The Chief's Maiden (Border Series Book 3)

by Cecelia Mecca

  Catrina simply looked at him.

  He’d never wanted to talk about that day before. Although he’d comforted his younger siblings, as the new chief he’d thought it his duty to show strength, not weakness.

  “Aye,” she said finally. “Very well. It could have been yesterday rather than eight years ago.”

  “I was worried most about you,” he said.

  Catrina moved closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. She’d done so many times during their childhood, but not very often in recent years.

  “I love you, brother.”

  He took her hand, his eyes blurry.

  “And I love you.”

  Of course he did, but why had he not said those words more often? Why didn’t he tell her all the time?

  “She’s not Mother.”

  No, she was not.

  “I told her father. Everything.”

  Her head lifted abruptly from his shoulder.

  “Everything?”

  Toren had wanted the man to know his original purpose for being sent to England before the hunt. Had Hallington chosen to abandon the hunt, leave Bristol, and take Jules with him, Toren would not have blamed him. But the older man had chosen differently. He explained all to his sister.

  “He admitted to having skipped the tournament for that very reason—he’d suspected his life would be forfeit to protect the peace. The man’s only curiosity was why I’d chosen to share such information.”

  Catrina waited patiently for him to continue.

  “I may not have been forthright about some details. . .”

  “Such as taking Juliette’s maidenhood?”

  It was his turn to be surprised.

  “I’m no longer an innocent myself, Toren. And if I had not guessed, I did come upon you at the falls.”

  The large, black-haired Englishman who looked as if he would devour his sister at any moment was all the evidence he needed to attest to the truth of her words.

  “But we did not—” He stopped. They had not been together that day. But they would have if Catrina had not come. It hardly mattered either way.

  “Even if I was myself a maid—” she shrugged, “—the looks that passed between you were hard to ignore.”

  Unwilling to discuss the topic further with his sister, Toren continued, “But once I explained my plan, he was not only in agreement with it, but it was he who suggested a union between Jules and I. How anyone could have thought Hallington would have undermined his position, I will never know. Before I could even ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage, he was already offering her to me as a ‘sign of friendship and peace.’ That he was willing to ‘sacrifice her to a Scotsman’ was evidence, he said, of his devotion to his duty to the borderers.”

  As he spoke, Catrina’s eyes widened.

  “You asked him to marry her?”

  “Were you not listening? He asked me, if you can believe such a thing.”

  “But. . . you were going to ask his permission. To marry? Juliette?”

  Catrina was typically quite quick-witted.

  “You are surprised?”

  “Aye. Nay. Damn, Toren. You were going to marry her.”

  “What does it matter? She’s gone,” he said, throwing the garment onto the floor.

  “But you have to go after her! She—”

  “Nay,” he stood. “Never.”

  He would carry out his plan to placate Douglas without having to actually kill the English warden. But only because it was the right thing to do. The man, though not quite likable, was innocent. He didn’t deserve to die—and he wouldn’t meet that fate at Toren’s hands.

  But Toren had effectively sabotaged any chance he’d had with his daughter.

  “Toren—”

  He narrowed his eyes, and though Catrina likely could not see his expression in the darkened chamber, she must have understood there would be no discussion on this.

  She had left him. The reason hardly mattered. Had her father told her by now of their conversation? If so, it had not compelled her to return.

  Either way, she wasn’t coming back.

  And he’d bloody well be damned if he’d look for a woman who didn’t want to be found.

  21

  Juliette had been desperate to leave Bristol immediately, but she hadn’t felt up to explaining the truth to her father—not in the same manor where Toren and Catrina and the others were up and about. And a part of her didn’t want to. . . even now.

  So she had simply walked into the stable, told the groom that she and her father would need their horses prepared, begged the maid Elise to give her father a message, and left. No one had stopped her even though the hour was late. It turned out that getting into a castle was much more difficult than escaping one.

  She jumped at every noise and whipped her head around at every movement, even more scared than the evening she’d made her way to Toren’s tent alone. Surely she would emerge unscathed now, just as she had done then. Her father and his men would come.

  After what felt like an entire night had passed, Juliette heard the unmistakable sound of horses behind her. Then, finally, men’s voices. Taking a deep breath, she stopped and waited for what promised to be a most difficult confrontation.

  “Jules?”

  Her father never called her that. Only Kelvin and Toren used that name for her. And while his shout was laced with fear, it would surely change to fury soon.

  “Aye, Father. I’m here,” she called.

  Bits of light swayed through the night as the men finally approached her, their lanterns flickering in the dark air. Her father rode ahead of his men. All looked as if they were prepared to do battle.

  “What in the name of our Lord and heaven above are you doing out here?”

  He was more than a little angry.

  “Did you not receive my message?”

  The moonlight, though it had aided her on the journey, cast a foreboding glow on the man she’d always slightly feared. Her father appeared every inch the warrior now. His sword drawn, black shadows falling around him, he swayed with the horse who danced impatiently below him.

