Beauty and the Barbarian

by Amy Jarecki

  “But I want Ian to recognize me.” And she also wanted to attend the gathering. She wouldn’t even have to hide behind a curtain. Merrin held out her arms and let the two women set to work.

  ***

  Ian turned full circle in his boyhood chamber. It had been so long since he’d occupied this room, it seemed surreal to him to be back after he’d spent a decade away. He was concerned about Merrin. She was still grief-stricken by Niall’s death and the state of her home. He’d stopped by his mother’s solar ages ago, and she’d shooed him off, telling him to go to his chamber and dress for supper. Of course, fresh clothing awaited him on the bed.

  He’d see Merrin at the laird’s table tonight. Hopefully Lady Anne wasn’t being too overbearing.

  A tap came at the door. So faint, it had to be Merrin. In two strides, Ian opened it wide, grinning. His face froze. “Mother?”

  “You were expecting Miss Merrin, were you not?”

  He bowed and beckoned her inside. “I could never hide anything from you.”

  Lady Anne smiled and kissed his cheek, then led him to the worn settee. She’d grown older since he last saw her, but the faint lines on her face and the touch of grey that peeked out from the sides of her pink wimple did nothing to detract from her classic beauty. Like a preening swan, she flared her silk skirts and sat, patting the seat beside her. “We have much to discuss.”

  Ian complied. “Aye.” He took her hand and kissed it. “’Tis so good to see you. Are ye well?”

  “Yes, though I doubt I’ll ever cease to miss your father.”

  “Has no one else offered for your hand?”

  She chuckled. “Several—I suppose being born an earl’s daughter makes me a worthy match.” She leaned forward and tapped her fingers to her lips. “I daresay, however, I fear my childbearing years are over.”

  Ian cringed inside—discussing his mother’s womb made him a tad uncomfortable. “At least ye have Alexander and his babe to tend to.”

  “True, and now you’ve returned. I cannot tell you how happy that makes me.” She cleared her throat. “And it appears Miss Merrin has become quite fond of you.”

  “Aye, and I of her.”

  “Oh?” Mother eyed him with a pointed look. “She is lovely, but carries a heavy burden.”

  “I ken.” Ian’s gaze drifted away and his jaw hardened. “I promised her father I’d see to her care. He died because of me.”

  “Because of you or because of your uncle Ruairi’s selfishness?”

  Ian combed his fingers through his hair. He could place the blame of Niall’s death upon no one but himself. “If I hadn’t washed up on Fladda, Niall and Merrin’s lives would be untouched.”

  Mother reached for his hand. Her fingers were so frail, her skin paper thin, but her touch was soothing, just as it had been so long ago. “You do know, when I sent you to Ruairi for your fostering, I believed I was doing right. He once was an honorable man and a venerable chieftain.”

  “I ken.” Ian smiled, adoring his mother’s concern. “Do no’ worry, he may have been a tough bastar—task master, but he turned me into a man, a warrior. I will honor me promises and keep me word.”

  She squeezed his arm with a proud glint in her eye. “Tell me what happened with Janet MacKenzie. Where did you go after Fladda, and why is it Ye’re here without fear of retribution?”

  Ian took in a deep breath and started at the beginning. He relayed the entire ordeal, including his final battle with Rewan. “I could never stand for a scoundrel who abuses women and children.”

  Anne patted his hand. “You were always the child with the most compassion. And of you, I am the most proud.” She held up her palm. “Do not take me wrong, Alexander makes me proud as well, but you have kindheartedness that is rare to find in a man.”

  “Aye? I’m afraid ’tis too soft.” Ian would only ever admit that to his mother.

  “I disagree. You can use your capacity for empathy to do great things. So tell me, do you think Rewan, and moreover Ruairi, will leave you in peace?”

  Ian shook his head. He’d thought a lot about Rewan since they’d faced off. He’d convinced Merrin there would be no retribution, but truth be told, he could not be sure. Leaving Rewan alive was a risk…and his damned compassionate heart made him do it. “I hope so. I thought about sailing to Ireland or the Americas, but I want to live here, close to Brochel. This land is me home.”

  “That it is—and I’m ever so glad to hear it.” She lightly touched his shoulder. “And your musket wound, how is it healing?”

