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

by Julie Johnstone

  “Don’t let Angus hear you say that,” she grumbled.

  Iain laughed. “He taught ye fine, but now ye’ll learn from the best.”

  “You arrogant man,” she said with a chuckle.

  Much later, Marion realized Iain’s words had not been arrogant at all, but simply truthful. His skill with the dagger and the bow amazed her, and as the sun set, they gathered their things and walked hand in hand through the woods.

  “That was the best day I’ve ever had,” Marion said shyly.

  Iain stopped and pulled her into his arms. “It was a perfect day, aye?”

  She nodded.

  “I never did anything like this with Catriona,” he said, surprising her with his openness. Marion didn’t comment, hoping he’d reveal more, and he did.

  “I allowed being laird to consume almost every waking moment, and I never took time like this with her. I regret that.”

  Marion’s throat tightened at the pain in his voice. Was he wishing Catriona were here instead of her? Or was he trying to tell her that he did not want to repeat the past? She wanted to ask him, but she was afraid of the answer, so she kept silent all the way back to the castle.

  Several days later, as Marion worked in the kitchen learning how to cook some of Iain’s favorite dishes, Kyla came to stand by her. “My lady,” Kyla started, her voice tentative.

  “Marion,” she corrected.

  “Aye. Marion.” The cook grinned. “I dunnae mean to cause offense, but I see that ye seem to wear the same gown each day.”

  Marion felt her cheeks heat. “Yes, I had to leave my home rather hastily, and there was no time to pack gowns. Bridgette loaned me one, but it became filthy and tore on the trip here. Bridgette did lend me another that I wore to supper the first night, but—”

  “Ye need nae explain it,” Kyla said, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Yer gown was the talk of the kitchen, and I ken well that ye could nae wear it about in the day to do work. So the gown ye have on is yer only one?”

  “It’s not even mine,” Marion said. “It’s Bridgette’s. I’ve been meaning to ask about getting someone to sew gowns and a cloak for me.”

  “I’m a fair hand at sewing, if I say so myself,” Kyla said. “I’d be honored if ye would allow me to sew ye some gowns. I’ve never sewn anything as fancy as ye wear, but I’d like to try.”

  “That would be lovely,” Marion agreed. “Thank you.”

  “If ye’ll come to my cottage later today, I’ll fit ye. I sewed a few gowns for Catriona, and she requested a more fitted style, so I do have some experience. I have some material at home, as well, and I’m sure some of the girls in the kitchen will be happy to lend ye a gown or two until yers are ready so ye dunnae take all Bridgette’s gowns,” Kyla said with a wink.

  “I’ll lend you one,” Elspeth offered.

  “You’re certain?” Marion asked. “I don’t want to cause any trouble for you.”

  “It won’t be any trouble at all,” Elspeth said with a smile.

  Once Marion got directions to Kyla and Neil’s home, she and Elspeth left for Elspeth’s cottage so she could fetch a gown for Marion to borrow. Marion’s stomach turned as they neared the home and she saw Fiona going inside.

  By the time she and Elspeth reached the front door, it swung open and Fiona came charging out carrying a basket full of embroidery. She stopped, and her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?” She glanced between Marion and Elspeth and then speared Elspeth with a stare. “And why are you with her?”

  Elspeth jutted her chin out at her sister. “She needs to borrow some gowns until she has new ones made, and I’ve one stashed in a trunk that none of us wear.”

  Fiona’s lips parted, and she gasped. “She can’t wear that gown!”

  “Of course she can,” Elspeth replied. “Don’t be so petty. Think how pleased the MacLeod will be when he sees that ye’re striving to be civil.”

  Though Marion didn’t love that Fiona needed coaxing to be nice to her, especially in the hopes of gaining Iain’s favor, it did immediately work.

  Fiona fairly grinned. “How clever ye are, little sister.”

  Elspeth bit her lip. “I just remembered that I forgot to add a spice to my soup! I must make haste to the kitchen. Fiona, please retrieve the gown for Marion.”

