by Julia London
Yes, barley-bree. A keg of it, Mared thought, and dumbly followed her sister-in-law away from the scene of the accident, her mother protectively at her side.
Six
P ayton had known of the weakness in that particular section of the balustrade, but no one had been more surprised than he that it had given way so soon. Years of harsh, wet winters had weakened the cement that held the railing to the terrace, and Payton was thankful he’d been standing precisely where he had, for he’d fallen into shrubbery only a few feet below. Ten feet in either direction, and he might have fallen much farther and onto flagstones.
He might have broken his fool neck.
As it was, he was unharmed. Just a wee bit bruised.
He called Sarah to him, instructed her to have the musicians begin playing as soon as possible and to have more of the barley-bree sent around to the guests by the footmen after they had moved potted trees to keep guests from that section of the railing.
With Beckwith at his side, he hastily retreated to his master suite of rooms to change his clothing. When he reemerged a short time later, he could feel the shift in what had been a festive atmosphere—a palpable and disquieting current now ran through his house.
The terrace had been closed off to guests; the dancing had resumed, at least for a few hearty souls, but most stood back, speaking to one another in small groups. In the dining room, talking low amongst themselves, couples feasted on a repast of collops of beef, a meat pastry known as forfar bridies, and poached salmon. Everything seemed to have returned to normal since the accident, yet it all felt much different, as if a dark cloud had descended upon Eilean Ros.
Payton made the rounds, assuring everyone he was quite all right, that it had been nothing but an accident. It was Sarah who told him what had given his ceilidh such a morose pall, as if he needed to be told. There were enough who knew of his bartered betrothal to Mared that he was certain theories of goblins and curses had sprung to life and were spreading like fire.
Sarah confirmed it for him. “I think they’ll no’ dance until they can be assured she’s departed,” she whispered to him in the ballroom as they calmly observed the few brave souls who were dancing. “They are frightened of her and the curse. I daresay they half expect ye to fall dead at their feet any moment now, and fret they will join ye by virtue of having come into yer house.”
“They are ignorant,” he said sharply. “Where is she?”
Sarah shrugged lightly. “I canna say. Lady Lockhart spirited her away.”
“Keep them dancing, then,” he said curtly, and left Sarah to find Mared. It was, to his way of thinking, absurd to be fearful of an ancient, make-believe curse that was no more real than gnomes and fairies. Yet he knew that Highlanders, even educated ones, could hold fast to their bloody superstitions. He’d end their ridiculous fears tonight, he thought angrily. He’d formally announce his intention to marry Mared Lockhart, then let them see that he lived to do just that.
He had only to convince Mared to join him in the announcement, and this time, he’d brook no argument from her.
He found the Lockharts in the foyer—save Mared—donning their wraps. “Are ye leaving, then?” he demanded.
“Aye,” Liam said angrily as he helped his wife into a cloak. “We’re no’ welcome here any longer.”
“Of course ye are!”
“We’re no’ welcome, Douglas, no’ after yer fall—ye need only look at the faces here!” Liam snapped. “They whisper Mared’s name and look at her as if she were a’ diabhal himself. The lass has endured a lifetime of censure, and we’ll no’ put her through a moment more of it. And neither should ye, man.”
The slight admonishment made Payton bristle. “I intend to disabuse my guests of their fears promptly, if ye will grant me but a moment. First, I must speak with Mared.”
“She’s gone out,” Lady Lockhart said angrily, “Away from them.”
“A moment,” Payton said to Liam. “Give me that.” He did not wait for an answer but strode to the door, not breaking stride as a footman hurried to open it for him, and strode through, into the night.
He instinctively knew where to find her, and just as he suspected, she was standing on the edge of the loch, just below the drive, staring out at the water made silver by a big Scottish moon. His dog Cailean was by her side, as if he kept watch over her.
“Mared.”
In the bright light of the full moon, he could see her smile as she turned and his dog loped toward him. That was one of the things he truly admired about her—she always smiled, no matter what the circumstance, no matter how or where that brutal curse might taunt her.