  Quick for such a large man, her father sheathed his sword, dismounted, and pulled her off her own mount before she could formulate another thought.

  “What is the meaning of this, Juliette?”

  He held her by both arms as one of the men led their horses away.

  “Father—”

  “Do you know how frightened I was? Riding alone at night, here. . .”

  “I’m sorry, Father. I—”

  “What is wrong with you, girl?”

  How to answer that particular question?

  “I wanted to leave and didn’t know another way. As I said in my message, I will marry Lord Wytham and do as you please.” Although she would do no such thing. But one shock was enough for the night. “We just could not—”

  “Marry Lord Wytham? You are to marry the Scots chief.”

  Nothing her father could have said would have surprised her more.

  “Marry Toren?”

  Cold seeped up the back of her neck despite the warm summer night.

  “I’ve given my permission. He led me to believe you would be agreeable. Juliette, I demand to know—”

  “He asked for your permission to marry me?”

  It made no sense.

  “Father, the man was sent to kill you.” She hadn’t planned on telling her father that, but the turn of events had dictated she must. Especially if he entertained the idea of actually marrying her off to that bastard Scotsman.

  “Yet I am still well enough to chase you into the night on this fool’s errand, am I not?”

  “You’re not surprised?” Juliette asked, struggling to understand.

  “He told me everything.”

  Likely not everything. But there were some things she’d not say aloud to her father. That she’d given the man her virginity was another fact she’d keep to herself.

  “Then you know we
met under false pretenses,” she said. “I learned just this eve when I overheard a conversation between the chief and his sister. I never knew. Father, I—”

  “Juliette.”

  She hated that tears welled in her eyes and though she willed them back, they would not obey. And for the second time that night, her father wrapped his arms around her. The mail on his chest scratched her cheek, but she didn’t care. It was all so confusing. So very heavy.

  “Hush.”

  His tone softened. It hardly sounded like her father at all.

  “Daughter.” He pulled away and took her hands in his gloved ones. “I have been harsh, mayhap too harsh. But everything I’ve done has been to keep you and your brother safe. You know your grandfather was a landless baron, and I’ve fought to earn Chauncy Manor, given my life in dedication to the king to earn his respect and this position. But I fear I may have done so at the expense of your happiness.”

  “Nay, Father, I know—”

  “I don’t agree with those nuns often, but they’ve taught you well. I’m proud of the woman you’ve become, though I wish you’d bend to my will just once, Juliette. I’m tired of fighting. . . everyone.”

  She never would have believed it, but the moonlight clearly illuminated a gleam in her father’s eyes. He was not perfect, but he was her father. He cared about her, despite his bluster, and she would do anything for him.

  But this.

  “I cannot marry him, Father. He deceived me.”

  He didn’t say a word. Had she pushed too far?

  “He loves you, daughter,” he finally said.

  “You’ve never had any use for love in marriage, Father.”

  She could not believe she said such a thing aloud, but it was true. Before he could respond, she pressed on. “And even if it’s true, he does not trust me. The man trusts no one save his family and his clan. I cannot marry a man who doesn’t trust me.”

  She wanted to ask her father so much more. What had Toren told him? What was his plan? For surely he must have one. If he married the daughter of the man he’d been sent to kill, how would he explain his actions? And to whom must he explain them? Who had sent him on such a mission?

  Most importantly, why had her father agreed to their marriage?

  But if she asked, it would be akin to admitting she cared.

  And she most certainly did not.

  Toren was dead to her. Every moment they’d been together was a lie.

  Without another word, her father turned to the men waiting in the shadows. “Find a clearing off the main road. We make camp here tonight.”

  He turned to her.

  “We will talk in the morning. Come.”

  He helped her mount once again, and Juliette let out a sigh of relief.

  At least they would not be returning to Bristol. For now.

  With Catrina’s assistance, Toren finished the last of his missives and sat back in the cushioned oak chair that had once belonged to him.

  “You’ve done the right thing here. I’ll have these sent right away.”

  He wasn’t so sure.

  Catrina’s smile encouraged him, but when Toren shifted in his seat, she left him to his discomfort.

  He despised asking for help, and they both knew it. He had never expected to rule any differently than his father, who had been notorious for his purposeful lack of allies.

  Except that he was different.

  And these were different times. It was no longer possible for them to isolate themselves. As a border lord, in order to keep peace, he needed to work together with his neighbors. Including those across the border to the south.

  “Toren.”

  Including this man.

  “Bryce.”

  His brother-in-law sat across from him, extending his legs and crossing his arms as if he expected Toren to speak first.

  He would not do it.

  They sat in silence for a few moments, but then he remembered the impassioned speech he’d made to his sister. He’d promised he would learn to ask for help. Make allies. And not be quite so stubborn. It was time to prove it.

  “So, what do you want?”

