The Highlander's Dangerous Temptation

by TERRI BRISBIN

  ‘And Laird MacCallum...Athdar is my husband.’

  Her voice rang out clearly and did not shake as he was certain his had. She had allowed him to seek an honourable way to manage this disaster before his people. Though complete annihilation was yet a possibility once his overlord and her father discovered this unsanctioned match, this gave him a respite to see things righted.

  At first silence reigned, then someone in the crowd began clapping. Broc called out her name, ‘Isobel! Lady MacCallum!’

  The rest began chanting it in her honour, accepting his words and their vow—understanding that honour’s demands had been answered.

  ‘Isobel! Lady MacCallum!’ they shouted. Then, ‘A MacChauluim!’

  The sound was deafening as it echoed around the yard and off the stone buildings. Athdar waited for it to fade before kissing her hand and releasing her. They needed to speak, but first he needed to see to a few things.

  ‘Wait for me in my clerk’s chamber? I will be there shortly,’ he said to her. ‘There are things to settle between us that this declaration did not.’

  This time his words were met with acceptance rather than the usual mutinous expression and he nodded to her. Padruig walked to him, holding out the sword he’d retrieved and they both watched as his new wife walked away.

  ‘She may have just saved your miserable life, but I suspect Rurik will still want your bollocks,’ Padruig said, spitting in the dirt at their feet. ‘What will you do with her now?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ he admitted. He’d not planned on having another wife, or even allowing another woman close to him, so he could not even gather thoughts about what next. ‘I guess we will come to some agreement on things between us and then wait for her family.’

  Padruig laughed then, aloud and hearty, the sound of it filling the yard. Others stopped and looked at him before carrying on with their duties. Padruig slapped him on the back, hard enough to make him stumble. ‘I want to see that.’

  Athdar went to the stables and to the barrels that held fresh water and washed himself clean of the sweat and blood that covered him. He could not speak to Isobel until he removed all signs of his debauchery. Though some walked past him, no one approached or spoke to him. He took the time to try to sort through how his life had spiralled so out of his control in such a short time.

  If he could only remember what had happened between them last night. He rubbed his face and scrubbed his head, hoping that some memories would loosen within him. By the time he was well scrubbed and clean, nothing—no images, no words—had come to him. His only other choice was to ask Isobel, but after seeing her condition this morn, he did not want her to remember or relive whatever he’d done.

  He made his way to his chambers and changed his trews and shirt for clean garments and then went to find her in the room he used for keeping his land rolls and records. It was more of a private sanctuary for him than anything else. Broc and others had urged him to request a brother from the nearby abbey to serve him as clerk, but he’d resisted.

  Athdar approached the door, ill at ease about the coming discussion between them. He lifted the latch and eased the door open to find Isobel studying his collection, albeit small, of books. They’d been a gift from his mother on the anniversary of his birth for several years after he’d mastered the ability to read. Jocelyn had added to them, occasionally sending him something she thought might interest him. There was a Bible, some histories about Greece and Rome and his mother’s book of hours. A modest collection for someone with the lands he held, but not as extensive as Connor’s lands, titles, wealth, power or library.

  ‘I had not thought to share these with you,’ he said softly, startling her from her examination of them. ‘You are probably accustomed to many more than that.’

  ‘Oh, I am permitted access to the laird’s library, but my own library numbers only a few more.’ She turned then and watched him close the door.

  ‘Would you prefer it open?’ Did she fear him now in the quiet privacy? In spite of her brave intervention in the yard, she must have known she was safe there.

  ‘Nay,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I think we have matters to discuss that should remain between us.’ Isobel moved around the table he kept there and sat on one of the stools. And then she watched and waited for him to begin.

  ‘I...’

  He was used to giving orders to men. He was used to making arrangements for the villagers. It had been years since he last answered to any woman as ‘husband’ and he could not think where to begin. With no memory of what had happened between them, he did not know how to apologise to her.

  ‘You did me no harm, Athdar,’ she whispered. ‘I am not injured.’

  He wanted to believe her. He had never in his life taken a woman by force and he had seen carefully to both Mairi’s and Seonag’s first time when he lay with them as husband and wife. He knew how to have a care for their tender sensibilities. And in spite of her apparent willingness to explore passion with him that night a week or so ago, he had no idea of what he’d done if drunk and unaware.

  ‘I am well,’ she said again, staring at his face. ‘You were very drunk and came to the room confused and staggering. After you broke the jug, you fell down on the bed and dragged me with you. I...’ It was her turn to hesitate now and he did not wish her to be more disconcerted by having to speak of it.

  ‘Isobel, I know it will be difficult to remove the memories of last night from your mind. I want you to know that I will not force you to share my bed.’

  He thought to give her reassurance, but that mutinous lower lip appeared once more, confusing the hell out of him. Added to that, his body reacted to the very thought of her in his bed and rose as though that deed was imminent.

  ‘The handfasting satisfies the needs of honour, but we can work out an acceptable arrangement between the two of us. If you wish it?’

