost everything else had been sliced off.

  When his cousin and the visitor stood to take their leave, he walked behind them not fully prepared for whatever happened next.

  Gordan would discreetly point Sorcha out to Merritt. They’d return to the keep where Merritt would bring the news to their laird for a decision.

  As they walked by, he stole a look at Sorcha who was in the process of making a sale. Her gaze remained stubbornly away from them.

  Would he be tied for life to the beautiful woman who hated him? Or would one of his cousins be chosen?

  For some unknown reason, both options made him physically ill.

  CHAPTER 3

  Sorcha’s mother, once again, wrung her hands. “Why would the laird request our presence? It has never happened before.” She’d asked the question so many times neither she nor her father replied anymore. Instead, they continued in silence toward the keep.

  It was less than an hour to reach the keep but it stretched longer given the slowness of their trek. None urged the others to walk faster, especially her father. That made it obvious he was also nervous.

  The purpose for which the laird summoned someone rarely was a good one. Whether a conflict over land, animals or money, the laird usually only requested a villager’s presence because something was wrong.

  “Perhaps Father is to be honored because of his abilities as an actuary,” Sorcha said, trying to calm her mother.

  Her own stomach had sunk when the guards came to their door, especially when one looked at her with more interest than required. It was as if the man looked to find something familiar about her face. Then again, with so much happening in that moment, it was probably her imagination.

  Walking behind her parents up the steep hill to the main keep gates, her gaze was drawn to the beauty of the day. Below her, the entire village was visible. Past the village, there were rolling hills and plush lands as far as the eye could see. To the right, in the distance, farmers toiled the fertile ground. And to the left, a large home atop a hill was visible.

  Although she often wondered what it was like in the lands away from her home, it was never with so much curiosity that she would leave. One day, she’d marry a villager who would catch her eye and settle near her parents’ home so that her mother could help raise her bairns.

  A smile stretched across her lips. Aye, she wanted a family. Absently, she looked up at a formation of clouds and considered who in the village would make a suitable husband. There was Coinneach, the blacksmith. No, he was smitten with Innis already.

  Gregor, the pub owner’s son, was a bit attractive. She shook her head. Nay, he drank too much of the easily attainable ale.

  When Ian Murray’s face formed in her mind, she scowled. That was laughable. Yes, admittedly the man was handsome...too handsome. But they disliked each other and, besides, he was cruel. She could not abide being tied to a cruel man for life.

  When she chuckled at the direction of her thoughts at such a moment, her mother looked over. “What do ye find so funny?”

  “In considering a father for my children, I find our village quite lacking.”

  “Oh Sorcha,” her mother laughed. “To have those thoughts at a time like this.” With another chuckle, her mother then said, “What about Quinn, he is very interested in ye. He asked yer father about ye just the other day.”

  Sorcha wrinkled her nose. “He tends to livestock all day. Can ye imagine?”

  “Ye should consider him nonetheless.”

  “We best go on inside.” Her father’s comment brought both women to silence as guards waved them in past the guardhouses and though the gate.

  A huge courtyard surrounded the immense keep where Laird Murray and his family resided. There were outbuildings for the guardsmen and workmen, and Sorcha imagined many more rooms inside for the family’s servants. The stables were along the back of the courtyard. Centered in front of a row of buildings was a fire pit with a spit over it.

  “Where should we go?” her mother whispered.

  “I suppose to the main door,” her father answered, also in a low tone.

  A woman appeared and stopped in her tracks. By the fact she carried a bucket and wore an apron, Sorcha surmised her to be a servant. Although the woman looked familiar, she could not place the name.

  Upon seeing them, the servant walked closer. “Are ye here to see The Murray?”

  “Aye,” her father replied nodding.

  She motioned a guard forward and they spoke in low tones. The only words Sorcha overheard were ‘”‘tis her”. Both turned to study Sorcha for a moment.

  “Come with me,” the guard said, his tone curt.

  They followed the guard to a large doorway and entered the keep. It was only Sorcha’s third time there in a year, as her family only came when festivities included villagers.

  The great room was as grand as Sorcha remembered. The high board with its large candelabras remained at the front of the room, the long table empty at the moment. There were two long rows of wooden tables for dining along both sides of the room and down the center was a large area where people gathered for the daily hearings.

  It was interesting to find no one there except for a few men seated at one table.

  The guard motioned them to the empty center of the room. “Remain here. I will announce yer presence to the laird.” He stalked away, his long strides taking him through a doorway to the left of the high board.

  “This is most distressful,” her mother said as she returned to wringing her hands. “Most distressful.”

  Without answers, Sorcha could only offer a touch on her mother’s shoulders. “All will be well. If Gertrude and her family have caused trouble, I will pull every one of her hairs off her head.”

  “If it were that, they would have called them to come as well. Besides yer brother has been gone for a sennight at least,” her father said.

  Gertrude, a village woman, was madly in love with Sorcha’s older brother, Camden. He did everything in his power to avoid the lass. Even to the extent of hiring himself as a guard in an outpost against the Norse.

