When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1)

by Julie Johnstone

  “What do ye mean?” Lachlan demanded, appearing more irritated that he didn’t know of the news already than he did surprised.

  “What do ye have to tell us?” Cameron asked and grinned as his gaze came to rest on Marion.

  She drew herself up to her full height and squared her shoulders, just as the first wave of MacLeods bearing torches reached them. A woman with bland brown hair and small beady eyes smiled before casting her gaze down. Another woman, beautiful and dark-haired with golden eyes, stared straight at Iain with a more-than-welcoming look.

  Marion narrowed her gaze as Bridgette briefly squeezed her hand. The golden-eyed woman had to be Fiona.

  Iain looked behind him and held his hand out to Marion. Holding her head high, she stepped forward and slipped her hand into his. He drew her to his side in a way that seemed to be proud. She could not stop her smile. “This is my wife, Marion, of the house de Lacy,” he announced in a loud voice that instantly silenced all talk around them.

  Marion heard several sharp inhalations of breath, and then the beautiful woman spoke.

  “Were ye forced to marry the Englishwoman?” she demanded, her gaze settling on Marion and filling with disdain.

  Iain slid his arm around Marion’s shoulders and hauled her to his side as she held the woman’s gaze. Iain gave Marion a squeeze. “Fiona, ye ken better than to ask such a foolish thing. No man could ever force me to do anything I did nae wish. I wed Marion of my own free will.”

  Marion would have kissed him for his proclamation if it would not have shocked everyone.

  The woman tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder. “I dunnae believe it,” she mumbled under her breath, but loud enough that Marion heard her. She was sure others had, as well, because she saw several men stiffen. The woman shook her head as she glared at Marion. “Catriona must surely be wailing in her grave.”

  Iain’s body went rigid against Marion, and he inhaled a long, deep breath before he spoke. “Yer sister is nae wailing in her grave because she’s dead.”

  The barely controlled anger in his voice made Marion bite her lip. She wanted to do something to diffuse the building discord, so she stepped forward and dipped a quick curtsy. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  Fiona raked her gaze over Marion. “Ye will nae take the place of my beautiful, sweet sister.” Fiona took a deep breath, preparing to say more, Marion suspected, but then Iain spoke.

  “Hold yer tongue, woman,” he growled. “I’ve nae the patience for such nonsense tonight.”

  She grimaced and turned as if to leave, but the homely woman beside her gripped Fiona’s arm. “Ye should make yer greetings to the laird’s wife,” she said, finally looking up once again. Her brown eyes rested momentarily on Marion, but then settled on Iain, who smiled at her.

  “Elspeth is right, Fiona,” Iain agreed.

  “Welcome,” Fiona said bitterly.

  Marion smiled and prayed it appeared gracious. “I hope we can become friends.”

  Fiona stared at her in stony silence, flicked her gaze to Iain, and then turned and shoved her way through the silent crowd. The whispers started immediately afterward, and would have likely grown to a dull roar, but Elspeth moved toward Marion and said in a loud voice, “I’m glad ye’re here, my lady. I can see by yer beauty why the MacLeod wed ye.”

  From somewhere in the thick crowd a woman called out, “I guess ye won’t last through yer first highland winter.”

  Iain made a disgusted noise from his throat, and Marion caught his gaze, beseeching him with her eyes not to punish whoever had spoken. He inclined his head in understanding, and she spoke in a loud clear tone. “I’m half-Scottish. My mother was a MacDonald, I’m not weak, and I love the cold.”

  Bridgette poked her in the side at the bold-faced lie about the cold, and behind her, she was fairly certain Angus was coughing to cover up his laughter.

  Iain leaned close to Marion and whispered in her ear, “Ye did well. That was Alanna who spoke out from the crowd. She is Fiona and Elspeth’s cousin and Rory Mac’s wife. She was also Catriona’s closest friend. The rest of them should be more pleasant.”

  “The rest of them?” she asked, suddenly afraid he meant she was to greet the whole gathered crowd. Pray God, not each one of them. She was exhausted.

  “Aye.” He waved a hand toward the crowd. “They’ll be expecting to meet ye now that they ken of ye.”

