There was a clattering of swords that were strapped to broad backs and the men departed to find the members, which would include Ian, Gordan, the eldest son, Declan, the second born, Atholl, one of the leaders within the guard, and five men of various stations within the clan.
An hour later, the council was gathered. The front doors were guarded against anyone entering and servants were dispatched after pouring ale.
The Macduffs had been escorted to a set of adjoining chambers and asked to wait for what would come. The laird’s wife was with them to explain to Sorcha what was to happen next so the lass had time to prepare for the announcement of whom she’d marry.
Once the men of the council settled, Sir Merritt began the now familiar recount of Sorcha’s story. There were looks of awe and shock as her lineage was disclosed. Every council member was obviously brimming with curiosity as to what her fate would be.
However, no one said a word. Instead, they listened intently as the story unfolded. Finally, Sir Merritt came to the part where the purpose of his visit was revealed.
There was a chorus of grunts and with questioning expressions, the men in the room looked to one another. When he cleared his throat, everyone turned their attention back to the Englishman.
“Therefore, I am here to find Sorcha Macduff a husband. The man chosen will have the honor of marrying a descendant of The Bruce.”
Sir Merritt paused as murmurs began. The men looked about the room, most resting their gazes on Gordan who seemed unfazed. Of course, the laird’s expected choice would be his first born but, then again, the lass brought nothing to the marriage other than the prestige of her lineage.
With the constant threat of the Norse, the most important thing for their clan was to arrange a marriage for the purpose of strength and protection. Threats from northern invaders and enemy clans meant it was best for the first born to bring a joining for a stronger, larger clan.
Finally, Sir Merritt cleared his throat. “Whoever is chosen will have the honor of continuing the bloodline of Robert the Bruce.”
In that moment, Ian’s stomach plummeted and he was sure all the blood drained from his face. With an injury such as he’d sustained, it was not possible for him to sire any children. Yes, he could become aroused and satisfy a woman. However, it was doubtful that any seed came from what was left of his manhood.
As if reading his mind, his uncle’s gaze met his. It was not clear what the outcome would be. At the moment, Ian held no hope to be chosen. How could he not have thought about the bloodline?
He glanced toward the door, wishing to rush to it, find his steed and go as far as possible so as not to be witness to Sorcha being given to another man.
CHAPTER 5
Lady Murray was a gentle woman. Always pleasant and gracious, her presence helped settle Sorcha some. They sat before a fire in a sitting room as servants served tea.
The last thing Sorcha wanted was to sit idly by while her future was being discussed. So what if The Bruce’s blood ran through her veins? She had a good life, not one she needed to be saved from.
Thanks to her father’s talent with mathematics, he provided well for them. She and her mother had little need for anything. What they did earn from selling at the market was mainly for frivolities and used to purchase additional items to make blankets and provide items to the elderly in the village.
A home for orphans on the edge of the village being maintained by charity of the townspeople was often the recipient of their talents. Along with Innis and their mothers, Sorcha made tunics and breeches for the children.
There was nothing she needed or required. Having to live in the keep away from all she loved was not any prize in her opinion.
Once they were summoned, she’d express her thoughts to the laird. Although it would surely cause an uproar, Sorcha cared little. There was much to be done and when she married, it would be to a man of her choice. Only someone who would allow her freedom would do.
Of course, there was the entire lineage thing. Once it was disclosed, the news would run through the village like fire.
Sorcha huffed and studied Lady Murray. “Milady, what if I do not wish to marry?”
A soft smile curved the woman’s lips. “Most probably, ye will not be given a choice. Why would ye not wish to? Yer life will improve greatly.”
“She has a good life,” her father interjected.
“Aye, forgive me.” Lady Murray had the decency to look apologetic. “I do not mean ye have a bad life. What I meant to say is that as a wife to a man of our family, ye will marry better than expected.”
Her mother blinked tears away. “I had not thought upon it. But ‘tis true Sorcha. Ye will be a member of The Murray’s family. ‘Tis a great honor.”
It was hard to keep from rolling her eyes. Instead, Sorcha let out a long sigh. “I love my life with ye. To help in the village. To sell my wares. ‘I do not with to remain here, behind these walls.”
“Ye would have married soon, dear one,” her mother replied. “Yer husband may not have allowed ye so much freedom. No matter who ye married, yer life would have changed.”
Sorcha huffed and stood. “I must speak to The Murray. Surely he will hear my side of it, won’t he?”
There was no reply as no one knew the answer to the question. Instead, as if practiced, cups of tea were lifted in unison by her parents and Lady Murray.
Through the window, the sun was setting and soon darkness would descend. From Sorcha’s vantage point, she made out people going on about their day in the village. There, perched on the hill, the people of the keep could keep an eye on the nearby village and farms. From above, it all seemed so far. And although part of their community, it was also a very separate life.
“I remember coming here when I was very young.” Lady Murray came to stand beside her. “I spent many a day watching from my balcony the goings-on in the village. I have to admit, I envied them many a time.”
Sorcha looked to her. “Why?”
