by K. E. Saxon
Touching her father’s sleeve, Maryn said, “Actually, Papa, Daniel had chosen a few worthies as potential suitors for Jesslyn’s hand. She was betrothed until only a few days past to Callum.”
Laird Donald’s eyebrows shot up. “Callum is back at the Maclean holding—and he is betrothed to this fair lass?”
Jesslyn busied herself portioning out some bread and cheese for her son, glad that Maryn had taken over the telling of the tale.
“Nay, they are no longer betrothed.” Maryn repeated. “They discovered they were better suited as friends than as husband and wife and the betrothal was abandoned.”
Searching the hall, he said, “Will Callum be joining us for the feast?”
Shaking her head, Maryn replied, “He will not be here this eve. He left a few days past to fulfill some duty that the MacGregor requested of him.” Her voice sad, she sighed and said, “When he left, he had decided to make the MacGregor clan his own; which was quite distressing to Grandmother Maclean, as you can imagine, for her daughter had lately married Laird MacGregor and moved to that holding as well.”
“Aye, I had heard that her daughter had wed. Mayhap Callum’s removal to that clan is for the best. For he surely had some unease living amongst his Maclean clansmen after being deposed as laird.”
Maryn nodded. “Aye, you are no doubt right.” She glanced toward the doorway once more. “Ah, here’s my husband—and, look you, Papa! He has Grandmother Maclean with him! ‘Tis pleased I am that she decided to join us for the feast as she despises the noise. I was worried that she would change her mind.”
*
Laird Donald rose. Stepping off the dais, he gently grasped Lady Maclean’s outstretched hand as she approached. Leaning forward, he gave her a quick, affectionate kiss on the cheek. “It pleases me that you have deigned to join this clamorous lot so that we may enjoy a meal together.”
Lady Maclean smiled. “Tho’ the din does offend my old ears, I would not miss this feast. For we celebrate your visit as we rejoice in the knowledge that both our families will soon have a new member.”
Daniel assisted Lady Maclean to her place beside him on the long bench. After seeing that all were seated, he motioned to the steward to instruct his staff to serve the next course.
*
Bao poked at the fire with the long tree limb he’d stripped of its branches, erotic images floating through his mind of other, more alluring limbs. Limbs wrapped around his waist as he found his own particular paradise between them. But ‘twas a stolen paradise.
Closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead with his fingertips, he sighed, resigned to his guilt. Jesslyn had believed him to be her husband, at least at first; he understood that now. And because of that fact, he blamed himself for their unwise fleshly coupling. When he’d come upon her, naked and wet, just as she’d been in his dream, he’d stood transfixed, unable to move. Then she’d risen from the pool and beckoned to him, and just as he’d done in his dream, he’d taken her invitation—and taken her. It had only been afterwards, as they lay on their backs, side-by-side, each silently staring toward the sky-blue heavens, that the suspicion had surfaced. He’d questioned her then, and she’d confirmed it with a somber nod of her head. He’d felt impelled then to tell her who he really was, his relation to the Macleans and to Daniel.
His body yearned for her still. More than it had before, because now tactual memory drove it, not misty passionate reverie. Expelling a long breath, he turned his gaze once more to the fire. They’d not lay together again, however. He supposed that was some consolation to his sore conscience. For, ‘twas truth that he was no fit mate for a woman such as her. He’d seen too much, done too much, led a much too sordid life. Nay, Jesslyn needed stability, and deserved a man less jaded. Not a man such as himself, a wanderer who called no place his home.
Forcing his thoughts from the beautiful widow, he turned them back upon his other predicament. His secrecy would end on the morrow. He still had not spoken with his sister about his plans to meet with Daniel, nor had he told her of his disparate lineage from her own. But he planned to do so as soon as she returned. Looking up from the blaze, his brows furrowed in vexation. Where was she? The lass should have returned long ago. On the cusp of that thought came her signal echoing through the corridors and into the chamber. Sending her his answer, he resigned himself to the difficult discussion soon to come.