  “Now?” she whispered. “I likely look horrible.”

  “Nay.” He brought her hand up between them and kissed her fingertips. Sparks shot from the point of contact through her entire body. His hot breath caressed her skin as he spoke again. “Ye look like ye could make a man a fool.”

  Before she could respond, he abruptly dropped her hand and stepped forward. “It’s good to be home!”

  A deafening cry arose from the crowd, and by their happy faces, she knew Iain was beloved. When the noise faded, he spoke once more. “As I’m sure ye heard moments ago, I’ve married. This”—he swept his hand toward her—“is my bonny bride, Marion.”

  More cheers, but these sounded less enthusiastic. She lifted her chin a notch and kept her gaze on Iain, who raised his hands to quiet the crowd. As he was waiting for them to quiet, Bridgette surprised Marion by stepping around her and whispering in Iain’s ear.

  Iain grinned and nodded his agreement, then said, “In honor of Marion, we will have a feast tonight!”

  Cheers and thundering applause exploded, and as Bridgette came back to Marion’s other side, Marion gave her a look of thanks, to which Bridgette winked. Marion did not have time to catch Iain’s gaze to thank him, however, as his brothers came forward and greeted her one by one with welcoming, crushing embraces. If they were not happy about Iain’s marrying her, she could not tell. She could not say the same for the rest of Iain’s clan. The men were generally friendly, except for a few of them, but the women were cool at best.

  Marion dragged herself up the seagate stairs a good deal later and followed a stone-faced servant to Iain’s bedchamber. Hers would need time to be prepared, for which she was actually quite glad. She eyed the enormous bed sitting on a dais in the center of his room, and a physical ache to lie down and sleep came over her.

  Marion’s eyes burned, but as the servant woman promised to bring up water for her to bathe, she surveyed the room and dazedly took in her husband’s bedchamber. A beautiful tapestry hung over his bed, and there were two matching chairs in the right corner with a table between them. Marion stared at the table where something lay, and her gut twisted with the realization that she was looking at an unfinished tapestry of embroidery.

  “That was my lady Catriona’s,” the servant quickly supplied. Marion had been concentrating so hard on trying to determine what she’d been looking at that she jerked at the woman’s words.

  The woman hurried past Marion and stopped at the tapestry. “I’m sorry, my lady. If I’d known the MacLeod was going to bring home a new wife, I’d have cleaned the room. I did try afore, but he forbade me clearing any of her possessions.” The servant snatched up the tapestry. “I’m sure he’ll want me to gather them now, though.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Marion replied, a mixture of hope and insecurity flowing through her. She certainly did not expect Iain to remove Catriona from his room and heart, but if he could make space for Marion she could bear it. Still, the clearing of Catriona’s things would be his to do—and only when he was ready. “You should leave them.”

  The woman’s eyes rounded, but she dropped the tapestry and hurried from the room, mumbling that she’d be back shortly with water. Marion eyed her surroundings. She knew Catriona had been dead two years now because she had asked Angus, but it was painfully obvious standing among her things just how greatly Iain still mourned his dead wife. What else of Catriona’s remained? Suddenly, Marion had a burning desire to know. She strode over to a trunk and, with some effort, opened it. Gowns, dainty slippers, and a hairbrush and hair combs filled the trunk. A short inspe
ction of the rest of the room revealed that the tapestry had been the only thing left out. Everything else of Catriona’s appeared to be in the trunk.

  Marion walked slowly to the table and picked up the embroidery. Two intertwined hearts had been stitched on the fabric, along with the Gaelic word daonnan, which meant always. She knew the word because Angus had taught her a bit of the language.

  Marion swallowed the large lump in her throat. Had Catriona known she was dying and wanted to leave something behind for Iain to look upon and think of her? It seemed likely so, but the woman must have known she didn’t need to leave anything. Iain would never forget his first wife, and Marion would not wish it to be any other way.

  Before she could contemplate it more, a knock came at the door, and Marion opened it to find two young servants. She quickly directed the boys to bring in the wooden tub and buckets of water they carried. Once everything was set up, they informed Marion supper would be served shortly and told her where the great hall could be found.