  “’Tis coming good. The pain doesn’t needle me as much now—just a sharp pang now and again.”

  “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear it.” Mother sighed. “Tell me. What are your plans for Miss Merrin?”

  Ian looked his mother square in the eyes. She might try to stop him, but if he didn’t tell her, she’d uncover his plans in some other way. “I want to marry her.” Ian watched Lady Anne’s face and held his breath.

  She blinked, but otherwise, any shock she felt was unreadable—so English of her. “Truly?” She tapped a finger against her chin. “But I do not believe it is a good idea for her to live in the castle.”

  That was it? No lecture on finding a wealthy daughter with a dowry? A surge of excitement shot through Ian’s blood. “Nor do I. Besides, Merrin would prefer to live on Fladda. I’ve asked Alexander for some supplies to help us rebuild.”

  “Fladda’s not far. You’d be able to attend gatherings often.” She smiled, her eyes calculating, but then her brow furrowed. “Once you have the cottage finished, what will you do? Have you plans to support a wife who some consider marked?” She uttered “marked” as if it were blasphemous.

  “I thought I’d carry on with Niall’s trade, but grow it. I acquired a galley from the MacKenzie. With a ship, Merrin and I can trade herbs and remedies all over the isles. I’d wager I could grow his business tenfold.”

  “It sounds as if Ye’re brewing quite an ambitious plan.” She stood and pointed to the red woolen rug in front of the hearth. “Roll back the carpet, please.”

  “Now? I thought ye wanted me to dress for supper.”

  She flicked her wrist impatiently. “I have something to show you first.”

  “Very well.” Ian complied. He knew of the trapdoor under the rug. He’d stowed his favorite toys there when he was a lad to keep them hidden from Alexander’s thieving hands.

  Once the rug was neatly rolled and pushed to the side, Lady Anne pointed. “Open it.”

  Ian played along, wondering what the devil she was up to. He’d probably left a meat pie in there that had petrified. He pulled back the lid and gaped. “What is this?”

  “’Tis part of my dowry.”

  Ian filled his hand with silver sovereigns and gold crowns. Beside the coins was a full set of silver goblets and a ewer, and inside them were gems—rubies, sapphires and pearls. He saw the glint of something familiar. He pushed aside the coins and grasped the hilt of a broadsword, a full-sized likeness to the dirk he’d given Rewan as proof of his death. “My word.” He turned the beautiful weapon over admiringly.

  “That, your father aimed to give you upon turning one and twenty.” She brushed her soft fingers across his cheek. “I apologize for the tardiness. I’d hoped Ruairi would have released you from his service by then.”

  “Not at all—no apology necessary. If ye’d given it to me, this magnificent piece may very well be in me uncle’s hands.” Ian ran his finger over the magnificent blade. “I only wish I still had me dirk.”

  Anne patted his arm. “I’d rather have you back here, safe and healthy, son.”

  Ian glanced back at the hole in the floor. “This is astounding. Why are ye storing all these treasures here?”

  “After your father passed, your brother was to inherit all—have you any inkling of our family’s wealth?”

  “Vast, I ken.”

  “We try to keep it quiet to avoid attack…but I digress.” She cleared h
er throat. “After your father passed, I sat Alexander down and showed him what I had brought with me, intended for that horrid man.”

  Ian sucked in a whistle. He knew well the story of mother’s proxy marriage to Lord Wharton, and how his father had fought for her hand.

  “Nonetheless, since I never had a girl for whom Calum and I were to provide a dowry, I told your brother I wanted to save these things for you. We both agreed to keep it hidden until you finished your term with Ruairi or married, whichever came first.”

  Ian stared at the treasure of such wealth most men would never earn in a lifetime. “Ye’re giving this to me?”

  “With my blessing.”

  A lump formed in his throat. He lowered the sword and pulled her into an embrace. Mother always smelled of sweet biscuits. “I dunna ken how to thank ye.”

  “You already have.” She sniffed. “You are a son in whom any woman would be proud.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Merrin had never been so corseted and crammed into a gown in her life. She could scarcely breathe. When Lady Anne told her she must climb down the steps and enter the great hall alone to make a grand entrance, Merrin actually swooned.

