Beauty and the Barbarian

by Amy Jarecki

  A hand grasped hers and tugged. Merrin blinked, snapping out of her trance.

  Friar Pat grinned. “I think ye missed a step.”

  “Did I?” She’d probably missed half the dance. The friar graciously led her through the remaining steps until the music ended. The two neat lines of dancers became a mob of people talking and laughing. The crowed closed in. She was unaccustomed to being in such close proximity to so many, and her chest tightened. She had difficulty catching her breath. Seeming not to notice her discomfort, the friar took her hand, but she pulled it away. “Where’s Ian?”

  Fortunately, he appeared and bowed. “M’lady, your dancing was as graceful as a swan.”

  She stepped into him, his closeness easing the anxiety of being surrounded. “I daresay I’m no’ as skilled as the other ladies here. But your piping was magnificent.”

  The friar clapped Ian’s shoulder. “Ye learned a thing or two at your uncle’s keep.”

  Ian’s smile waned and he pulled Merrin to his side. “Do ye think Ye’re up for another dance?”

  Aye. “With you as me partner, I’ll never want to stop.”

  Friar Pat cleared his throat. “Well, I believe there’s a flagon of whisky calling me name.”

  All too soon, the numbers in the hall began to dwindle. Bran and Enya stopped by between songs with their brood in tow. “’Tis time we retire,” Bran said.

  Ian shook his hand. “I’ll see ye on the morrow. I could use a back as strong as yours to help me with the cottage roof.”

  “Ye can count on me.”

  A few songs later, the piper’s bellows blared with dissonant tones. He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “That’s it for me. My lips feel like blubber.”

  Merrin glanced around the hall. Only a half-dozen couples sat at the tables. The laird and his party had all gone above stairs. Ian wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Alexander’s put us in me old chamber for the night.”

  “The one that overlooks the cove?”

  “Aye.”

  “But is it proper? Will your mother not be upset?”

  “Do no’ worry about her. She’ll understand—and once I have a chat with Friar Pat, we’ll make arrangements to make it right.”

  “Ian?”

  He grinned. “Aye?”

  “Are ye saying ye want to marry me?” Merrin’s hands flew to her cheeks. Ian couldn’t marry her. Not when he had all that Brochel had to offer. He was a chieftain’s son, a fierce warrior. What would he do married to a marked woman? They’d enjoyed their time together, but Merrin couldn’t keep her secret hidden forever. Eventually she must return to Fladda, and Ian must take his place beside Alexander.

  He grasped her hand. “If ye’ll have me.”

  “But ye cannot. Ye can go anywhere ye want—do anything ye want. I’d be like an anchor around your neck.”

  He picked her up and marched up the stairs. “I’ll make me own decisions about where I go and what I do.”

  Merrin’s heart nearly burst out of her stomacher. Did he know what he was saying? Did he drink too much ale? Surely he would come to his senses in the morning. But all her doubts didn’t make her less euphoric. She slipped her arms around Ian’s neck and leaned into him—he smelled of fresh rosemary soap and rugged male. Unable to resist his charm when he had her in his arms, she decided to worry about his sanity on the morrow.

  The stairs wound up and up, until finally he pushed through a large oak door. He set Merrin in the middle of the room and went about lighting the candles. Merrin turned full circle. The chamber was larger than the one she’d stayed in at Eilean Donan. A huge four-poster bed sat in the middle of one wall, festooned with emerald-green drapes. Tapestries of seascapes lined the walls. A massive hearth filled the space across from the bed, its peat fire already stoked for the night.

  “Did ye light the fire?”

  Ian blew out his twig? “Nay, the servants see all the fires are lit whilst we’re at supper.”

  “Unbelievable.” Merrin turned full circle again, taking in every nook and cranny. She pattered to the window and pulled back the furs. “Ye have an alcove with sitting benches built into the stone?”

  “Aye, ’tis called an embrasure.” Ian came up behind her and nuzzled her neck. “I never said I had it rough as a lad.”

  “I’ll say.” She faced him. “Ye must think me cottage on Fladda awfully drab.”