  Marion hastily bathed, washed her hair, and combed it out, and then she sat on the bed to rest her eyes for a moment. A few minutes later, she was lying on her back and snoring soundly.

  Fifteen

  Marion woke with a start and a yelp. Bridgette loomed over her in the darkness that filled the room, except for the candelabra Bridgette held, which lit her face in an orange glow. “Well,” Bridgette said, eyeing Marion with a smile, “this certainly explains why ye’ve not come for supper.”

  Marion glanced down and gasped as she realized the linen she’d wrapped around her body when she’d gotten out of the tub had slipped down to her stomach. She snatched it up. “You could have said something,” she grumbled, heat making her cool skin instantly burn.

  “I just did,” Bridgette replied with amusement. “I’ve the same parts as ye. Now, be quick. Supper has been on for some time now, and your absence has been noted.”

  Marion leaped to her feet. “Did Iain send you to get me?”

  “Nay. Angus did.”

  Marion frowned. “Surely Iain sees I’m not there.”

  “Well, Lachlan does nae seem to see I’m there at all, so maybe it’s a problem with all MacLeod men. He’s nae even given me a proper greeting, and I dressed in one of my finest gowns for him. I had some created in a fashion I saw at a fair, more like the one ye were wearing when I met ye but nae so loose. It does nae seem to matter, though. I could prance through the hall naked and Lachlan MacLeod would nae see me,” Bridgette grumbled.

  “You look lovely,” Marion offered, eyeing the rumpled, travel-worn gown that lay out on the bed, the one that Bridgette had loaned her at the MacLean hold. Her skin itched with the thought of putting on the gown so stiff with dirt.

  Bridgette snickered, and Marion looked at her friend, who was motioning to the chair in the corner. “I brought ye a clean gown. I thought ye might nae wish to come down in the other one.”

  Marion hugged her. “You are so kind.”

  “Come.” Bridgette waved her to the chair. “It’s one of my new gowns, I like ye that much.”

  Happy tears pricked Marion’s eyes. She had a friend. She had a husband that was kind, brave, respectful, and seemed to be softening—she hoped—and now she had a home where she would, with good fortune, never feel like an outlander again.

  Bridgette held up the gown, and Marion slipped into it. With Bridgette’s help, she was laced quickly, and then Bridgette stepped back.

  “Ye look stunning!” she exclaimed.

  Marion was about to thank her, but Bridgette’s sudden fierce frown stopped her.

  “What is it?” Marion asked, reaching for her friend.

  “Ye look so bonny that Lachlan will likely stare at ye the rest of the night and still nae see me.”

  Marion could feel the blush on her cheeks. She waved a hand at Bridgette. “That’s silly. You are a vision.”

  Bridgette quirked her mouth. “I ken!” she said with a giggle. “Which is why I kinnae understand why the one man I want to see me dunnae. All these other men fall over themselves to be near me, except Lachlan. It’s as if he does nae even ken I’m there.”

  “You poor, poor thing,” Marion cooed sarcastically. “It must be difficult to be wanted by many.”

  Bridgette scowled. “I ken how I must sound, but having a pretty face has nae been to my benefit, as much as ye may think. No one pays me any heed when I speak, and what benefit is a pretty face if the only man ye want does nae seem affected by it?”

  “I understand,” Marion replied. She linked her arm through Bridgette’s. “We will simply have to come up with a plot to get Lachlan to see you. But right now, I’m starving and I don’t want to miss my opportunity to eat supper.”

  Bridgette’s eyes grew wide. “We must make haste! Once they put the food out, Scots—men and women both—tend to fall on the trenchers as if they’ve nae eaten in a year. If we’re fortunate, they’ve nae brought out the rest of the food yet.”

  “And if we’re not fortunate?” Marion inquired.

  “Then there will likely be nothing left and we’ll have to either ask the kitchen women for more, or if it’s like my home, we’ll go to the kitchen later and slip our own food out of the stocks.”

  “If there’s none left, I’d rather procure my own food than put anyone to any more trouble,” Marion said.

  “I feel the same way. Come.” Bridgette tugged her out the door and toward the stairs. “Let us hope that tonight we are fortunate.”

  Marion nodded and hurried down the stairs with Bridgette to the great hall below.

