by Tessa Murran
***
It was a bitter ride away from Mauldsmyre. Cormac rode behind his father and Ramsay, both of whom were still cursing and muttering, turning now and then to shoot flinty looks at his bride. He could tell his father was angry with him too, for agreeing to take her.
He turned in the saddle and took a glance at Ravenna following on behind him, and then turned back around quickly. On their way here, with their foolish banter, he had not spared a thought for the feelings of a girl given to an enemy, what she must think of him, how frightened she must feel, to be taken off to a hostile clan, away from everything she had ever known. Now he pitied her a little. Lyall wasn’t making things any better, either.
‘I’ve heard it said, that bedding a woman you don’t want is a bit like charging into battle - just grit your teeth and get it over with as quickly as possible, without shaming yourself and shitting your braies.’
Cormac was quiet for a moment, and a smile spread over his mouth, as some of the tension eased out of him.
‘Who says I don’t want her?’
Lyall glanced back. ‘Well if you do, and I can’t say I blame you, for she looks well enough, that’s a good start, I suppose. But beware, women have a way of wriggling into your heart like a worm in an apple and eating it from the inside out, especially bonnie ones.’
‘And you know so much about women, brother?’
‘I know enough.’
‘You seem disappointed, Lyall? Are you jealous that my new wife is beddable, and that I may actually enjoy my wedding night after all?’
‘Or maybe you’ll fall into a drunken stupor, and she’ll suffocate you in your sleep, Cormac.’
‘Then I will die a happy man,’ he said smirking.
Lyall shook his head. ‘You know this truce is a sham Cormac?’
‘Aye, Gowan will turn on us, first chance he gets.’
‘That’s why he gave us his bastard. He does not care if she ends up on the wrong side of a quarrel.
‘Aye, and he is out in the open about it. The Bruce will not care. He does not want unity he only wants a show of unity, so we must all fall into line. But when the fighting ends…’
‘You will still have an unwanted wife.’
‘She will fall into line too, Lyall, I will see to it. Ravenna will suffer her lot and make do, like the rest of us.’
‘We have to stop soon. We cannot ride on through the night with her in tow, it’s too cold.’
Cormac swivelled in his saddle and looked back at Ravenna. Her face was pale, and she was huddled into her cloak, now that the sun was lowering and night was coming on. The sky above was clear and crisp, there would be a harsh frost.
‘There is a farm not far from here, they will give us shelter.’
‘Not an ideal wedding night, is it Cormac?’
‘It was never going to be that, given the circumstances.’
‘Will it ever end, this fighting, this struggle, brother?’
‘Not until Scotland is free.’
‘It’s all we’ve ever known, isn’t it?’
‘Aye, but Lyall, it is a fight to the death we are in. A man has to do whatever is necessary to survive.’
‘Even bedding a pretty Gowan girl?’
‘Aye, even that…but not tonight.’
Lyall clapped a hand on Cormac’s shoulder. ‘I applaud your great sacrifice, brother.’
As night was coming in, they arrived at the farm, just on the border of Buchanan land. They were welcomed inside, and a bed was arranged for Ravenna. Having refused any supper, she immediately curled up on it, with her back to them, her cloak pulled about her like a shield, and that is how she stayed, while the others fell asleep in front of the fire.
Cormac glanced over at her in the gloom. Once they reached Beharra, once he did this thing and took this stranger into his bed, planted his seed in her belly, he would be taking Ravenna into his family forever. She would become his to protect. Their joining could not be undone.
He fell asleep wondering, on the one hand, how the hell he was going to bring himself to do it, for she clearly hated him and, on the other, how he was going to stop himself from doing it, for he wanted her. He hated to admit it, but he found that every time he looked at Ravenna, lust surged through his loins, unstoppable and savage. He had avoided speaking to her for just that reason.
So Cormac lay awake for hours, with an ache in his balls and anger swirling in his mind at just how much Baodan Gowan had managed to unsettle him.