  “Not at all.” He popped one of her stomacher tacks free. “Brochel is no longer me home. Remember? Me elder brother is chief of this land.” He popped the other side. “But I do no’ want to talk about that now.”

  Merrin backed to the wall. “Ian, I cannot—”

  Clasping his big hands to her face, he smothered her words with a deep, possessive kiss. Her eyelids fluttered closed. On a sigh, she gave into the pleasure of his soft lips. Heat flooded through her entire body and coiled in the one place she desired his touch most.

  “Ye cannot what?” he rasped.

  Merrin cast her doubts aside. She couldn’t think when he pressed his manhood against her and rubbed. She ran her hands up the outside of his arms. She would take him tonight, and as many times as he was willing to make love to her until he came to his senses and realized he belonged in another place. Yes. She was being selfish, but Ian was too—he just didn’t know it yet.

  In a blink of an eye, her stomacher was gone. Ian pulled her into in front of the hearth. “I want ye to stay warm while I remove this contraption.”

  A shiver coursed up her spine, one that had nothing to do with the temperature in the chamber. “Aye?”

  He stood back and fingered the fine silk of her sleeve. “Do ye ken how many times I dreamt of having a woman in here when I was a lad?”

  “Many?”

  He pulled the gown from her shoulders and let it drop. “More than I can count.”

  “But ye never did?”

  He shook his head. “No’ in here. I was still a virgin when I left Raasay.”

  Merrin saw Janet’s face when she blinked. “Did ye make love to her?” Merrin bit her lip. She wished she could take her words back, but it was already said.

  Ian stopped unlacing Merrin’s stays and looked at her, his face serious. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. Her question really bothered him. He pulled her into a tense embrace and inhaled. “When I saw Janet at Eilean Donan, the only person I wanted in me arms was ye”

  It was Merrin’s turn to swallow. He’d made love to her for the first time at Eilean Donan. Janet was somewhere in the castle, but not in his bed. “Did ye love her before ye met me?”

  Ian smoothed his hand over her hair. “Not really. She lured me into helping her by inviting me to her bed.” He sighed heavily. “I thought she loved me—but she only needed a warrior bold enough to spirit her away from Ruairi.”

  Merrin nodded. His words were barbed. She grimaced as if she’d been struck in the stomach. The thought of sharing Ian with anyone tore her insides to shreds.

  He reached out his hand and cupped her cheek, but Merrin stepped away—and nearly fell over the heap of fabric around her ankles. She looked down. Her stays were half unlaced, cinched atop a new linen shift.

  “It grows worse.” Ian rubbed his face and turned away. “She’s carrying me child—and Robert MacNeil is going to raise the bairn as his own.”

  Too stunned to speak, Merrin stared until her trembling knees knocked. Had she heard him correctly? He’d fathered a child? In one move, she bent down, pulled the gown over her shoulders and ran for the door.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Ian stared after her with a wicked ache under his kilt. He ground the heel of his hand into his forehead. What was he thinking? He wanted to tell Merrin about the babe, but his timing couldn’t have been worse. She’d just lost her father, for Christ’s sake. Her home had been reduced to stone and cinders, and though a relatively mild affair, this was her first gathering—her first time at Brochel. And he had to ruin it for her. No matter what his mother
said, he had to be the biggest lout in all of Scotland.

  He barreled through the door and listened. Faint footsteps clapped the stone steps below. Taking three stairs at a time, he bounded after her. Ian wanted to call out, but he’d wake the whole damned castle.

  He skidded into the great hall and turned full circle. Empty. She couldn’t have gone far, not in the contraption she wore. Ian could scarcely believe he hadn’t overtaken her in the stairwell.

  A whimper squeaked above stairs. Ian looked up. It came again. He darted up one flight and listened. Muffled sobs came from the corridor. He tiptoed toward the door, ears ringing with the silence.

  The sob came again, much louder this time. He gripped the latch to Mother’s solar and cracked the door open. “Merrin?”

  Her breathing stuttered. “Go away.”