Her lips curved. “Because they continued on with the familiar, while I came here not knowing a soul and missing my family so very much.”
“Ye must understand me then.”
“I do, in part. However, ye’re very fortunate, as ye will remain here. Yer family will be near and, of course, ye can continue visiting the village and spending time there. ‘Tis only it will be different. Whatever charitable things ye did before can continue. Try to see the good not just what seems unfair.”
“Who has been summoned?” It was her father who asked the question as Sorcha had refused to contemplate the identity of her soon-to-be husband.
Lady Murray turned away from the window. “Our nephews, Connor and Niven, have been summoned. Also the laird’s brother, Edan is also here. I do believe other contenders are my eldest, Gordan, and my nephew, Ian.”
As every man’s name was said, Sorcha pictured him. Other than Gordan and Ian, the others were complete strangers, who she’d seen in passing whenever they came to the village.
Connor and Niven were sons of the laird’s other brother who lived nearby. Both were warriors and intimidating. The laird’s Edan was married to lady Bethe he probably came accompanying his son.
“Who do ye think the laird will choose?” Sorcha had to ask. If anyone knew the laird, it was his wife. It was well known the love between them was great and something of awe to witness.
The larger than life warrior, Laird Craig Murray, visibly softened at seeing his beautiful wife. They often demonstrated affection for each other publically, much to the delight of their clan.
Lady Murray tapped her chin with her index finger. “It will not be Gordan. Neither will it be Niven. Niven is much too young and reckless. I venture to guess it will be either Connor or Ian.”
Ian. She could not see herself married to the man. Of the choices, she would prefer Connor. Not that she knew much about the warrior, but she recalled him delivering treats to the children at the orphanage once.
“Either i
s a good match. Don’t ye agree, daughter?” Her mother looked about ready to swoon with happiness. “I can imagine the wedding will be wonderful.” She turned to Lady Murray. “Will we be invited?”
“Of course,” Lady Murray replied. “Once she marries, ye can visit whenever ye want.”
Her father nodded in agreement. “A good fortune for ye, Sorcha. More than I could have ever wished for ye.”
Fear of what the night held filled her, and Sorcha rushed to the man who’d loved her unconditionally and threw herself into his arms. “I do not wish to marry. I want to go home.”
“There, there wee one. All will be well.” Her father patted her back and spoke softly into her ear.
Sorcha could barely swallow the food, but she kept up the pretense of being at ease. It would suit her purpose better if she didn’t appear to still be contrite over the revelation of her birth.
Of course, there was the matter of who the husband to be was and how he’d react to her request not to marry. Sir Merritt could keep whatever dowry was intended for her. She’d gladly live without it and, if he preferred, it could be given to the man she chose to marry.
The room was filled with not only the Murrays, but also the family members of the council. Some villagers were present, most of them because they’d had some kind of business to conduct and were invited to remain by the laird. Sorcha scanned the room and found very few of her ilk. The people in the room were from families with plenty of coin and elevated social standing.
Among those eating were the nephews of the laird; Ian, Connor and Niven. She studied them from beneath her lashes, more than once catching Connor and Niven looking to her with open curiosity.
Ian, on the other hand, seemed disinterested and aloof. Of course he was, surely he’d made it clear to his uncle that he would never marry her.
It wasn’t that she hated the man. After all, he had never been openly cruel to her. Just hours earlier, for some unexplainable reason, she’d sought comfort in his arms. When in shock, she’d realized he was the only one in the room that had been a known amongst the unknown. Ian had held her while she’d cried and, with surprising gentleness, had guided her to sit and then remained at her side as she’d calmed.
Before leaving, she planned to thank him for his actions. If anything, it would mark the end of the animosity between them.
A cup of honeyed mead was placed before her by a servant followed by a small tart. When she looked up in question, the girl smiled at her. “Lady Murray thinks ye could use something sweet and to calm ye.” She motioned to the mead.
Sorcha nodded. Calmness was not what she wished for. What she needed was strength and bravery.
There was a clanging of sorts as The Murray requested everyone’s attention. To his right sat his firstborn Gordan. The handsome man scanned the room with an ever-present scowl. On the laird’s left was Lady Murray and Sir Merritt sat next to her
The laird lifted his hand and the room went silent. Every set of eyes were trained on their leader.
Everyone, of course, was curious to know what announcement would come. By the forward leaning and expectant expressions it was not common for the laird to speak during the evening meal unless it was something of note.
“It has been discovered that a descendant of our great king, Robert the Bruce, has been living among us for years.” He paused as a few murmurs sounded, but soon everyone quieted eager to hear the rest.
“A lass from the village is a direct descendant of The Bruce and will be betrothed to marry a Murray today. This marks a great event, that our clan will be linked to such greatness.”
Cheers went up, some clapping and curious looks across the room to the women present.
Her throat dry, Sorcha felt faint. How could she now decline a marriage agreement? To do so would be an embarrassment to her family and an insult to the clan.
Panicked, she looked to each of the men whom Lady Murray supposed would be her husband. Only Ian met her gaze. What she saw in his eyes calmed her. It was as if he sent a clear message that all would be well.
