The stairs spilled out into a tiny room with two doors. The one to her right would take her back to the gathering room, and the one to her left led to her father’s study. If she could get there without being caught, then she’d have naught to worry about until her wedding night.
Knowing every inch of the keep, she made her way through the dark without coming across another living soul. Letting out a sigh of relief, she slowly opened the door to the study before peering inside. Empty – just as it should be at this late hour.
Grabbing a torch from the wall, Mariote slipped into Alysander McCullum’s study. Next to the cold hearth was a heavy trunk. That trunk was now the only thing standing between her and Conner. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she set her satchel on the floor before shoving the torch into the iron holder.
For a long moment, she stood in silence, staring at the trunk. Behind it was a small narrow door that led to the secret passageways beneath the keep. One little door that hid the path to her future as Conner’s wife. Her heart began to beat faster, her eagerness to finally meet the man behind the letters increasing a hundredfold.
Mariote bit her lip hard. Guilt and sorrow reared their ugly heads. Guilt for stealing away in the middle of the night like a thief. Sorrow for leaving her family behind as if they didn’t matter.
But there was naught to be done for it. Conner’s father had betrothed him to some feeble-minded lass from the MacCreary clan. A lass he truly had no desire to marry, for he was so in love with Mariote. “And I with him,” she murmured stoically.
Undoubtedly, her own mother and father would be against the union with Conner; Alysander had no kind feelings for the MacGavin clan. They’d been at odds for decades, the McCullums and McGavins, for reasons no one could now remember.
So steal away, the young couple would. They would travel north to Inverness where they would marry and consummate their union before anyone realized what was happening. Then ’twould be too late for anyone to do something about it, such as to try to have their marriage annulled.
The plan to run away together was Conner’s idea. Whilst Mariote would have much preferred a more honest approach, she could not disagree with his reasoning. Besides, he loved her more than breath, more than life. He’d told her so in the many letters he had sent to her in secret these past months.
Lost in her quiet reverie, Mariote did not hear the quiet footfalls of someone entering the room. Panic seized her heart when she heard a soft voice ask, “What are ye doin’?”
ORABILIS!
Blast it, she exclaimed silently as she spun around to face her youngest sister. The little girl stood just inside the doorway, looking as confused as she did concerned.
Attempting an air of innocence, Mariote forced a smile. “Orabilis!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Ye just took ten years off me life!”
“Why are ye in Da’s study at this hour?” the girl asked with a dubious frown.
Stammering to find a believable lie, Mariote could not answer right away. Orabilis was the most skeptical, pessimistic child she’d ever known.
“Ye’re stealin’ away,” the child accused her.
Of all her sisters, Orabilis was the brightest and by far the hardest to lie to. Realizing immediately the girl would not believe anything save for the sheer unadulterated truth, Mariote pulled her shoulders back and looked her dead in the eye. “Aye.”
Pinching her lips together and rolling her eyes, Orabilis said, “To be with Conner MacGavin.”
Oh, why had she not lied months ago when the first letter arrived? Mariote cursed her own stupidity silently. “Aye.”
“’Twill put father in an early grave,” Orabilis said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Do no’ be ridiculous,” Mariote argued. If she had a siller for every time their father used that threat when frustrated with any one of his daughters, why, she’d be richer than the king. “He only says that because he loves us so much.”
“Then why would ye be stealin’ away to marry a man he does no’ want ye to marry?”
“Because if it were up to him, none of us would ever marry. He never lets anyone call upon us, never seeks betrothals for us. We’ll all die auld maids.”
Orabilis scoffed. “I would no’ mind that so much. ’Twould be preferable to marryin’ and takin’ orders from a man.”
Mariote let loose a frustrated breath. “I do no’ have time to argue it with ye, Orabilis. Ye may no’ want to be a wife or mother, but I do.”
Orabilis shook her head in dismay. For along moment, she was quiet, studying her sister closely. The words that next left her mouth left Mariote stunned to silence.
“Then marry someone Da would find agreeable. Marry Willem.”