  He stepped inside the darkness. Having not been inside this chamber for a decade, he skittered along the wall until he bumped into the hearth. He ran his fingers over the mantel and knocked over a candle. Then his fingers found the flint. Retrieving the candle from the floor, he lit it.

  Across the room, Merrin curled into Mother’s overstuffed armchair, surrounded by blue silk. Her head hidden in the crook of her arm, she slowly rocked, whimpering. Ian’s throat tightened. He left the candle on the mantel and stepped forward.

  Merrin threw out her hand. “Come no further.” Tears glistened on her cheeks, her eyes pleading.

  He spread his palms. “Please. Allow me to explain.”

  “I kent ye loved her, but ye lied to me.”

  “Ye are wrong.” Ian took another step toward her. “I said I thought I loved her, but then I met you.” She drew in a stuttered breath and Ian crossed to within an arm’s length of her. “I do no’ want there to be any secrets between us. I told ye about the bairn because it is tearing up me guts.”

  “Stop.” Merrin shook her palms, then clasped them to her face. “’Tis too much to bear. I’m but a simple lass. Me head is spinning out of control.”

  “I want to hold a bairn in me arms.” He knelt in front of her. “Our babe, Merrin.”

  “How can ye say that when she has your seed growing in her belly? Och,” she wailed. “Me insides ache like ye reached in and pulled them out with your bare hands.”

  He rested his palm on her shoulder. “I’m so very sorry.”

  She jerked away. “Do no’ touch me.”

  Ian clenched his fist. “Please.” He hesitated. “Come above stairs with me.”

  She snapped her head up, the corners of her mouth drawn down as if she were in unimaginable pain. “Just go and leave me be.”

  Ian stared. He hated to leave her like this. What more could he say?

  “Go, I said!”

  “If ye do no’ want me here, I’ll be in me chamber. Do ye remember how to find it?”

  She nodded once and dipped her head into the crook of her arm.

  ***

  Ian’s shoulders slumped as he dragged himself up the stairs. He loathed leaving her alone, but she’d been so insistent. God, her face reflected the torture he bore in his heart. He should have kept his mouth shut about Janet. What good would come of it? Janet was headed to Barra with a new husband—and he thought her unborn child was Ruairi’s spawn. Ian grumbled under his breath—he’d never meet the babe he’d fathered. How many other men in the world had fathered bastards they knew nothing about?

  Never again would he be in this predicament. He’d make Merrin forgive him. She just needed time. He’d rebuild her cottage—better and stronger. He stopped mid-stride. He had the coin and jewels. Niall’s herb business could become renowned throughout the Hebrides, mayhap even all of Scotland. He now had a galley worthy of sailing the open waters. In addition, he had the money to purchase healing essences from all over the world. His stomach flipped. He’d discuss his ideas with Merrin in the morning—surely she would come round by then.

  Ian paced his chamber, his thoughts bouncing between Merrin’s upset and his idea for their new venture. He must marry the lass straight away. He’d discuss Merrin’s sudden melancholy with his mother in the morning. Lady Anne would know how best to proceed.

  He tried to lie down, but couldn’t even close his eyes. Sweet dawn come soon, there is far too much to do to simply lie abed.

  He jumped up and crossed to the door. Holding his hand on the latch, he hesitated. Merrin had told him to stay away. He needed to give her time. Besides, she was most likely asleep—Ian knew full well how his mother’s overstuffed armchair could lull a person into slumber.

  He traipsed back to the bed and kicked off his boots. He crawled under the bedclothes and stared at the green drapes above. The bed was more comfortable than he’d remembered, and after a time, his eyelids grew heavy.

  He must have fallen asleep, because he sat up with a jolt. Blood-curdling screams resounded through the window.

  Merrin!

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Merrin’s eyes were still swollen from crying herself to sleep when they flew open. Guards burst through the solar door.

  “There she is,” a burly, mail-clad man yelled.

  She jolted in her seat, tugging the silk across her chest.

  Two guards latched on to her arms. Heart in her throat, Merrin twisted and tried to yank away. “No!”