  Fiona scowled. “I don’t see why I have to be the one to—”

  “Fiona, please!” Elspeth begged. “I must go tend to the soup!”

  “I’ll come back another time,” Marion offered.

  “I’ll do it,” Fiona grumbled.

  Elspeth called a thank-you as she disappeared back in the direction from which they had come not moments ago.

  Marion felt Fiona’s glare on her. She took a deep breath and met the woman’s gaze. “I don’t want to be enemies.”

  “Nay?” Fiona snarled. “Then leave.”

  Marion’s anger stirred. “Why do you hate me so? It’s not my fault your sister died. I don’t want to make anyone forget her, and I’m sorry I took the place you thought was to be yours.”

  “Ye’re nae the first,” Fiona snapped. “I’m the eldest, and by all rights, I should have married Iain but Catriona stole him by gaining his pity.”

  “I thought Catriona was the eldest,” Marion said.

  Fiona’s eyes flashed. “Nay! I am. Always have been. Catriona stole what should have rightfully been mine. Everyone thought she was so sweet and kind, but I knew better. She wanted to be mistress of Dunvegan Castle, so she used the only thing she had, her frailness, and she gained Iain’s favor with it. When she died, I bided my time and waited patiently for him to heal.”

  Marion’s stomach turned. Fiona would never forgive her and they would never be friends. Fiona now saw Marion as the newest person to take a position that she believed belonged to her.

  Marion straightened her shoulders. “Fiona, I have taken charge as mistress of the castle.” She did not want to shun the woman; that would only make things worse. So Marion would keep Fiona busy and distracted. She tried to think of some of the more innocuous tasks where Fiona could not cause too much trouble. “I’d like it very much if you would remain in charge of teaching embroidery and dance to the ladies.”

  Fiona’s mouth dropped open, and her nostrils flared. “Ye think to do everything else yerself, do ye?”

  Marion shook her head. “Not at all. I intend to make someone head of each area of the castle, and we’ll all work together. Will you help?”

  Fiona’s eyes darkened, and her mouth pinched. “I’d nae help ye even if remaining part of the clan depended on it.”

  “Well, then,” Marion said, her temper brewing, “It’s a good thing it does not.”

  Fiona flinched, and Marion saw the woman curl her hands into fists. She surprised Marion by swiveling on her heel and storming into the cottage. The door slammed behind her, and Marion stood alone, gaping at the slab of wood. She sighed. She supposed that was her signal to depart.

  She hesitated for a moment, wondering if there was something she was missing. It felt as if there was, but what it was she was not certain. Taking a long, deep breath, she concluded that even if she was missing something, it didn’t change the fact that Fiona wanted Iain and she could not have him. Marion turned to leave but stopped when the door behind her banged open. She turned around to see Fiona stomping out carrying a gown and a hair comb. Marion’s eyes widened when she saw the luxurious green silk gown. It looked like a gown she’d once seen the queen wearing when she’d passed through with the king, not here at Dunvegan, where the women wore loose, practical gowns of drab wool.

  Fiona thrust the gown and hair comb at Marion. “The hair comb matches the gown. The gown needs a good airing, but I imagine it should fit ye well enough until yer gowns are made. Ye should wear it tonight to please Iain.”

  Was this the woman’s very awkward attempt at trying to be civil? If it was, Marion would do her best to reciprocate. “Thank you, Fiona, for retrieving Elspeth’s gown for me.”<
br />
  Fiona gave her a tight smile. “Ye’re welcome. I’ll see ye at supper.”

  With that, Fiona left Marion standing alone once again. This time, though, Marion didn’t hesitate to turn and make haste back to the castle, rather excited at the prospect of putting on the lovely gown.

  She took care washing for dinner, brushing her hair until it shone and then pulling one side up to secure it with the comb. She would have pinned all her hair up, but it was thick and she would have needed several combs. The gown was snug in the chest when she put it on, which made sense as Elspeth was not as shapely as Marion. It was not cut overly low, but because it was tight on her, it pushed her breasts up higher than she would normally dare. She didn’t think it was indecent, however.