  She stood on the first-floor landing off the stairwell, her hand on her chest, trying to breathe deeply, which wasn’t easy given the stays tightly laced around her ribcage. She never would have guessed Lady Anne was so strong by looking at her small stature. But she pulled the stays tighter and tighter until she was satisfied Merrin had been cinched within an inch of her life. And though the stomacher tacked over her bodice looked divine, it felt like she had a wooden plank attached to her chest—not to mention the stiff lace that crawled up her neck. The three buttons at her throat were a work of art, though the lace separated and framed her bosoms as if they were a portrait hanging on the wall. The stays and the stomacher ensured her breasts defied gravity and stood proud for all to see, her nipples barely covered by the stiff silk.

  Merrin groaned. Ian would think her a harlot. Then she chuckled. He most likely already did after she’d thrown herself at him with shameless fervor. A man pattered down the steps as if in a hurry. He gave her a passing glance and nearly missed the next step.

  The voices from the great hall rose in volume. So many people talking and laughing at once made her head spin. Or was it the gown? No matter, her head spun like never before.

  Merrin fanned herself and breathed as deeply as she could manage. If I do no’ go now, they’ll send up a search party.

  She placed a slippered foot on the first stair. Her ankle twisted a bit. Blast. If only Lady Anne would have allowed me to wear me boots. Merrin braced her hand on the wall and continued downward.

  When she rounded the corner, the voices stopped. Merrin looked up. Heaven help her, all eyes stared. She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was behind. No. They were all gaping at her. She clasped her hand over her cleavage. She knew it stuck out far too much. Blast Ian’s mother.

  Speaking of the dowager lady, she stood at the far end of the hall, smiling from ear to ear. The laird’s party presided all the way up on the dais, exactly like Niall had described. Lady Anne led a polite applause, while Ian closed his gaping mouth and shoved his chair back.

  Merrin wrung her hands, baffled by what she should do next.

  Everyone watched in uncomfortable silence while Ian marched down the dais and crossed the long hall with purpose. He’d changed into a fine plaid that stretched across his powerful thighs as he walked toward her. His clean linen shirt hugged his chest, his taut muscles rippling beneath it. Across his shoulder, he had a thick woolen tartan pinned at the shoulder with a brooch of silver.

  He grinned as he approached. A finer Highlander she’d never seen. He could have passed for the laird himself.

  Merrin’s stomach dropped to her toes.

  Bowing, Ian took her hand and kissed it. “Ye are stunning, Miss Merrin.”

  She lowered her lashes, heat burning her cheeks. “Thank you, sir.” She leaned in so only he could hear. “I’m wrapped up so tight I could swoon at any moment.”

  He smiled and offered his elbow.

  Taking it, she remembered to breathe. “I see ye found a fresh change of woolens—quite an improvement from your sooty kilt.”

  “We can both thank me mother.”

  The conversations in the room began to resume. Merrin sighed, much more comfortable when there weren’t hundreds of eyes watching her. He led her to the dais and she stopped. “Only high-ranking clan members can sit at the chieftain’s table.”

  Ian smiled. “And his guests.”

  “Niall never got to sit beside the laird.”

  He tugged her arm. “Come, they’re waiting for you.”

  As if playacting one of her dreams, Ian held a chair for Merrin and made introductions. Merrin had met most everyone, except Sir Bran, Lady Enya’s husband. The clan below the dais sat on benches, but she got her very own upholstered chair with Ian on one side and Lady Enya on the other.

  The kitchen doors opened and the air filled with rich aromas of roasted meats. Servants filed through the door, each carrying a tray laden with food. They proceeded to the dais first. Ian leaned in. “The chieftain’s table is served first, then the trenchers are passed down the hall. The people at the farthest end are the lowest ranking and take what remains.”

  Merrin craned her neck to see all the way to the back of the hall. “Aye, Niall sat down there, but he said there was always plenty.”

  “Usually there is.”

  The trenchers overflowed with lamb, beef, chicken and Merrin didn’t know what else. A servant offered her a platter with a selection of breads. They all looked so delicious, Merrin took one of each.

  When at last the trenchers were passed along to the other guests, she looked at her pewter plate. It was piled high with enough food to feed her for a sennight.

  Ian sniggered and tore off a bit of bread, dousing it in sauce.

  She shrugged. “It all looks so good.”