“Ah,” she said, nodding to his dog. “A true Douglas, the feckless hound.”
“Mared,” Payton said gruffly, ignoring Cailean. “The balustrade had nothing to do with ye. It was old and rotted and I should have seen it repaired long ago. I was foolish to have leaned against it.”
She clucked at him. “Of course it had nothing to do with me, sir! I didna push ye.” She laughed thinly at the notion but turned away from him, toward the loch again. “Perhaps for a moment ye believed that I had?”
“No.” He paused, shoved a hand through his hair, at a loss as to what to say. “Mared, leannan…I know they fear ye—”
“Honestly, laird, have ye come to speak to me of that silly curse?” she asked breezily, quickly cutting him off. “For if ye have, I’ve made a vow to myself that I willna waste a moment of my life on superstition and sorcery. There’s really no’ a lot to be gained from it.”
“That’s good,” he said, nodding thoughtfully as he moved toward her. “But I would put to rest any doubts about that bloody curse this very night.”
Mared snorted and glanced at him over her shoulder. “And how do ye think to do that, then? How will ye change what people of the lochs have believed for nigh on three centuries now?”
“By formally announcing our engagement.”
She made a cry of alarm and suddenly whirled around. “Ye wouldna do so!”
“I would, indeed! We are to be married, and I see no time like the present to put this absurdity behind us once and for all! All of it. The curse, the loan—”
“Criosd!” she suddenly cried to the heavens. “Why do ye persecute me? Why do ye insist on this? I donna want to marry ye, Payton Douglas! I canna say it any plainer than that! I donna want anything to do with ye at all!”
He struggled to keep his anger in check, clenching his fists at his side. “Ye are fearful of the curse, Mared,” he said low. “I know ye are. I see it in yer eyes and in the tremble of yer hand.”
“Ye know nothing!” she spat at him. “God in heaven, why will ye no’ see how compatible in mien and spirit ye are with Beitris Crowley and offer for her?”
“Because I donna care for Beitris Crowley, and well ye know it!” he said sharply. He forced himself to take a breath. “And I believe ye are more fearful of that curse than anyone at Eilean Ros tonight—”
She groaned with exasperation and covered her face with her hands.
Payton caught her by the elbow and made her look at him. “Ye fear that one of us will die before the betrothal date, but it willna happen, aye? I give ye my vow I will no’ allow anything to happen to ye, no’ now. Never, Mared.”
With a groan, she shook her head and looked to the loch. “Heaven help me, ye truly donna understand!”
“But I do,” he said, and slid his hand down her arm to her hand, and brought it to his mouth to kiss her bare knuckles. “Ye have my word I will protect ye with all that I have, lass. I will always keep ye well.”
For a moment, the briefest of moments, Payton thought he saw the glisten of tears in her green eyes, but Mared abruptly jerked her hand free of his. “Ye will keep me well, is that it?” she repeated venomously. “Do ye truly believe it is the curse that holds me back?”
“Aye,” he answered honestly.
“Ach, ye are a simpleton!” she cried, dismissively flicking her hand at
him. “I donna want to be a Douglas! I’d rather die by the bloody curse than be a Douglas! I’ve told ye that I’ve no regard for ye or yer kin, yet ye keep on!”
His frustration was mounting, he put his hands at his waist and lowered his head, glaring at her. “Old feuds have nothing to do with us now—”
“They have everything to do with us now!” she cried, and suddenly held out her fist. “Take this. I donna want it!” She opened her fist—the luckenbooth was in her palm, blinking up at him.
He hadn’t noticed she’d taken it from her breast until this moment and felt angry disappointment roil in his belly. “What do ye mean by this?” he asked sharply. “That is a betrothal gift!”
“But I donna want to be betrothed to ye!” she cried. “Ye force it on me as easily as ye forced the demise of my family!”
“What—”
“Donna pretend to be thickheaded! Ye brought sheep into these lochs, and now we struggle to keep our cattle. Ye forced the change in our fortune with yer selfish ways, and now ye would force a change to my future with yer selfish ways! I donna want to marry ye, Douglas!” she cried, flinging the luckenbooth. It hit him on the chest and fell to his feet, somewhere in the mud between a litter of rocks.