Chapter Four
All the way home, Lyall would not shut up. It was midday and having a long ride ahead of them, they had set off at dawn, and Cormac swore his brother had been talking since then.
‘It vexes me, Cormac. I simply cannot fathom why that old bastard Gowan would gift you such a pretty wife. I was sure he would give you the ugliest one. That is what you would do in his place, is it not?’
‘No, because I have but one sister, and she is bonnie.’
‘But there is no reason for him to be so generous.’
‘Ravenna is a bastard, and he has given her to me with nothing, no dowry. Fair she may be, but she is his least valuable child, and there is more insult here than either of us can see. I intend to get to the bottom of it, once we reach Beharra.’
‘How will you do that, Cormac, by bullying her?’
‘I doubt it will come to that.’
‘And I doubt she’ll scare easily. Look at her, Cormac, calm as can be.’
Indeed, his wife seemed to be indifferent to everything around her. She sat her horse well, did not complain about the length of the journey or remark on the un-seasonally warm day they were enjoying. The weather had been kind, the sky crisp and clear, a weak sun was softening the frost from the trees and hedgerows. Since they had set off, Ravenna had made no attempt at conversation nor did she seem to expect any, which was just as well, for Lyall’s prodding was stoking Cormac’s anger to boiling point.
Having had all night to stew on his lust and, confronted by Ravenna’s indifference, he had woken in a foul mood. Cormac had the distinct impression that Baodan had wounded him more than he knew in gifting him Ravenna, and it irked him. It did not help that he wanted her, in fact, that was the worst of it.
That Baodan dare throw a bastard at his feet and expect him to take her, stuck in his craw, though he’d had the good sense not to rise to the insult. The King would have no time for a foolish squabble over illegitimacy. All he required was for the feud to be settled enough for him to be able to rely on Buchanan and Gowan men and arms swelling his army, instead of wiping each other out, over reiving and old grudges. The call to battle would come soon, Cormac could feel it in his bones.
He stole a glance at Ravenna now and then, following behind. Her hair shone in the sunlight, fiery streaks in it here and there, and her face was fair, though he thought it a mask of some kind for it was so expressionless. Baodan Gowan had a knack for hiding his true feelings while his mind whirred with plots and schemes. Perhaps his daughter was the same kind of creature. She was a Gowan, after all, and treachery was in their blood.
Fair she was though, it could not be denied, and not in the soft, delicate way that some women were, remaining child-like and helpless, no matter how old they got. This one was made of sterner stuff, she had a wild look about her, something savage, and she would test him, perhaps. Her proud demeanour intrigued him, so, he turned his horse and drew alongside hers. Now seemed as good a time as any to get to know the woman who would, from now on, be sharing his bed, and it might be easier to draw her out, now they were away from Gowan’s influence.
‘You don’t say much, Ravenna. Are you always this quiet?’
She looked at him coldly. ‘I prefer to speak only when I have something worth saying.’
‘A good quality in a wife,’ said Cormac, ‘what others do you have?’
‘None that come to mind, and none that would impress a Buchanan, I am sure.’
‘Your father seemed to have little tho
ught for your welfare. Did he force you into wedding me?’
‘I agreed to the marriage, plain and simple.’
‘But it can’t have been a welcome proposition. I’m sure I am not the man you dreamt of marrying.’
She looked at him directly, grey eyes widening and, for just an instant, he saw the mask slip and there was anguish behind it. But that vulnerability disappeared as quickly as it came.
Cormac pressed on, not really knowing why he had to prod that wound. ‘You agreed to marry a Buchanan, your sworn enemy, why?’
‘It is a daughter’s duty to obey her father’s command.’
‘Then why do I get the feeling you have never obeyed in your life.’ He gave her a smile, but she did not return it. Instead, she regarded him stonily.