ORABILIS KNEW HER sister’s true heart and feelings toward Willem McCullum. For years, Mariote had harbored more than just a tender regard for the young man. However, she firmly believed that Willem was not the right man for her sister. ’Twas not to say he was not an honorable and decent man, for he was. However, he was also a scoundrel of the highest proportions. Orabilis might be young, but she was not stupid. She knew all about Willem and his love of women.
There was someone better, someone far more suited to Mariote’s sensibilities, and her sister was certain he cared about Mariote. Still, she’d rather the girl married Willem instead of a MacGavin.
While Orabilis was convinced she’d never fall prey to such a deadly force as love, she knew her sisters were not as stalwart or strong as she. Each and every one of them had already fallen victim to their own hearts more times than she could count.
But Mariote? She was different. She was not like Esa—who was in love with a new lad every other sennight. Muriale was almost as bad, but not nearly as vocal about it.
Orabilis watched as Mariote stood taller, looking appalled at the idea her sister had just presented to her.
“Willem has absolutely no interest in me,” Mariote said. “Besides, it matters not at this juncture. I’ve made up my mind. I will marry Conner MacGavin, with or without our parents’ blessing.”
“’Tis yer funeral,” Orabilis said with a shrug.
Mariote rolled her eyes heavenward. “’Tis nay a funeral, ye daft child. ’Tis a marriage.”
“Explain to me the difference?” Orabilis challenged.
Frustrated, Mariote pursed her lips. “Ye would stand in the way of love, wouldn’t ye?”
“Nay,” she replied softly. “No’ true love. But I do no’ think ye love Conner.”
Ignoring the twinge of recognition deep inside, Mariote turned back to the trunk and began to push it aside. “I be done arguin’ with ye,” she replied angrily. “But if ye tell Mam or Da what I be doin’, then I shall tell them who really set the chicken coop afire last summer.”
Orabilis knew full well what her sister was doing. She actually felt rather proud of Mariote’s attempt at extortion. Oh, she truly did not want her parents to learn how the fire actually started or why or by whose hand, but she was not so foolish as to believe if they did learn the truth, ’twould be akin to signing her own death warrant. For amusement, she decided to play along. “Ye would no’ dare.”
Mariote spun around, a murderous gleam in her eyes. “I would.”
Realizing that come hell or high-water, Mariote would find a way to marry Conner—which would be the same as issuing one’s own death warrant as far as she was concerned—Orabilis pretended to be unconcerned. “Verra well,” she said dismissively. “Do what ye wish. I’ll no’ tell Mam or Da.”
“Or our sisters,” Mariote added. Aye, she knew Orabilis well enough to ask for that clarification.
“Or our sisters,” she replied. “I just hope he is worth it.”
“Worth what?” Mariote ground out as she slid the door to the passageway aside.
“Worth losin’ yerself and yer family over,” Orabilis replied softly.
Mariote refused to look at her. “Keep yer word, Orabilis, and I’ll keep mine.”
&nb
sp; With that, Orabilis watched her oldest and most favorite sister disappear into the darkness of the passageway.
I’ll no’ tell our parents or our sisters, she mused quietly. But I’ll no’ watch ye throw yer life away fer the likes of Conner MacGavin either.
Chapter Three
ORABILIS WAS AFRAID of few things in this world. Her father often remarked she was born as fierce as any Highland warrior he’d ever known. Much to her mother’s vexation, Alysander had proudly encouraged her pursuit of learning the proper way to defend oneself. Of course, she’d been all of six when he began to train her in the art of weaponry.
But as she got older—and better with a sword than he had anticipated—he began to rethink his previous stance on the matter. Still, he was quite proud of her.
Young as she was and as fearless as she might be, she was not dim-witted. Therefore, when she snuck into the armory, she did so with a good measure of caution.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been in the armory before. However, at this exceeding late hour, one couldn’t be too cautious. There was a good chance she could be killed by a warrior startled from his sleep.