  “I’ll help ye with what ye cannot eat.”

  Ian was right, of course. What was she thinking? Merrin’s laces were bound so tight, she could scarcely eat a thing.

  She turned to Lady Enya. “Where are your children?”

  She pointed. “They’re sitting with Friar Pat.”

  Sir Bran gave his wife a squeeze. “We’ve too many to fit up on the dais.”

  Merrin found the friar and counted twelve children of varying ages. “Are they all yours?”

  “Aye.” Bran looked like he could stand atop the bailey walls and beat his chest with pride.

  Ian filled her goblet with ale. “Are ye enjoying yourself?” His eyes dipped to her exposed bosoms and his eyebrows jumped up with a wolfish grin.

  “’Tis like a dream, except this gown is like being wrapped in a wooden box.”

  “Ah.” He winked. “We’ll make good sport of removing it later.”

  Merrin covered her mouth to hide her laugh. How could he be so brash in front of all these people?

  Alexander coughed. So did his wife. Merrin glanced between them both. The coughing stopped, thank heavens. She recalled Niall had recently mixed up a tincture to cure a cough that had spread at the castle. Hopefully it hadn’t returned.

  At the far end of the hall, benches scraped across the floor. A fiddler and a piper moved to a corner near the stairs and began to play. Merrin clasped her hands and looked at Ian. “Och, ’tis marvelous—even better than Niall described.”

  Ian chuckled. He grasped her hands and held them to his lips. “I could watch ye all night. Ye’re more vibrant than a harvest moon.” He pulled her up. “Come. Dance with me.”

  Merrin gasped. “Here? In front of the entire clan?”

  “Ye told me once ye wanted to see the castle and go to a gathering. Remember we danced around the campfire to Niall’s flute?”

  “Aye, but that was just us.”

  “Do no’ worry, just focus on me face. ’Twill be as if were alo
ne.”

  But it wasn’t. Couples filled the hall, dancing to reels and strathspeys. Laced up in her suffocating stays, Merrin could scarcely catch her breath, but she wouldn’t sit down for anything. Ian knew all the steps, and moved her around the floor with expert finesse. Fortunately, the ample skirts of her gown hid her feet, and in no time, she was laughing and following Ian’s lead as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  The friar tapped Ian on the shoulder. “May I have the next dance?”

  Ian frowned, but Merrin patted his hand. “I’d like to hear ye play the pipes.”

  Ian shook his head. “Nay.”

  “Come, Ian,” one of the dancers said. “I’d like to hear ye too.”

  The friar held his belly and laughed. “I hope your piping’s improved since ye left for Lewis.”

  Ian clapped Pat’s upper arm. “Ye always had knack for bending me to your will.” He gave Merrin a wink and headed toward the musicians.

  Merrin looped elbows with the friar. “I cannot imagine Ian being bad at anything.”

  “Learning to pipe isn’t easy. At first it always sounds worse than a chicken yard full of squawking adolescent roosters.”

  Ian filled the bagpipes with air, his fingers at the ready. Merrin held her breath. The last thing she wanted was for the love of her life to be embarrassed, though she couldn’t wait to hear him play.

  Pat stood across from her, lining up for a strathspey. At least this dance wouldn’t be too strenuous for poor Friar Pat’s rheumatism.

  The pipes filled the hall with light, reedy tones. Merrin smiled. Ian wasn’t good—he was excellent, even better than the paid piper whose instrument Ian had borrowed. Merrin floated through the dance, uplifted by Ian’s magical music. Yes, the hall was crowded with people, but she danced for Ian. His gentle tone skimmed the air and touched her heart. She danced for him as if they were the only two people in the hall.

  The friar brushed past her shoulder, opening a clear view of her big Highlander. His foot tapping, hose tied at his knees with black flashes, the neatly pleated red and black kilt hung from his hips—he was a picture of masculine beauty to behold. Ian focused on her, his gaze intense. Merrin stopped, his beautiful melody filling her soul. The strength of their gaze was so powerful, she forgot about the dance partner behind her. Merrin stepped forward, reaching her hand out to Ian. His gaze darkened, beckoned her closer. A shudder coursed through her insides. The tune caressed her skin, as if Ian had his hands on her, undressing her and baring her soul.