‘Ravenna, I am no fool, and I know that this marriage is as unwelcome to you as it is to me but, if you are obedient and show respect, you will not find me a cruel husband. I would not take out my enmity for Baodan Gowan on his daughter.’
‘You should, Lord, for he gave you the runt of the litter, did he not?’
Cormac gave her a sharp look. So, she could prod a wound too, and it was obvious she had been hurt by his dismay in the kirk and, surprisingly, she was meeting it head on.
‘If I offended you, forgive me. Your father has connived against us many times over the years, and when he agreed to marry his daughter, gave his oath before the King, he never said anything about you being…’
‘A bastard? What does it matter? If I am a bastard, I am not ashamed of it. There are worse things in this world to be ashamed of, and maybe you should examine your own conscience before calling my father conniving.’
Cormac leant over and grabbed the reins of her horse, bringing it to a standstill.
‘Is there something amiss with your ears, woman? Did you not hear me when I said I expect to be obeyed and respected? I may give you some quarter at first but do not test me, woman, no matter how much of a disappointing husband I may be to you.’
‘You are not disappointing. You are exactly as I expected you to be.’
‘And what is that?’ he snapped.
‘A big, mindless brute,’ she said firmly.
Anger flared in him, frustration, and something else too, a quick pulse of desire.
How proud and bold she was - for now at least. His reluctant bride would need to be tamed and quickly. Why did that thought quicken his loins and stir excitement in him?
‘We will be at Beharra soon, and then you can rest. Perhaps that will sweeten your temper.’
Cormac spurred his horse forward with an angry kick to its ribs. His first impression had been right - she was a bitch. Why waste his pity on her?
Ravenna’s heart thumped against her chest. She tried to steady her shaking hands. It had taken every ounce of self-control to stay calm in the face of Cormac Buchanan’s questions, and when he had mentioned the man of her dreams, she’d found it hard not to cry.
Her every instinct screamed at her to ride away from him, as fast as she could, but she could not give in to fear. She had to stay with this stranger, this big, dark man. She had to obey him and serve him, she had to find a way to swallow her anger and be submissive. Would he expect her to share his bed tonight, to let him inside of her? It didn’t bear thinking about, being used like that. Back at Mauldsmyre, all those men had debated her worth as if she were nothing, just an animal without feelings. No one had cared what she thought, and Cormac Buchanan had made it as plain as day that he considered her beneath him.
There was violence just below the surface of this man, she could feel it. He had the look of the devil about him, with his black hair and seething, dark eyes. If she did not stand up to him, he would eat her alive. His life as a warrior was written on his face. There was a white line of scar tissue cutting through one eyebrow. Sword or axe most probably, and a blow that would have blinded him, were it but a little deeper. It did not spoil what was, in fairness, a striking face, but it gave his brown eyes a vicious look and made her want to turn away from them.
This man had wed her when he was dirty from the road, wild hair sticking up here and there as he had run his hand through it in agitation at her father’s dishonesty. Perhaps that was his way of calming himself, as he had not exploded with rage, as most men would have done when goaded. No, this one would wait to strike back, he would stew and rage silently, and then lash out with cutting violence when you least expected it. That made him far more dangerous than men who shouted and blustered.
She shuddered at the thought of his huge hands on her. His close-cropped beard looked rough as if it could scour her skin right off. How many women would he have had before her, a great many most probably?
She wanted him to look like a big, ugly pig. She wanted his face to suit his character, but it did not, and Ravenna grudgingly had to admit that he was a fine figure of a man, handsome even, in a rough-hewn way. How she resented him for that, for she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he didn’t really want her. He had made that quite clear at the altar. Why did that hurt so much? Surely she had no pride left to wound after all these years of being shunned?
Her heart sank. This man was far more intimidating than she had expected him to be. She looked at the enormous sword swinging against his hip and imagined it slicing into flesh and bone. Those hands, powerful and broad, controlling his huge horse with an iron hand, terrified her. There was no gentleness about him, no kindness in his eyes, only a fierce intensity which skewered her like a pig on a spit. There was no hiding from that look, it was as if all her insides were exposed for him to see.