“I never wanted to marry ye!” she said vehemently. “I can scarcely bear yer presence! I donna esteem ye, I donna love ye, and I will never love ye, aye! Do ye hear me? I will never love ye! And if ye had a decent bone in yer body, ye’d cry off and release me from this damn betrothal I didna seek or want!” she sobbed. With a gasp for air, she clasped her hands together and beseeched him, “Please, I beg of ye, milord—donna force this on me!”
She said it with such emotion that she swayed unsteadily, and Payton unthinkingly reached out to catch her, but she jerked out of his reach. “I beg ye.”
Rage and disappointment exploded in him, nearly blinding him with the force and conviction of it. He suddenly felt battered and raw and clenched his jaw tightly shut. In his fury, he could see her gather her arisaidh tightly about her, as if she feared him.
He rather feared himself and clenched and unclenched his fists to keep rein on the wave of rage that was crashing through him. He had adored her, had done everything in his power to show her that he did, had endured her disdain and her silly attempts to match him with Miss Crowley. He had shown her every courtesy, had given her every allowance, had courted her and treated her like a queen…but in this moment, he thought he hated her. For the first time in his life, he thought he hated this woman and frankly wanted never to see her again.
He glanced down, his mind racing, then looked up, and abruptly caught her arm in a tight grip, yanking her forward to him, so that they were nose to nose.
“What are ye doing?” she cried, struggling to free herself.
Payton tightened his grip. “And how do ye propose to repay yer debt?” he snapped. “How will ye return three thousand pounds to me now?”
Mared blinked. The fire in her green eyes bled out, and confusion rose up. He shoved her away from him in disgust and pointed to the drive. “Go, then. Leave me and mine.”
“But—”
“No!” he roared at her. “Ye’ve spoken, Mared! Ye’ve been quite plain, ye’ve made yer choice, and now I shall make mine! I shall determine how yer debt will be repaid, and this time, ye will abide by the terms of our agreement or I’ll take this matter to a court of proper authority! Now go!”
She hesitated briefly, then ran past him as lithely as a cat, up the grassy hill to the drive, to the Lockhart coach, where Payton could see Liam waiting, his legs braced apart. Whatever she said, Liam hurried her into the old carriage, and Payton watched them drive away.
And yet he remained at the edge of the loch a quarter of an hour more, his chest heaving with each furious breath, his heart weighing heavy, until he had managed to calm himself sufficiently to return to the ceilidh he had so foolishly held in her honor.
Seven
M ared knew the moment Dudley informed her that she was wanted in the study that Payton had named his terms.
She’d been waiting for it with dreaded anticipation every moment of every day since that ignoble night she’d left Payton standing next to the loch, looking so furious and wounded all at once. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him—she did esteem him in her own strange way—but he had forced her with his betrothal gift and his plans to announce it to the entire region that very night. And she’d panicked….
Mared took one look at herself in the tarnished mirror above her dressing table, saw the dark smudges under her eyes, wrapped her arisaidh tightly around her, and made her way down to the family study.
On the main floor, as she and Dudley walked the long corridor to the study, Mared could hear the familiar voice of her father, and Grif’s raised above his. As she reached the door to the study, she could see the train of her mother’s gown, and clasping her arisaidh tightly in one hand, she lifted her chin and entered the room.
She could feel the force of his presence before she actually saw him standing at the hearth, still clad in a cloak, his legs braced apart, and his hands clasped behind his back. He was as tall as Liam, but today, he seemed somehow taller, towering over them all. His gaze was wintry cold.
For a moment, Mared could not find her tongue; she felt herself blush under his intense scrutiny and looked to her mother for help. But her mother could not help her now and stared grimly at the floor.
“Come in, come in, lass,” her father said wearily, and Mared forced her feet to move across the room. Father gestured to the chair next to him, and she sat, noticing only then that the entire family was present. Liam stood behind Ellie, who looked at Mared with pity. Grif was standing before the writing desk looking rather grim, and Anna was seated, her head bowed.