  The largest one sneered. “Ye’re going to burn, witch.”

  The hair at her nape stood on end. Merrin’s hand flew to her neck. The gown’s lace still tightly enclosed her mark. How did they know?

  A grey-haired woman dressed in black pushed through the door and pointed. “’Tis her—she killed her ma, then she killed me Niall, and now she’s brought the ague onto us all.”

  Merrin’s eyes darted between the angry faces in the growing crowd. “What? No. Ye’re wrong.”

  “Ye should have been burned at birth.” The woman sauntered forward, eyes narrowed. “Take her to the courtyard,” she spewed with bitter bile.

  “Nay! Where is Ian? Where is Lady Anne and the laird? This is madness.” Merrin struggled and tried to fight, but the soldiers lifted her off her feet. Without the stomacher, the gown’s front pulled open, her stays still wrapped around her torso, partially unlaced, exposing her shift. God in heaven, why hadn’t she righted herself during the night?

  As they yanked her through the corridor, Merrin struggled to break free. “Nay,” she cried over and over.

  The guards muscled her down the tower stairs and pushed her into the great hall.

  Barking and yowling, Gar strained against a rope that tethered him across the immense room. Ice coursed through her blood. Someone had thought this through. Merrin glanced over her shoulder. The old woman smirked. What did she mean, “her” Niall?

  But there was no time to think. Merrin’s arms wrenched under the guards’ heavy-handed grasp. When they burst out the heavy oak doors, the sunlight blinded her. Merrin tried to tug up her arm to shade her eyes, but the man holding her dug her fingers into her flesh like a tourniquet.

  Her heart thudding against her chest, Merrin squinted at the faces through the bright light. “Ian! Where are ye?”

  The steely-eyed sentry roared with laughter. “He’s no’ coming. No honorable man would rescue a witch.”

  Merrin flinched as if the heartless guard had punched her in the gut. “Help! Someone. I’m no demon.”

  “Light the torches,” a woman screeched.

  “Burn her.” A man’s voice rose over the crowd and started a chant. “Burn her…burn her…”

  Screaming, Merrin’s throat grated and her knees buckled. Over and over she shrieked until her voice went raw. The courtyard whirled around her as people lunged in with their hideous taunts. Niall had warned it was too dangerous to go to Brochel, and now she would pay with her flesh.

  “Ian,” she shrieked, wrenching her arms to no avail. Where had he gone? Why had she sent him away in the dead of night? And now he’d forsaken her. Merrin’s gaze darted across the faces—there was not one from the dai
s the night before, not one with a sympathetic eye. They all shouted and jeered, calling for her to be mercilessly burned.

  Two men marched ahead, bearing torches. Merrin struggled harder. “Nay!” Bile burned the back of her throat. This couldn’t be happening.

  “Stop.” A deep voice echoed across the bailey walls.

  Merrin gasped. Ian!

  The love of her life barreled into the courtyard, barefooted, sword trained on the largest guard. “Release her.”

  “I cannot.” The ugly man puffed out his chest, weighed down with a coat of mail.

  “Ian,” Merrin whimpered. If only she could say she was sorry. If only she’d gone with him last night.

  Pulling her away, they dragged her toward the stake, wood piled underneath—ready to burn her alive. Merrin’s trembling flesh bristled.

  A half-dozen sentries marched into line, swords drawn.

  Baring his teeth, Ian faced them all, panning his sword across the scene.

  The old hag raced forward. “She’s brought the ague upon us. Our own laird is fevered—nearly half the clan is abed with the sweat.” The woman pointed at Merrin. “And all since she arrived.” Her voice accusing, hateful.

  Merrin trembled. How could she have brought an ague upon them?

  “Widow Bethag, still looking to cause a stir?” Ian growled as he pointed his claymore at the big man’s throat. “Me brother had a cough before we arrived. He told me himself.”

  Bethag sauntered up to him with confidence, fearless of the deadly weapon Ian held in his hand. “Aye, but what of all the others?”

  A serving maid ran into courtyard, her hair covered by a white coif. “Lady Anne’s fevered as well.”