Mindful of the seriousness of the situation, she tiptoed across the stone floor without aid of candle or torch. ’Twas another thing her father was proud of her for: her uncanny, cat-like ability to see in the darkest of places.
Kneeling next to Lachlan McCullum’s palette, Orabilis bent low to whisper his name into his ear.
He shot up like an arrow from a bow, a sgian dubh in one hand, a battle-axe in the other.
“Wheest!” she whispered. “’Tis me, Orabilis!”
His eyes widened in horror at seeing the young girl there. “What in the bloody hell are ye about, Orabilis?” he whispered harshly. “I could have killed ye!”
“Wheest,” she warned him again. “Ye’ll get us both killed if me da finds me here at this hour.”
Taken aback by her warning, a tic began to form in his jaw. For the life of him, he could not begin to imagine what she was doing in the armory at such a late hour.
Pressing a finger to her own lips, Orabilis motioned for him to follow her. He had half a mind to swat her arse, drag her back into the keep to her parents, and let them deal with her. But curiosity won out over anger. Soon, he was tossing on a plaid and boots, along with his sword belt, and following the young girl outside.
“What are ye doin’ here at this ungodly hour?” he asked angrily as soon as they were away from the armory. His breath hung in a heavy mist in the cold night air.
“’Tis Mariote,” Orabilis replied. “I fear she has done somethin’ foolish.”
Mariote? His heart began to thrum against his chest with worry. “What has she done? And why did ye no’ wake yer parents?”
“I can no’ do that. I made her a promise that I would no’ tell them or our sisters.”
Lachlan sighed, undoubtedly thinking this was not quite as serious as she was leading him to believe. “What foolish thing has she done?” he asked. From the level of concern he saw in her eyes, he was afraid he’d not like the answer. He and Mariote had become the best of friends when she and her family had first arrived over four years ago. As one of the most logical-thinking people he’d ever had the pleasure to meet, he could not begin to imagine what foolish thing Mariote might have done.
“She has run off to marry Conner MacGavin.”
HE HAD KNOWN for a very long while that his friend was deeply and wildly in love with his other dear friend, Willem. Mariote might not have said as much, but he was not an unintelligent man. He could see it in her eyes whenever Willem was near.
But Conner MacGavin? This was the first time he’d heard the man’s name in an age, let alone connected to Mariote.
“Ye can no’ be serious,” he whispered, awash in astonishment. An ache formed deep in his heart.
“I am,” she told him, matching his scowl with one of her own. “He has apparently declared his love for her. But I do no’ think she loves him.”
Raising a brow he asked, “Then why in God’s name—” he stopped mid-sentence. Young women oft did things that made not a lick of sense. Realizing the seriousness of the situation, he asked, “When? How?”
“Only moments ago,” she replied. “She used the secret passages. They lead—”
“I ken where they lead,” he ground out.
Bloody hell! he cursed inwardly.
“Ye must go after her,” Orabilis said. “Before she makes a mistake she can no’ unmake.”
If he sounded the alarm now, Mariote would undoubtedly never live down the shame or embarrassment. But if he didn’t do something to stop her, Alysander wouldn’t let Lachlan live to explain why he hadn’t done more to keep her from making that mistake.
Letting loose an angry sigh of resignation, he said, “She can no’ have gotten far. I shall go after her and bring her home.”
“Thank ye, Lachlan,” she replied with a smile. “I be certain Mariote will thank ye as well. She considers ye a dear friend.”
Aye, he quietly fumed. And ’twill never be more than that. While they were good friends, Mariote would never thank him for what he was about to do. Undoubtedly, she’d blame him for crushing her dreams. Their friendship would probably be forever altered. Still, he could not simply stand by and allow her to do this. Her heart, he knew, belonged to Willem.
“Ye go back to bed and say nothin’,” he instructed. “I shall have her back before anyone is the wiser.”
Orabilis smiled once again but remained silent as she raced back to the keep.
Nay, yer sister will no’ thank me, he mused as he stomped toward the stables. More likely than no’ she’ll run a dirk through me heart.