  When she was readied, she sat on the bed, awaiting the supper horn and half hoping Iain might return to the room before supper to lead her down. But when the horn blew and he didn’t appear, she supposed he must have been occupied and made her way toward the great hall.

  The roar of the hall quickly faded into silence as she walked into the room. She furrowed her brow as everyone stared at her, but then she realized it must have been the gown that was enchanting them so.

  To her right, Angus stood, came to her side, and offered her his arm. “Ye look lovely, lass.”

  Uncomfortable with being the center of the clan’s attention, she gratefully slipped her arm through Angus’s. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice as shaky as her legs. “Angus, is it my imagination or do people seem to be staring as if my appearance stuns them?”

  He glanced to the left and right as they walked. “Aye. They do look a bit stunned, but I’m sure it’s because they’ve never seen a lass as pretty as ye are in a dress quite like this one. Are things going smoothly for ye?”

  She bit the inside of her cheek against her desire to confide in him and take the comfort he would offer. Angus would fret and interfere if he knew how much Fiona hated her. She patted his hand. “It is improving.”

  As they neared the dais, Iain, who’d been in seemingly deep conversation with his brother, turned and looked at her. He started to smile and then, suddenly, it slid off his face. His lips parted, and then he pressed them together in a hard flat line. Her stomach plummeted to the floor. Did he think the gown too immodest? If he did, there was nothing that could be done about it now.

  Angus led her directly to her husband, who for a long moment said nothing but simply stared at her, his eyes darkening with what appeared to be fury.

  “What game are ye playing, Marion?” he snapped.

  The sharpness of his words pricked her like a bush of thorns.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said stiffly, aware that he’d spoken loud enough that his voice had carried over the hush that had fallen in the hall.

  “Yer gown,” he growled.

  Anger surged through her. So he was displeased with the gown. She curled her hands into fists, feeling as if she could turn herself inside out and it would never be enough for him.

  “I had to wear something,” she retorted. “I’ve no gowns of my own, and I cannot borrow Bridgette’s every night for supper. I am getting more gowns made.”

  “Wear the one ye had on earlier. Go change.” It was a command, and a hard one. His face had closed, and coldness radiated from him.

  She could not believe how insensible he was being, simply because he thought her gown immodest, but she was not going to be ordered about. It was as if she was standing in front of her father again, desperate to please him and failing, and then being treated cruelly for no reason. She tilted her chin up. “I’ll not change. This gown is much like I saw the Queen of England wear, and she is a modest woman, if indecency is your worry.”

  He’d already looked down at the trencher in front of him. His head whipped up, and he speared her with a dark look that made her shiver. “Marion,” he said, his voice lower but no less forceful, “if ye dunnae go willingly to change out of that gown, I’ll throw ye over my shoulder and carry ye up to our bedchamber and change ye myself. And if I have to do that, ye’ll nae like the consequences.”

  She inhaled a sharp breath at the anger rolling off him. What had happened since she’d seen him earlier today? This was not the kind man she had come to know, the man who had given her the special dagger and the bow. “You’d haul me away and shame me over a gown?”

  “Ye shame yerself by wearing Catriona’s wedding gown.”

  A wave of shock slammed into Marion, making her dizzy. She gripped Angus’s arm tight so that she’d not fall. He looked at her swiftly, worry filling his eyes, but she shook her head at him and prayed he’d not remark on her sudden swaying.

  Iain placed his palms flat on the table as he stared up at her. “How did ye think I’d respond when ye took the gown out of her trunk? I am sorry if ye think I’m being harsh, but ye kinnae—” Pain streaked across his face before a mask of stone descended and she could no longer read his emotions. “Ye kinnae just wear her gowns,” he finished quietly.

  “I didn’t know,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she struggled to hold back the tears clogging her throat and filling her eyes. Angry with herself for her weakness, she dashed a hand across her eyes. “I did not take this gown out of her trunk in your bedchamber. It was loaned to me.” Each word trembled as she fought against herself to be strong, to be cold, not to care. “I would never try to take her place in your heart,” she choked out, removing her arm from Angus’s grasp. She turned stiffly and walked through the hall, even as Iain demanded she stop, and proceeded back out the way she’d come with her head held high.