Mared glanced at her father and was inwardly startled to see how weary he suddenly looked—much older than his sixty years. The lines around his green eyes were pronounced, and the stubble of beard on his chin a steely gray.
He sighed. “Mared, leannan,” he said, and leaned across to put his palm to her cheek. “Ye are too stubborn for yer own good.”
She blinked in surprise, and Father dropped his hand. “What did ye think we would do, then? Did ye think three thousand pounds and more would miraculously appear to pay Laird Douglas?”
“N-no,” she said quickly, and glanced at the others in the room. All of them were glaring at some inanimate object, save her mother, who looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment. She risked a glimpse of Payton, who had not moved, not so much as blinked, but continued to stare at her coldly, all the warmth in him gone. Vanished.
“Ye know we must repay our debts, aye?” Father said again, patting her hand.
“Aye.” Of course she knew it. How could she possibly forget it? She’d thought of nothing else in every waking moment, searching for an answer, trying to think what they might sell to raise the money they needed to repay Payton Douglas, cursing the day they had ever borrowed from him.
“What, then, did ye think Hugh would come back to us and present us with the beastie?”
With a frown, Mared shook her head. “Hugh will no’ come back to Scotland. No’ ever.”
“Aye, exactly,” Father said, and leaned forward, so that his face was inches from hers. “So why in God’s name, then, did ye refuse Douglas?”
She had prepared herself for this. “Ye know why, Father. He’s a Douglas,” she said calmly.
“Aye, aye, he’s a Douglas, a bloody Douglas!” her father suddenly erupted, rearing back and slapping his hands against the arms of his char. “But what choice have ye left to us now?”
He suddenly sprang to his feet and began to pace.
“Aye, ye’ve made quite a fine mess of things, miss! Ye’ve left us with no options, ye’ve closed every bloody door! Would ye give over Talla Dileas before ye’d honor yer word?”
“Carson!” her mother cried, but Father waved her off.
“No, Aila, no, I willna hear ye
r pleas for leniency! Were it only her fancy, aye, I’d agree, she’d marry whomever she pleases. But ’tis no’ her fancy! Her actions affect us all! Look what she has done! Look what she forces us to do!”
“I donna understand,” Mared said, suddenly alarmed. “What have I forced ye to do?”
“Be strong now, Mared,” Liam said sternly. “Ye must do yer duty for yer family.”
“What duty?” she cried, coming to her feet as her heart climbed to her throat.
“Ye gave yer sacred word, Mared! And on yer word, I agreed to the terms of the loan! And now that ye’ve refused to honor yer word, ye leave us no choice!” her father bellowed.
Whatever Payton had done, whatever he’d demanded, Mared could feel the full force of it shake her very foundation. “What do ye mean, Father?” she helplessly insisted. “What choice?”
“What he means is that ye will still be mine,” Douglas said, his voice silky and dark.
Her fear faded to fury and Mared whirled around to face him. “What have ye done? What have ye said that—”
“No,” he said sharply, pointing a menacing finger at her. “Ye’ll no’ speak to me thus. Ye will show the proper respect due yer employer.”
“What?” Mared laughed hysterically. “What rubbish!”
“Mared,” Mother said low, clasping her hands together beseechingly. “Please listen. We’ve no other choice.”
Now Mared’s heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she struggled to breathe. “Tell me,” she demanded of Payton. “Tell me what ye’ve done.”
A single brow rose over his cold gray gaze. “What I’ve done?” He flashed a grin as bleak and cold as the devil’s. “I warn ye to hold yer tongue, for I willna abide insolence in my household staff.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in, but Mared gasped with outrage at the same moment Grif was at her back, his arm firmly around her waist. “No, Mared,” he said in her ear. “No. Ye will listen now. Ye’ve said enough already.”
“Have ye all gone mad?” she cried, clawing at Grif’s arm. “I donna belong to his household staff and I never shall, God in heaven, I never shall!”