*
Maryn laughed at the antics of the tumblers as she awaited the final course to be served. This troupe of performers had only just arrived this day past and she was enjoying their performance immensely. Looking around at their merrily laughing guests, she leaned against her husband’s arm. Her back was beginning to ache from sitting so long at the table, and her belly was so full now, all she wanted to do was to take a nap.
“Do you grow weary, love?” Daniel asked.
She nodded, too tired to reply, and rested her head against his arm.
“I’m sure your father would understand if you retired to our chamber for awhile.”
Maryn nodded, but did not rise.
Lifting her chin with his fingertips, he bent and pressed a light kiss on her mouth before rising and drawing her up with him. Addressing the guests at their table, he said, “I shall return shortly; my wife is in need of a brief rest.” Before departing, he motioned for the final course to be served. Then, placing her hand in his, he led her out of the great hall.
*
Clyde Ramsey watched from his position against the wall as Daniel MacLaurin escorted his wife from the feast. He’d studied them all afternoon, glutting themselves on rare delights that he, himself, had never tasted. The wine and ale flowed like rivers, but he was not allowed more than a few cupfuls. Nay, he must perform for the high and mighty lairds and ladies. Well, at least he’d made his way inside the keep without being recognized, and the revelers were much too involved in their feasting to see past his disguise. What there was of a disguise, at least. He’d traded his soiled, but better made, clothing with another player for a rather worn clean shirt, tunic and hose. His unkempt hair and long beard completed the guise.
He noticed that Lady Maclean was in fit form this eve. She’d been behind his ultimate dismissal, he was sure, but he held no ill-will for the old lass. She’d always been kind to him over the years and had even given him an extra butt of ale last Hogmanay, the festival on the eve of the new year.
His companion leaned toward him and said near his ear, “This be a fine feast the Laird and Lady give. I canno’ say as I’ve seen the like in all me days.”
Clyde only nodded his head, too involved in his own schemes to encourage more discourse from the man. The player shrugged at his dismissal and repeated his observation to the man seated on his other side. As the two waxed lyrical about the sumptuous meal, Clyde solidified his plans.
*
“Think you I care that we share not our blood? On my honor, I swear that I do not—and I never have done,” Bao said, watching his sister meticulously fold their belongings and tuck them in their leather satchels. Her hands trembled a bit and the pain in her eyes was almost too much for him to bear as he strove to lessen it with any soothing words he could summon. “You are more important to me and more a member of my family than any blood relation has ever been. That will not change. And I pray that your feelings for me will not change with this knowledge.”
She turned her back to him and sniffled. Her hand lifted to her cheek and he knew she was brushing away the moisture leaking from her eye. Using the small square of linen she’d just taken from the satchel, she wiped her nose. “I love you too, you daft behemoth,” she said, her voice thick. He heard her swallow and then she took a deep breath before turning to face him. “I want to reside with you. I care not that I have no well-sewn clothes of the finest material and weave—nor do I care that I lack marriage prospects.” Her hands flew up in the air as she continued, “I do not want a husband—why do you so suddenly press me to find one? Has that flaxen-haired goddes
s put ideas of hearth and home into your mind?”
Bao looked away from his sister’s probing eyes. Uneasy at her perception, he casually replied, “I see not how the widow would have anything to do with my desire for you to have a more stable life.”
Settling her hands on her hips, she lifted a brow at him. “Truly? Can you not? Is that not incredibly interesting, for I was sure she had everything to do with the current state of your desires.” It didn’t pass his notice that she blushed on the last word. Unnerved by her much-too-mature apprehension, Bao pierced her with a steady glare. “I certainly hope you do not mean what I think you mean by that remark, lassie. For you are much too innocent to have any inkling of such things—and you are to remain in that blissful state until you are wedded.”