  She met the gaze of each person staring at her, and fierce determination not to be cowed burned in her veins. The last gaze she met was Fiona’s, who almost appeared regretful. Marion didn’t believe that for a moment.

  By the time she reached Iain’s bedchamber, she was shaking. All she knew was that she had to get out of this castle. She yanked off Catriona’s gown and hastily put on Bridgette’s. There would never be a place in Iain’s heart for her. She’d been foolish to hope for it. If he wanted only memories of Catriona, then that’s what she’d leave for him. With her heart racing and her hands trembling, she carefully took Catriona’s gowns out of the trunk and laid them on the bed. She swiped at the tears filling her eyes and then quickly made her way out of the castle and to the water. She needed fresh air and wanted to be alone.

  It was much easier to slip out than she had presumed. No guards stood at the doors, for they were all in the great hall with their laird. Moonlight filled the night while white mist swirled in the damp, cold air. Marion shivered as she climbed down the seagate stairs, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. The wind blew hard against her tingling cheeks, making her eyes burn and her lips sting.

  When she reached the shoreline, she took in short tiny gasps of air from the long descent. In the watchtower on the ramparts, she could see light flickering, so she stayed in the shadows as much as possible. She moved toward the water, feeling almost beckoned by the distant hiss of the waves in the air. She wanted to be numb, to think of nothing. She kicked off her shoes and stood where the water just caressed her toes. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply and searched for a peace she wondered if she would ever find.

  “Did you discover a way into the castle where we’ll not be seen?” a deep voice demanded.

  Marion’s eyes flew open as her pulse increased. She twisted around to see two men coming from the left, where Iain had been training with his men that morning. Ignoring her racing heart, she dropped to the ground and began crawling over the rough land toward the cave where she and Iain had spoken. As she crawled, the hair comb that Fiona had given her slipped from her hair, her long blond tresses falling over the right side of her face. She could hear the men approaching from behind her as she reached the tall grass and dove behind it.

  “Froste said it needs to be a route by which at least twenty men could enter before the MacLeods know they are inside,”
the man added.

  “Why can’t we simply strike from the outside?” asked another man. “Why must we try to enter the castle?”

  Marion crouched in the tall grass, the roar of her blood filling her ears.

  The deep voice spoke again. “Froste says the MacLeod must die, and we must seize Lady Marion.”

  Bile filled Marion’s throat. Froste had sent men to find a way into the castle so he could kill Iain! It would clearly pave the way to marrying her and getting the land and title he so coveted, especially if her father became king.

  The men paused very near her. “Do you not think it’s strange that Froste thinks he needs twenty men to kill one?”

  The other man chuckled low. “No. Have you seen the MacLeod?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I have. I saw him in a tournament in England. He’s not human. He fights with the power of a god and the heart of the devil.”

  “Well, then I’ll enjoy killing him,” the other man replied as they started to move away.

  She waited until she felt they were far enough away that they’d not see her, and then she stood and started to run for the stairs. But when her slipper caught on a rock, she went down hard, slamming her head against a large stone as she fell.

  Eighteen

  Iain sat, ignoring the frenzy that had erupted the moment Marion had departed. His anger quickly gave way to guilt. He’d overreacted. There was no way Marion could have known she’d put on Catriona’s wedding gown, yet his reason had been subdued by his emotions. Emotions he’d been able to keep tightly locked down until now.

  “Are ye nae going te go after her?” Angus demanded in harsh, angry undertones.

  Iain stared at the archway through which Marion had fled. He was going after her without a doubt, but he’d drawn enough attention to their argument, fool that he was. He’d let the attention of his clan turn back to their meals, and then he’d slip out.

  He clenched his fists. He never lost his temper—before Marion came into his life, that was. She made him feel everything, every damned thing a thousandfold. She was the spark that brought him to life, but she was also the very thing that threatened to wipe away his memories of Catriona.