She meant nothing to this man, and she never would.
Chapter Five
They did not reach Beharra until night was closing in. From a distance it looked like a savage place, perched atop a rocky outcrop rising above the bleak moorland, a dark tower of impregnable stone surrounded by a stockade of jagged wood. Some trees hugged its base, which sat near a river, cutting through the valley and away to the south. Ravenna could hear water rushing underneath, in full flood, as they crossed a stone bridge. Through the gloom of the tree canopy, she looked upwards. Anyone trying to scale those walls in the heat of battle was likely to get impaled, if not by the stakes themselves, by arrows flying from the high tower of the main building beyond.
The skies had darkened, and thunder rumbled over the distant hills. Rain had begun to fall by the time they were at the gates, blowing in sideways, turning Ravenna’s limbs to ice, despite the rabbit fur lining her mantle.
As they rode into the inner yard, Ravenna looked around her, trying to make sense of her new home in the fading light. The few people who had not taken shelter from the rain stared at her with interest, and some hostility. There was no welcome party to greet Cormac or his new bride, no joyous celebration of his marriage, instead, it seemed they were in haste to usher her inside as if she were some shameful secret. Ravenna had never felt so alone.
Cormac dismounted and barked orders at the groomsman to stable the horses.
Ravenna took a deep breath and swung herself off her horse. As she did, thunder clapped right overhead, and the horse scuttled sideways and away from her. She would have fallen forward into the mud were it not for a fierce grip on her waist, hauling her upwards. Ravenna spun around, and he was there, beside her, glowering, his eyes angry and impatient. Where he touched her, it felt as though her flesh was burning.
‘Get inside out of the rain,’ he said curtly, before dragging her up the steps and through the main doorway of Mauldsmyre, sweeping her right into the main hall.
Everything was in semi-darkness as the storm closed in, the shutters barred against the cold. A little light came from some torches and from the fireplace where, thankfully, a fire was roaring, sending a sputtering glow across the rough-hewn grey walls. There was a smell of mildew, the rushes on the floor were old and ragged, and in dire need of changing. It was a neglected kind of place, with little effort at comfort, as if its occupants had g
iven up trying to make it a comfortable home.
Cormac pulled her in front of the fire. ‘Warm yourself while I see to that our chamber is prepared,’ he said, before rushing off.
Our chamber? So, they were to share a bed, there was no escaping it now, no hope that she could sleep alone, with some respite from the strain of being with strange people in a strange place. Ravenna shivered before the fire as her fears and uncertainties swelled to the point where she thought she would scream.
Her father said his man would come soon and make himself known to her. That man would carry information back to him, things he could use against Cormac. She had to ingratiate herself with this family, burrow in like a worm and wait and listen. It was a daunting task.
She felt a draught lick at her back and turned to see Ramsay, her husband’s man, standing right behind her. He was about Cormac’s age but there the similarity ended. He was unpleasant looking, with lank hair and a long face, bones jutting, like a skull. His eyes were small and furtive, and he narrowed them at her.
‘So, you are to share my Lord’s bed tonight. He would have done better to house you in the stables with the other livestock, for a brood-mare is all you are, and all you’ll ever be, woman.’
Ravenna did not rise to his insult. Let the fool have his fun, his opinion meant nothing to her. She was damned if she would be cowed by a servant.
‘Lurking in doorways, eavesdropping…Ramsay is it? Is that what you do all day, scurry about this castle like a rat, doing your master’s bidding?’
He looked her up and down slowly, his eyes travelling over every curve of her body with contempt. It made her skin crawl.
‘Do you dread your wedding night? It will be far more distasteful for Cormac than it is for you. What a common look you have about you, bred for the fields, not a Laird’s bed. He will have to lower himself a notch to do the deed.’