  With the general merriment in the great hall, combined with Iain’s growing concern that Marion had not yet shown for supper and the fact that he could see Fiona and Alanna whispering at the long table to the right of the dais, he missed what Lachlan had said to him. He only knew Lachlan had addressed him at all when his brother gave Iain a half-exasperated, half-amused look.

  Iain took a long drink of his wine, trying to force himself to attend to his surroundings as he usually did. “What did ye say?”

  “I asked if we should be expecting trouble from the knight yer wife was supposed to marry.”

  Iain didn’t need to ponder his answer. “Aye. And from her father, as well.”

  “Her father?” Lachlan asked, incredulity saturating his words. “Should we nae call her father an ally now that ye married his daughter?”

  Iain shook his head. “Baron de Lacy wanted her to wed Froste and would have defied the orders of his king to make it so.”

  “But why?”

  Iain sat back as a serving wench appeared before him. “Laird, it’s good to have ye home,” she said.

  “Thank ye.” He nodded as she set the trencher of meat before him. She leaned forward, licked her lips, and batted her eyes in invitation. Iain turned away only to find Lachlan eyeing the wench. Iain gave his brother a hard kick under the table.

  “What was that for?” Lachlan demanded, his face flushing red.

  “Do ye nae think it’s time to commit yerself to one lass?” he hissed.

  Lachlan’s jaw tensed. “I would if the right lass were willing.”

  “I’m willing,” the serving girl said with a giggle.

  “Return to the kitchen, Lillias,” Iain said evenly.

  “Why’d ye do that?” Lachlan demanded, as Lillias walked off, swaying her hips. “Are ye jealous because she turned her sights to me so quickly?”

  “Nay. I dunnae wish for anyone but my wife. And ye ken as well as I do that Lillias is nae the right lass for ye, so dunnae trifle with her emotions.”

  Lachlan drummed his fingers on the table and smiled devilishly. “If I trifle, I’ll make sure she knows I dunnae wish to marry her. Will that suffice, laird?”

  Iain grunted. “I suppose. Why do ye nae find a lass who ye could care for?”

  Lachlan scowled. “Who says I have nae but that she’s nae willing?”

  “What do ye mean?” Iain asked.

  Lachla
n scrubbed a hand over his face and glanced to his side, where Graham sat in conversation with Cameron. When Lachlan turned back to Iain, he wore a guarded expression. “Nothing. I mean nothing.”

  Iain was about to question his brother further when a frenzy at the entrance to the great hall captured his attention. Whistles came from a table near the front, and one of the benches scraped the floor as several of the younger, rowdier of Iain’s men seemed to be good-naturedly fighting among themselves to get to whomever was coming into supper. Within seconds, Broch, one of the larger of his fighting men, walked through the crowd, Bridgette on one arm and Marion on the other.

  Iain’s breath caught deep in his chest as he stared at his wife. Her pale blond hair framed her creamy face, and her eyes shone blindingly green like two luminous stones. Her red lips beckoned to be kissed, and her gown… He clutched the edge of the table as desire raged through him. Her rich blue gown clung to her curves and pushed her breasts upward, invitingly and teasingly. He’d never seen a gown cut as low and tight as hers. Lust and jealousy seized him in an iron grip. He shoved his chair back and ignored Lachlan’s gaping stare.

  Iain circled the table in one stride and stood before Marion in three more long steps. Holding out his hand to her, he said, “Ye’re late.” Jealousy, which he rationally knew to be misplaced, was there and getting the better of him.

  Marion’s brows dipped together. She released Broch’s arm while thanking him and slipped her arm into the crook of Iain’s elbow. “So you did see I was not here.”

  “Of course,” he replied. “If ye’d nae appeared in a minute, I was going to go ensure ye were fine.”

  Marion grinned.

  “Come sit by me,” he said. “I’m sure ye must be hungry.”

  Marion eyed the seats at Iain’s table. All of them were taken by his brothers. Broch was seating Bridgette at a table. There was one seat empty beside her. The seats around Bridgette were occupied by Catriona’s sisters, Rory Mac, and a woman Marion assumed was Rory Mac’s wife, Alanna.