  “Aye. True.” Sorcha let out a sigh only to inhale sharply as Ian walked into the room. He came directly to where her family stood. “If ye would come with me. We shall meet in the laird’s study.”

  He barely looked at her, his flat gaze flicking across her face then back to her parents. “This way please.”

  It was all very odd, the quiet of the keep and the strange way that they were being treated. The air was heavy as they made their way toward the same corridor the guard had taken.

  The guard they’d followed in just moments earlier stood outside a door, his gaze moving to her. Ian went to stand beside him and motioned for them to walk into the dim study.

  Laird Murray stood at a window peering outward. Sorcha surmised that from that vintage point, he could look across the village to the other home on the hill. She waited for him to turn so she and her mother could lower in greeting.

  Laird Craig Murray was a tall man. With long hair that fell to his broad shoulders and a strong chin, he easily intimidated others. However, he was known for being fair and just.

  When he turned, he met her gaze for a moment before
Sorcha lowered in a deep curtsy along with her mother. Her father bowed.

  “Welcome Macduff. ’Tis been a day or so?”

  Sorcha looked to her father. She was not aware he and the laird met on a regular basis. However, she supposed, as an actuary it only made sense.

  The men exchanged greetings and the laird then motioned for them to sit. “We await an emissary that has news to share.”

  Her mother visibly tensed, but she kept silent.

  “Thank ye, Laird,” her father said sending his wife a worried look.

  Footsteps sounded and she dared not look, knowing it was probably Ian who entered. Then realizing there was more than one set of steps, she looked up to find that not only Ian, but a man who looked to be of an elevated station, by his fine dress, had also entered.

  The large room immediately shrunk.

  “Sir Merritt Avery,” the laird said, introducing the Englishman.

  The man was handsome with a searing set of brilliant eyes that seemed to see more than just the physical. He met her gaze for a long time before looking to her parents. “I’ve come to inform the laird that yer daughter, Sorcha, is truly not yers by blood.”

  Sorcha could not keep her mouth from falling open as her mother crumpled to the floor in tears. Both her father and Ian hurried to ensure she did not injure herself and helped her to sit. The entire time, Sorcha could only stare into the Englishman’s eyes.

  The room seemed to fade as every sound except that of her mother’s soft weeping swam in her ears.

  Why had the man come there to sprout such a lie?

  “’Tis a lie!” Sorcha finally found her voice. “Why would ye come here and say such things?” Uncaring of what the Englishman’s status was and, for that matter, that her laird was present, Sorcha could not contain her ire. “Ye, sir, are without honor to say...”

  Her father took her arm. “Be quiet, Sorcha. There is an explanation.”

  That her father was not as angry puzzled Sorcha. It was the shock. Yes, that's what caused him to be so eerily calm. Perhaps her parents feared whatever consequences. She, on the other hand, would rather be damned to the dungeons than allow her mother to be hurt in such a way.

  Her mother wiped away tears with the back of her hands and stood. She faced off against the Englishman. Her voice shook as she looked to each man.

  “She was but a wee babe. They wanted her to be gone and that we never tell a soul. ‘Twas not that we stole her, I swear.”

  Frozen to the spot, Sorcha could only wait for a declaration from her parents that her mother spoke in jest.

  Her father moved away from Sorcha to stand beside his wife. “’Tis true. We asked not why they wished to dispose of Sorcha. Already raising one bairn, ‘twould not be much more to feed another. We were given coin and told to go far away.” Her father turned to Sorcha, pain radiating from his gaze. “We love her and raised her as our own. ’Tis the truth. All of it.”

  “There is no doubt in that, I assure ye,” the laird said in a reassuring tone. “‘Tis not an accusation or punishment that Sir Merritt seeks. He is here to find the lass a well-born husband.”

  Her mother brightened. “So she will not be torn from us.”

  “No.” It was Sir Merritt who replied this time. “I come with recompense and to ensure that the descendant of Robert the Bruce is settled into a life that is representative of her ancestry.”

  “Robert the Bruce?” Sorcha and her parents said in unison.

  “What did ye say?” This time it was Sorcha who sounded about to cry. “‘Tis not possible. I am but a humble seamstress.”

  “Nay, lass,” the laird replied as he looked to her. “Ye are a direct descendant of our king.”

  This time, Sorcha gave in and allowed her legs to give. She stumbled backward only to be caught by Ian.

  His strong arms surrounded her and she buried her face into the rough fabric of his tunic.

  God help her that, in this moment, he seemed the only certainty in her life.

  CHAPTER 4

  The only thing Ian could think was that he’d not ever felt such a great need to protect anyone like he did Sorcha at the moment.

  Trembling against him, she sobbed, her entire body racked with whatever emotions she felt. It was possible hysteria had set in as she clutched his tunic and buried her face into it.

  “There is time for ye to think,” Sir Merritt attempted to calm her. “We will not make any hasty decisions...er, well, actually I suppose two days is not much time.”