  Bryce raised his eyebrows. “I must have misunderstood, Kerr.” Without smiling, he added, “Catrina mentioned something about you being more open to allies.”

  “Ones who do not kidnap my sister, aye.”

  Though he said the words, it was a rote response—there was no malice behind them.

  “If you’d not dropped her while making your escape, she would not have been kidnapped.”

  “I didn’t drop—”

  Bryce actually had a smile on his face. Of sorts.

  “Do you think it will work?” Bryce asked.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “MacDuff and Campbell will not be a problem. deSowlis will balk but will likely agree.”

  “And Douglas?”

  “He will be the most difficult to convince. But if the others accept my pledge of loyalty in exchange for their support on this matter, Douglas will be forced to relent.”

  “And you think he can convince the king to reconsider his plan.”

  Toren didn’t hesitate. “I know he can. If the others agree to rally their kin around Hallington as an innocent victim, he will have no other choice.”

  “And a pledge of loyalty from Clan Kerr is that important to them?”

  “Aye.”

  Bryce shook his head. “Sero sed serio.”

  Surprised he knew their clan motto, Toren smiled. “Late but in earnest.”

  The men fell silent again.

  “And the girl?”

  “I told your wife—”

  “Catrina said nothing to me about Juliette.”

  Toren didn’t believe him.

  “I’m keeping Hallington alive because he’s innocent. Juliette left of her own accord.”

  He tried not to think about her. After learning about the message she’d sent to her father through the maid Elise, something Catrina had tried to keep from him, Toren was even more angry. She planned to marry Lord Wytham? After he’d thrown himself on her father’s mercy. . .

  He refused to think about it. Standing, he bid Bryce a good day and left to find Catrina to ensure she sent the messenger. With another Day of Truce approaching, swift action was necessary.

  But as he walked through the hall, a familiar face greeted him. Or rather, tried to run from him.

  “Alfred, wait!”

  He caught up to the squire, who appeared quite terrified.

  “Please, I—” Alfred whispered.

  Without a choice, the boy followed him down the dimly lit hallway. Even though it approached midday, this part of the manor was only lit by the flickering of candles positioned along the walls.

  “You’ve been avoiding me.”

  He felt neglectful of the lad who he’d promised to keep safe. Although he’d never said those exact words, it was more out of pity than need that he’d asked him to return to Scotland. But if he were going to serve in their household, be trained by Alex and perhaps squire for him, Toren needed to know more.

  “No, no, I—”

  “Look at me.”

  Gulping, Alfred finally lifted his head.

  “I stand by my decision. You’re competent and—” he realized what was likely distressing him, “—and welcome in my household.”

  The fear in his eyes sliced into him. He’d never intended to scare him.

  “Truly. Of course you may come to Brockburg. Though I will need to know more of your background before presenting you to the others.”

  He began to say something and then snapped his mouth shut.

  “In good time, lad. Not today.” For some reason, he was scared. Of him. Of revealing anything. There was no need to press the matter.

  He nodded and turned to leave. Clearly he was anxious to escape him, so Toren was surprised when he turned back around and blurted out, “She told me you were different. That you valued what she said where others did not. T
hat I could trust you.”

  It took a moment for Toren to understand what he was saying.

  “When did she tell you that?”

  Alfred bowed his head once more. “The night she left. I passed by her as you spoke to your sister in the solar.”

  With that, he did turn around. And run.

  He considered running after him, but the lad had been through enough that day. And longer, if his suspicions were correct.

  He moved to a bench at the end of the dark hall and sat. Had she overheard Catrina’s accusations after the hunt? Toren tried to remember exactly what he’d said to her. He leaned against the cold stone wall and closed his eyes.

  She knew. And that was why she had left. And he’d done the exact same thing as her father by not trusting her. But it was not like that. She could have handled the truth. Catrina had been right.

  Bollocks!

  He’d been a fool not to tell her. Not to trust her. And now she hated him.

  But not as much as he hated himself.

  22

  “Stay here,” her father commanded.

  Juliette’s backside ached, and her head hurt. Virtually every part of her screamed for a rest, but she’d not complained all day. They were going home, and that’s what mattered. A stable hand took their horses, and while her father’s men circled around the inn, presumably looking for evildoers and other such threats, only one knight remained, though he didn’t appear inclined to speak with her.

  Her father tended to recruit men like himself—serious, hard-working, and a bit ruthless. She’d become used to them over the years, so it didn’t insult her that his man stood just a few feet from her, arms crossed, looking from side to side but never at her.

  Dusting off her riding gown—how she wished she could have worn Catrina’s breeches, though her father would never have allowed such a thing—she began to walk toward the inn. An arm shot out in front of her, and remembering she had been told to wait, Juliette backed up obediently.

  Until she remembered she was a woman grown and not a young girl to be ordered about.

  Looking up at the dark-haired knight, she touched her hand to his arm, lowered it, and began to walk toward the entrance once more.