  ‘I understand that you were not yourself, Athdar. I have seen grief change people. I have seen men in their cups. You were devastated last night over your friend’s death. I do not expect that behaviour will be repeated, so I am not worried over what will happen between us from now on.’

  He wanted to laugh at how wifely her words sounded—the ones about that behaviour and not happening again could have been uttered by any married woman to her husband after a night’s excess. She was extraordinary in accepting what had happened. But then her expression became serious.

  ‘Are you able to accept this handfasting even though you have sworn not to marry again? Will you hate me now for making you break your oath?’

  He lost his breath at her question. Not because he would hate her. He would not. But he had refused any thoughts of marriage for so long for such strong reasons, he wondered if he would simply be able to accept it and let his reservations and fears go.

  ‘I will not hate you, Isobel. I think it was clear to both of us long ago that the feelings we have for each other speak of something other than that.’

  She blushed then and glanced away, he hoped remembering the passion between them that night outside his chamber. A passion that promised to burn and delight them if allowed to burst into fullness. If he had not destroyed it in last night’s debauchery. She tucked some loosened strands of her hair behind her ear and met his gaze once more.

  ‘More than that, I...’ He stopped then, trying to put into words how he felt. Athdar was not accustomed to sharing such things with a woman, but this situation was far different from any previous betrothal or relationship and Isobel deserved to know. ‘I admit that I wanted no wife, for many reasons, but now that you are she, I think we can accommodate ourselves to it. And my first order as your husband is to stop trouncing me in our games of chess.’ She laughed and he let the sound of it seep into his soul.

  He could not admit to the depth of his feelings for her. Not tell her how much he liked an
d admired her. Not tell her how much he appreciated the way she’d acted more as part of his clan than as a guest these past weeks. For now, she knew of his attraction to her and the growing passion between them.

  That would be enough for now. He would let her find her way in this and follow her lead.

  And, God and the fates willing, they would have an understanding before her father arrived at his gates.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lairig Dubh

  ‘He comes,’ Connor said to his wife as he watched Rurik approach the keep from the yard. ‘And he looks none too happy about this.’

  ‘I did not expect him to be happy, Connor,’ Jocelyn replied. ‘I—’

  ‘I think I know what you had in mind, love. I just think you meddled far more in this than you should have. He has the right as her father...’ His words drifted off as the topic of their discussion threw open the door and strode inside.

  ‘Connor, there is still no word,’ Rurik bellowed. ‘None.’

  ‘And there will not be any until the pass clears, Rurik,’ he answered. He read the worry and the anger in his commander’s, and friend’s, eyes.

  ‘She will be cared for, Rurik,’ Jocelyn said softly. ‘She is safe until we can travel back to her.’

  ‘Your idea of safe and mine differs, Jocelyn, when your brother is involved.’

  Connor watched as Jocelyn took offence at the words and tone of Rurik’s words and stepped between them. For as long as he’d been married to Jocelyn, he had never seen Rurik take a stance against her in any matter, so Connor was not quite certain about this disagreement. Still, his words had been an insult to Jocelyn’s brother, one even he could hear.

  ‘Athdar knows your feelings about him, Rurik. As does Isobel.’

  ‘As does everyone here in Lairig Dubh,’ Jocelyn muttered under her breath. Crossing her arms over her chest, she mirrored Rurik’s stance. The battle was on and he stood in the middle of his long-time friend and the commander of all MacLerie warriors and his wife. Not an enviable place to be. He let out a sigh.

  ‘He is an ally and my brother-by-marriage, pledged in fealty to my service, Rurik. He answers to me.’

  ‘She is my daughter. He answers to me.’

  A stalemate for now, knowing that Rurik would never disobey a direct order. ‘When the pass opens, we will send some men to retrieve her.’ When Rurik rose to his full height, Connor recognised his discontent and desire to argue. ‘Those are my orders for now, Rurik. You have your duties—see to them now and until I give you leave to do anything else.’

  ‘But, Connor...’ he began.

  Damn it, where was Duncan, his peacemaker, when he needed him for things like this?

  ‘You may not like him, but Isobel is safe. She is her father’s daughter and will not be taken advantage of or abused. You know it and I know it,’ he offered, trying to reduce the tension in the situation.

  A stricken expression filled Rurik’s eyes for a second at Connor’s reference to Isobel as Rurik’s daughter and, if he had not been staring at his friend in that exact moment, Connor would have missed it. Something ran deeper here than Connor knew about. Rurik was hiding something about Isobel. He thought Rurik might have realised the slip, for he nodded to both of them and left without another word.

  Connor faced his wife and could tell with a glance that she’d seen it, as well, but there did not seem to be the surprise in her gaze that he must have in his own. She knew something. She knew whatever it was that Rurik kept secret about Isobel. And from the unseemly haste in which she bid him farewell and left, almost on Rurik’s heels, Connor suddenly felt like the only one who did not know.

  And as the MacLerie and Earl of Douran, he did not like that feeling.