She took a shaky breath and turned her attention to Laird Murray as a guard came up and took her arm to guide her to the front of the room. Gasps sounded as she walked by. Every eye locked on her. It was then that Sorcha realized she appeared more like a pauper than the descendant of a king.
Her frock was well made, but a dowdy brown color with no lace or embroidery. Her shoes were serviceable and her hair braided down her back, not styled like the women present. And yet, she held her head high. She was, after all, royalty.
To keep her shaky hands still, she clasped them together as she was led to the high board. The laird had walked around the dais to greet her.
He took her elbow. “This lass ye know as Sorcha Macduff is a direct descendant of Robert the Bruce.”
The announcement brought louder cheers and lifting of cups. The room erupted into loud chatter as Sorcha remained standing. Facing the people of her home, she saw them through different eyes.
Not the eyes of the simple village lass who sold hand-sewn items, but as the woman who’d come from greatness. How inadequate she felt in that moment. The looks of admiration only made her stomach plummet.
In that moment, it became apparent. She could never return to her simple life again.
Refusing to cry, she waited for the announcement to come.
When the laird lifted both hands, immediately the room quieted.
“Today, Sorcha Rose Hays, descendant of Robert the Bruce, is to become betrothed to my nephew and champion warrior, Ian Padriag Murray.”
As if being hit from two sides, it was all Sorcha could do to remain upright. Her birth name, so unfamiliar to her ears repeated over and again as her soon-to-be husband, Ian, walked forward.
The muscular, tall, handsome man made his way forward, his gaze flat, lips pressed in a tight line.
“No!” a young woman shrieked and rushed from the room sobbing.
She was probably the reason for his dour expression.
God, what would happen to her?
It was obvious Ian Murray was most displeased.
CHAPTER 6
They would be married the next day and all Sorcha could think about was how to get away. If only she had access to a horse, she could gallop far away, never to be found. Of course, there was the issue of her parents and friends. She could not imagine life without them near.
Her parents had left after promising to pack her belongings and bring them back the next day. It was disheartening that each time she tried to complain to her mother or father, they both reacted with shock. How could she not be so appreciative at the turn of events to not want to kiss Ian’s boots in gratitude?
Had they not noticed his dour disposition and lack of any emotion while they were toasted the night before? Many in the crowd seemed curious as to his reaction, constantly sliding glances in his direction.
They’d been seated side-by-side as, once again, Sir Merritt retold the now annoying story of her birth. Even the British man seemed less than enthusiastic to retell it.
However, the people were enthralled and some women in attendance even looked at her with ill-disguised envy. Of course they envied her, who would not want to marry the handsome Ian Murray? And then there was the detail of her bloodline.
She was a direct descendant of Robert the Bruce.
Funny, she’d never given much thought to the monarch. Other than hearing riveting tales of his conquests and heroic leadership, she was not well read about him. Perhaps now, she’d find out more about her ancestor and about her father. Sorcha huffed. Both dead man were responsible for all this due to their dalliances outside of marriage.
Did this mean she had siblings? Sorcha had overheard Sir Merritt mention three other women. She made a mental note to ask him about it before he left. The man had offered to sit with her to talk.
So much had happened so fast, she worried about details being left unsaid. It mattered little. The existence of her birth
parents or other siblings meant nothing. Her family was the Macduffs. No one else would ever take their place.
Sorcha considered her brother next. With her new station, she could ask that he be brought back from the outpost and given a position with the laird’s guard. She missed him dearly and although he went away to avoid a lusty wench, he would be glad to return. From his last letter, the long hours on the shoreline had quickly worn out any eagerness to leave.
A soft knock sounded on the chamber door and Sorcha took a breath. “Enter.”
“Miss, I bring ye tea and something to eat. Ye didn’t eat much earlier.” A maid entered and placed a tray on a small table. She looked with expectation to Sorcha.
“Call me Sorcha please,” she told the young girl and racked her brain for what else to say. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
“Aye.” The girl smiled widely. “I’m Ellen’s daughter, Bethany.”
“Ah, I remember ye now.” Sorcha chuckled. “Yer mother is a dear woman.”
“Thank ye.” The girl looked about the room. “What is it like? Being a king’s descendant?”
“I have no idea.” Sorcha shook her head.
The girl seemed disappointed in her reply. “Ye’re to marry the laird’s nephew. ‘Tis a good fortune that.”
“Aye. It is.” Instead of meeting the girl’s gaze, she went to a chair next to where the girl had placed the food. “Thank ye for this. I am hungry.”
After the maid left, Sorcha considered if it would be easy to become accustomed to being served. What would her days consist of? It seemed all the duties were taken care of by the servants.
Two knocks sounded and she looked to the door just as Ian entered. Her heart skipped a beat at the appearance of the man she would marry.
“How fare ye?” He settled into the chair opposite hers, his long legs stretched out. His damp hair was brushed back away from the handsome, chiseled face, making his blue eyes and straight eyebrows prominent.
Ian's Bride: A Highland Romp Page 3