She laughed for the first time since their conversation began which, in spite of the subject, eased the ache in his chest. “And how do you propose to make sure that I follow that dictate, brother? By your own account, you shall be off on another adventure, and I shall be left with some unnamed lady, learning feminine pastimes and duties.” Turning away to finish packing, she said. “Of which I’ll quickly grow bored, I’m sure. What if, in my boredom, I am led astray by some handsome traveling minstrel?”
A deep, grumbling sound erupted from his throat. Leaping to his feet, he stormed over to her and swung her around to face him. “You shall not allow any man to come within two—no, three—feet of your body, for any reason, no matter what words he might use to persuade you! Not until vows have been exchanged.” Giving her a little shake, he roared, “Is that understood?”
Branwenn broke his hold and threw her arms around his waist, giggling as she gave him a squeeze. Nodding, and with a false meekness he was much too familiar with, she answered, “Aye, Bao. I understand. No men within three feet.” Then she burst out into gales of laughter.
Chagrined that he’d clearly been duped, Bao scrubbed his knuckles over his sister’s black-haired scalp as he returned her hug with the other arm.
“Ouch! That hurts you great ox!” Branwenn squealed.
Bao laughed. Good, he thought, she deserved a bit of discomfort after the heart palpitations she’d just given him.
*
Jesslyn woke Alleck before dawn. “Alleck, how would you like to go place a bag of food on the boulder for your ‘magic giant’?” She could not get the events of the previous morn out of her head. With the new intimacy, came worry for Bao’s welfare. She wanted to make sure he had plenty to eat and, because he had likely had no sweets in ages, she had added a number of berry tarts to the larder as well.
Alleck leapt from the bed, almost sending Jesslyn off her perch on its side and onto the floor. “Aye! Can I ask Niall if he wants to come as well?”
Righting herself, she replied, “Aye, but make haste, you’ll need to be back in time to break your fast with me.”
Throwing on his clothing and shoes, he rushed from the room. Jesslyn smiled at the clatter he was making in the other room. Hearing the roll of distant thunder, she turned and looked out the open-slatted shutters of the window, hoping the rain did not come until after her son returned from his adventure. Before she realized what was happening, a human tornado came tearing across the room and blasted into her, squeezing the breath right out of her.
“Thank you, Mama!” Alleck cried, and with a wet kiss on her cheek, he was gone again.
Jesslyn shook her head and smiled. “You’re quite welcome,” she said to the empty chamber.
*
Clyde stood over the lass, his long, jagged shadow falling over his victim like a murky river flowing over silt. Her neck had snapped with ease. Good. He’d needed the practice and the lass was of comparable height and build to that of his ultimate source of revenge. But he was a bit disappointed that he’d had to make such a quick job of it. He absently rubbed his hardened shaft. He’d not expected to find his work so arousing. An added benefit. And he’d have liked to enjoy her fear a bit more, mayhap even hear her beg for his mercy, before he killed her. But, alas, he was practical. There was simply not enough time or privacy for such indulgences. This had been a rehearsal only. Simply to make sure he could do the deed without leaving any incriminating marks that might raise suspicions.
He’d asked one of the other players about the lass this day past when he’d met her and had learned that she’d been found on the road a few days prior to their arrival here. Her family had been on a pilgrimage and she had been the only survivor when freebooters had ambushed their caravan. She’d been able to escape harm only because she’d not been at the campsite at the time of the attack; she’d been washing at a nearby burn. The players had allowed her to ride with them, promising her that they’d soon make the circuit again and get her back to her home. She was to cook and clean for them as repayment for food and shelter until that time.
Her likeness to Maryn Donald was the first thing Clyde had noticed about her. Blood of Christ, she even had red hair. The scheme had formed in his mind almost immediately. She was the perfect practice victim. She had no family, no friends. And the others in the troupe would not question too closely her disappearance; they were a vagabond group used to the fickleness of human nature. They would believe him when he told them that the lass had found a different way home.