  MacCallum lands

  If, at this moment, she was exactly where she wanted most to be, why did she feel so horribly guilty? So guilty, in fact, that she wished the MacCallums had a priest here so he could hear her confession. As she sat at table in the hall, next to her husband, accepting the salutations of his kith and kin, all she could think of was the deception she was committing.

  Oh, she had tried to tell the truth. First with Nessa and Jean and then to Athdar himself. But they all seemed to want to be deceived by the half-truths they thought they saw.

  Isobel understood why he had offered her a handfasting union. Even if they believed her, someone would not. There would always be stories and questions about the real truth and her reputation and honour would suffer. Honour, to be preserved, demanded satisfaction and, short of her father killing Athdar, marriage was considered the correct, long-standing and customary response.

  So, here she sat. Lady MacCallum. Married to the man she wanted to marry. Married to a man who did not want this. She glanced around the hall at the subdued wedding supper and wondered if any other man had been so dead set against marriage and then forced into it against his will? Could any good come of this? In the yard, he had sought atonement for what he thought he’d done to her, allowing his men to batter the sin out of him.

  What then could she do to expiate her sins?

  Their talk this morning, after he attempted to die for dishonouring her, had gone well. She tried to admit he’d not done what he thought he had, but he was intent on believing it...or suspecting it, for he had no memory of what had happened. After being battered and bruised in the yard, there was no way to differentiate the cut on his hand from the broken jug from any of the many other slashes and tears in his flesh.

  Athdar rose and went to speak with his friend’s widow. As she watched him speaking quietly to Ailis now that her husband had been laid to rest, a thought of how she could atone struck her.

  If she simply carried out her original plan now, to show him that his worries about marrying again had nothing to do with a curse of God or the fates, she might actually help him.

  Curses, she’d discovered in her readings, were like a good story—a small kernel of truth surrounded by layers and layers of lies, told convincingly over and over again. Athdar might believe in some curse, but Isobel would look closer with an unbiased eye to find that truth.

  There was no other person who could seek the truth about his actions—the strange and frightening lapses in his memory, the inappropriate rages and more that none spoke of but knew of for a certain. As his wife, she could offer him solace in his moments of need. She could watch over him and protect him in ways no one else could or would, whether they be kith or kin.

  Only his wife would have standing and power to do it. So, though she thought to marry him and simply prove the silliness of a curse, mayhap now her wifely task would be to save him from the darkness and loss she’d witnessed within him?

  If she became the wife she knew he needed, one who loved him and stood by his side and encouraged him to be the man and laird she knew he could be, one who was faithful and useful, mayhap he could find it in his heart to forgive her when he discovered the truth?

  For, the first he bedded her, he would find her virginity intact and expose the lie.

  From his words, he would not rush that event, so it gave her time to show him that she was perfect for him, and to discover why he believed himself responsible for Robbie’s death. And who the others were he mentioned. And why he thought that the women he’d chosen to marry were part of some curse.

  Athdar rose from the stool next to Ailis and returned to her, hesitantly placing his hand on hers. This could be the nice part of being handfasted—she did not have to act demur when he touched her. She could accept it and some time soon, when they were accustomed to each other, even instigate it herself.

  ‘I would speak with you about something, Isobel,’ he said, sitting in his chair and leaning in nearer to her for a private moment. She noticed he did not release her hand.

  ‘What is it, Dar?’ she asked. His eyes widened at her use
of it. ‘If you would prefer me to call you Athdar...?’

  ‘Nay, I like the way it sounds coming from you. My question is rather would you prefer to remain in your own chamber or if you will move into mine?’

  There was a gleam of hope in his gaze as he asked her. Once more, giving her the power to decide something this personal. But then, it was not a private matter, was it? The whole clan would know she kept separate chambers and would believe that his actions had not made things right. Worse, it would give lie to his claim and public declaration that they had handfasted last night before he shared her bed if she now refused to sleep in his.

  ‘Which would you prefer?’ she asked him back. Other than for duty and honour and to right what he thought he’d done wrong, he’d given no indication what he wanted of her. He looked away and then back at her before speaking.

  ‘Many marriages have begun on less than what we have between us, Bel. You know I like and respect you. You know I want you. I would like this to be as though tonight is our first night. I cannot take back what happened, but I swear it will never be like that again between us.’

  He lifted her hand to his mouth and touched his lips to the inside of her wrist, sending chills of fire down her body. There was danger here, for if she granted his request, it would take her, take them, down a path from which there was no return.

  And yet, was that not what had brought her here? It was not as though she wished for a different ending—she had come here intent on convincing him that marriage between them was the right thing.

  So, why was she hesitating?

  ‘Aye, Dar. I will share your chamber.’

  He called one of the servants over and sent her off to find Glenna as soon as Isobel gave her consent. By the time they sought their rest, it would be together in his chamber. The guilt about allowing him to believe the lie still assailed her and Isobel made a promise to herself—until she knew he committed freely to this marriage, she would not allow him to consummate it. That way, when the year had passed, they would have no reason to reaffirm it in a formal marriage.