IT MADE NO sense to Lachlan. Mariote loved Willem but she was stealing away in the middle of the night to marry a man whose name had never passed over her lips. At least not when he was around.
He’d known Conner nearly his entire life. Conner MacGavin was not the kind of man he thought Mariote would or could ever give her heart to. Out of all the MacGavins, Conner was the only one with a lick of sense. Still, he was a MacGavin.
As quietly as he was able, he went back into the armory. Pulling on tunic and trews, he sat on the floor to stuff his feet into woolens and his fur covered boots. He heard Willem’s voice in the stillness. “What are ye doin’?”
For a few rapid heartbeats he debated on whether to tell Willem what had happened. “’Tis something best explained away from anyone else’s ears,” he replied in a harsh whisper.
Always inquisitive, Willem did not need any further explanation. Soon, he was dressed, grabbing his weapons, and heading after his friend.
They made their way quietly into the stables. “Where on earth are ye goin’?” Willem asked.
Frustrated, Lachlan explained as best he could while he saddled his steed. “’Tis Mariote,” he said. “She has apparently run off to marry Conner MacGavin.”
Willem let out a low, soft whistle in surprise. “Ye can no’ be serious,” he said.
“Would I be saddlin’ me horse in the middle of the night if ’twere no’ true?” Lachlan asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Seeing the frustration in Lachlan’s eyes, Willem gave a slow shake of his head. “Alysander will kill him.”
“Only if he finds out,” Lachlan remarked, tightening the strap of the saddle.
Willem, as ready for an adventure as he was curious, pulled his own steed out of the stall. “Then I best go along with ye. Lord only kens how many men Conner has with him.”
Lachlan hadn’t given that a moment’s thought. While he’d much prefer to rescue Mariote on his own, he might very well need the extra sword. God only knew what Conner was truly up to. Mayhap ’twas all a ruse to kidnap Mariote and hold her for ransom.
The two men finished saddling their horses and lead them toward the wall.
Anger filled Lachlan’s gut. Anger that Mariote would be so foolish as to run off with the likes of Conner MacGavin
. And if he were truly honest with himself, he was angry that someone else had won her heart.
“Where be ye goin’ at this hour?” ’Twas Henry McCullum calling out from the parapet.
Thinking quickly, Willem lied. “We be goin’ to Inverness fer a few days,” he said.
Henry, a man of forty, with thick red hair and an even thicker gut, laughed. “Chasin’ after whores again?” He shook his head and clucked his tongue. “I expect such from ye, Willem. But I dare say I expect more from Lachlan.”
Willem laughed. Lachlan fumed. The lie, he supposed, was far better than the truth. If anyone found out about Mariote’s late night escapade, her reputation might very well be ruined.
Henry began to crank the handle, and the gate creaked upward, allowing Lachlan and Willem to walk their horses through.
They were soon mounted and heading east. If they had gone in any other direction, Henry might call after them.
Once they were out of earshot, Lachlan said, “She left through the tunnels. We’ll ride until Henry can no’ see us, then turn back toward the forest.”
Willem must have thought it a sound plan, for he did not protest or argue against it. “Any idea which way she might be goin’?” he asked.
“Nay, but she should no’ be too hard to track once we get to the secret door.”
The sun was just beginning its morning ascent. A hint of orange against the inky sky.
When they were certain they could no longer be seen, they guided their horses back toward the forest.
“Why do ye reckon Mariote has run off like this?” Willem asked.
In truth, Lachlan had no earthly idea. “Young lasses oft do things that do no’ make a lick of sense,” he replied drolly.
Willem chuckled his agreement. “No truer words were e’er spoken.”
The exit to the tunnels was only a few hundred yards away from the wall of the keep. The men dismounted, their breaths hanging in the cold morning air. Lachlan crouched next to the secret door to get a better look. Leaves and debris had been moved, a telltale sign that Mariote had made her way out of the tunnels.
All Things Merry and Bright: A Very Special Christmas Tale Collection Page 14