He’d told the lass he’d take her to the loch early this morn so that she could wash their clothes. Once they’d traveled a bit off of the pathway, he’d stopped the wagon and fallen to the ground, pretending illness. When the lass leapt from her perch and came to his aid, it had been quick work to snap her neck. And he’d done it so rapidly that she had not had time to do more than gasp.
The sound of distant voices approaching jolted him from his thoughts. He jerked around, searching the area for intruders. ‘Twas the widow’s lad. He was with his young friend and a very tall, muscular black-haired warrior. For the first time, fear sliced through Clyde. The man looked as if he could snap a person in half with little effort. He’d best hide the body quickly, before the deed was discovered. ‘Twould not do for suspicions to be raised before his final goal had been accomplished.
Clyde’s breath rushed out of his lungs as he lifted her. Dead weight. He’d forgotten. Hurriedly stumbling around the wagon, he dumped her inside and then rolled her toward the front before covering her with a course blanket and piling other materials around the lump so it would not look peculiar.
Satisfied that the proof of his act was not evident, he climbed onto the seat and snapped the reins. The old mare shuffled into forward motion. He must bury the body in a well-hidden area, at least a day’s ride out. Some place where it would not be discovered for long months, if ever.
*
Daniel sat at the laird’s table in the great hall enjoying a bit of cheese as he listened to his wife and her father planning his sons’ lives.
“Aye, that’s a fine idea. You shall send your sons to my holding for their training and then one of them shall take the Donald lairdship when the time comes. I confess, I’ve worried over not having an heir, especially with my ripening age.”
“Oh, Papa, you are far from death’s door. Speak not of dying, for I cannot bear it.”
“Let us successfully produce our first son before we begin planning the future of others,” Daniel said.
Maryn gave him a questioning look. “Think you it not wise to have a plan in place for our sons’ training?”
“Nay, I do not. At least not until we know we shall have other sons…or daughters. We should get through this childing before we plan more.”
She patted his knee. “I’m hale, the babe’s hale, you must not worry so. We will have this son and other sons and daughters. ‘Twill be so, for I will see it so.” Turning her head a bit more so that only he could see her face, her eyes sparkled with lewd mischief. She stroked the tip of her tongue over her top lip, giving him an erotic suggestion of how she would begin the process.
Jolted by the sight, his nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath. Shiftin
g in his seat on the bench and clearing his throat, he lifted his eyes to his father-in-law. “Now that I think on it a bit more, I believe your scheme is a sound one.”
His wife giggled. “I knew my words would change your mind.”
Daniel nudged her in the side with his elbow but could not help grinning himself. “Aye, for sure, ‘twas certainly that lyrical tongue of yours that made the difference.”
Steward Ranald came through the doorway of the great hall just then. “Beg pardon, Laird, but there is a man wishing to meet with you. He states that he has urgent business to discuss. Shall I allow him entrance?”
Daniel glanced at his wife and her father, a question in his eye. When they both shook their heads and shrugged, he turned back to the steward and said, “Aye, allow him entrance.”
*
Bao paced outside the doorway to the great hall, grimly sure of his goal. He’d parted from the lads outside the gate of the keep as the drawbridge was being lowered, telling them he’d meet them in the village square a few hours hence. Having decided that his best defense against the widow was to hasten her hatred of his character, he’d handed Alleck the bag of food she’d prepared and asked him to give it to Jesslyn, telling her that payment was not necessary. Alleck had questioned him about the message, but Bao had told him his mother would understand. They’d trotted off to their next adventure, talking over each other as they spoke. A sharp pang of envy shot through him now as he thought of the untainted glee of the pair. His own childhood had been so completely different.
“The laird will see you now.”
Bao glanced up and, with a brief nod, moved toward the doorway that was a visible portal between his past and his future, anticipation coursing through his veins. No matter the outcome, once he entered, there would be no turning back.
*
Daniel stood as he awaited his guest. Not knowing to what the business might pertain, he’d asked his wife and father-in-law to withdraw through the back doorway. If the news was bad, then he wished to filter it before telling his pregnant wife.