  Her mother’s face transformed to utter shock; all the blood draining from her face. “Whatever is going to happen to my daughter in two days?”

  Her father came to stand in front of Ian and Sorcha, as if to protect the lass. “Speak, sir. What have ye come to tell us?”

  It was his uncle who would impart the news of the upcoming marriage. Although Ian knew once they heard what the plans were, everyone would be relieved. Sorcha would be married to a Murray and remain there. The only change would be her status. And, of course, the shocking knowledge her parents were not who she’d thought they were all her life.

  He guided Sorcha to sit but remained standing next to her. Instead of looking to her mother, she kept her gaze forward. Of course, she would feel betrayed. But if they had not taken her, her life would have been uncertain as it was obvious whoever gave her away did not have any plans for her to be found.

  “Sorcha, from what we gather,” Sir Merritt began, “ye were given away in an effort for yer linage not to be discovered. Yer father was a descendant of a bastard born son of the great Flower of Scotland and beloved king, Robert Bruce.”

  Sir Merritt paused before continuing. “Yer father married Rose Ross, who was pronounced barren. It is believed that in his sorrow he sought the comfort of a woman by the name of Guise Murphy. When the woman produced a child, yer father planned to take ye to present to his wife to bring up as their own. However, upon finding out what was planned, yer mother, who was very ill and feared how ye’d be treated, gave ye to the Macduffs. She knew them to be kind and loving.”

  “My...my mother, is she alive?” Sorcha searched Sir Merritt’s face.

  “Nay,” Sir Merritt responded. “Sadly, she took her life soon after.”

  “What of my... father?”

  “Dead as well.”

  “A tale of tragedy for us all.” Sorcha’s mother held a hand out to her daughter. “I vowed not to tell about ye. Guise told us she did not wish ye to be raised by a stepmother who she hated. When we hesitated, she threatened to drown ye.”

  Sorcha took her mother’s hand. “Ye and my father are my true parents. I thank ye for caring for a stranger’s bairn.”

  “Nay!” Her father moved to stand on the other side of his wife. “Never thank us for we love ye as our own.”

  Tears streamed down their faces as the family embraced. Ian, his uncle and Sir Merritt left the room to give them privacy.

  “What happens now?” Ian asked Sir Merritt.

  “Yer uncle must name a groom, someone to marry the lass so she can come into a life that is rightfully hers. I do believe there to be great prestige in marrying someone of her lineage.”

  Sir Merritt turned to the laird. “What about yer eldest? The dowry I bring from the trust is not large, but enough to make her worthy of a good marriage.”

  At the suggestion, Ian held his breath. What would it be like to have her living there in the keep? Seeing her every day and unable to touch the woman who’d just trembled in his arms. She’d sought refuge with him.

  “I’ll marry her,” Ian spouted, unsure why he’d said such a thing. Heart hammering against his breastbone, he gulped past the dryness in his throat.

  What had he just done?

  It was either marry the lass or forever wonder what it would be like to take her as his. Since the day she’d accused him of taking from the elderly couple he’d gone to help, he’d had to control the urge to pull her against him and kiss the anger away.

 
; With fire in her eyes and twisted lips, the anger radiating from her had been palpable and beautiful. Sorcha’s fire had scorched him, and, to this day, he’d never forgotten the lovely creature who’d informed him of his lack of honor.

  He’d kept the coins she’d tossed on the ground. They were in a small pouch he carried with him always.

  His uncle studied him for a long moment. “Are ye sure? She may be slow to accept ye, and it will not be easy.”

  The knowledge his uncle considered his request was as shocking as it was an honor. The marriage should have been reserved for someone higher than he. “Aye, I am quite sure. I know the lass and we have a friendship of sorts.”

  Sir Merritt lifted a brow. “If ye mean because she argues with ye whenever yer paths cross, then, yes, it is a relationship of a sort. However, she did seek ye for comfort, and I do believe there is something in that.”

  “It is said there is usually the burning of yearning beneath animosity,” his uncle said with a chuckle.

  “Do ye accept my request then?” Ian had to know, for now that he’d said the words, the reality that Sorcha would be his wife gained strength, and he wanted her more than ever. “I would be honored, Sir Merritt, if ye think me worthy. Ye as well, Uncle.”

  The two men exchanged looks.

  “I find no reason not to find ye worthy,” Sir Merritt said, meeting his gaze. “However ‘tis yer uncle’s choice.”

  “I will announce my decision at the evening meal.” The laird looked to the guard. “Ensure the Macduffs remain for the rest of the day.

  With purposeful steps, the Laird walked toward the great room and went to his wife. He directed servants to prepare the room for the next meal. “Flora, can ye ask for chambers to be prepared for the Macduffs? Also, they will remain for the evening sup.”

  Lady Murphy smiled warmly at her husband and both locked gazes for longer than necessary. Ian had often wondered if one day he and the woman he married would have a similar loving union.

  “Call the Clan Council to join me immediately,” the laird instructed one of the guardsmen. “We must discuss a matter of urgency. Tell them to make haste.”