by Mary Wine
Who was he?
Why didn’t she know the answer to that?
She did, and yet, at that moment, it seemed everything was changing. He made a harsh sound under his breath, and she realized she was just sitting there, staring at him. She took the reins, the feeling of them against her fingers more of a puzzle for her racing thoughts.
Marcus didn’t grant her time to make sense of what she was doing, the wisdom of it, or even if she wanted to go with him. He mounted his stallion, his men following his lead, and a moment later, they were riding out of the gates of the castle.
It brought Helen relief and renewed apprehension. Having the castle falling behind them was pure delight because it meant the earl would not put Marcus back into chains.
But she also was staring at Marcus’s back, and he was every inch the Highlander she’d met that day when he’d stolen her.
Today, there was a new set of sensations. He was just as powerful and commanding, but what struck her deepest was the beauty of seeing him free. It really made everything worth it, filling her with a sense of accomplishment that had been missing from her life.
No matter what she thought of the man, one thing was certain: Marcus MacPherson had touched off feelings inside her that she had never realized might go so deep. Was that something to cherish?
She simply had no idea.
* * *
She felt Marcus watching her.
That was an oddity, because he’d never troubled himself with her before.
Helen felt the frustration that had kept her company for the last year and a half rising inside her. Honestly, when it came to Marcus, it was as if the tide came in every few hours, wave after wave of anger toward him and what he’d made of her life.
She wasn’t sorry, either. Frustration was far better than pity. Better to spit in the eye of Fate than to cry in a broken heap where it had dropped her.
But she did twist her lips into a grimace as she forced herself to move. Every muscle she had protested the simple action of walking because Marcus had kept them riding the entire day, even past sundown. She knew the only reason they were stopped now was because the horses needed water.
Not that she could blame him. If someone had locked her in chains, she would likely not rest until she found her home either.
“Thank you.”
Helen was so deep in her thoughts that Katherine’s voice startled her. The girl blinked at the way Helen jumped before she offered up a shy smile.
“I am deeply in your debt.”
Helen relaxed and returned the smile. “Ye should no’ have to be. I did the only thing any decent person should have.”
“Decency,” Katherine said in a soft voice clearly laced with an English accent. “I have discovered men talk more about it than actually act upon it. They seem to think the Bible was written only for women to heed.”
“Aye,” Helen agreed. “It is a sad fact.”
Katherine walked beside her for a moment. Marcus glanced back at them, but it was Skene who was assigned to safeguard them as they stretched their legs along the river’s edge.
“So, are these men…” Katherine asked slowly, gauging whether or not Helen approved of her asking a question. Helen continued to smile, encouraging the girl. “Are they in fact Highlanders?”
Helen nodded. “Yes. A fine example of them, too. They are MacPhersons.”
“I see,” Katherine remarked as she silently surveyed Helen from head to toe.
“I was born a Grant,” Helen offered.
“Is it a good match for you?” Katherine asked.
Helen choked on a snort. Katherine’s eyes widened, shaming her. “Yes, I suppose it would be considered a fine match. Me father has no great name.”
“Mine does,” Katherine supplied. “It is a curse because men fight over me like a chest of gold.”
“It can also be a curse having no recourse against men with more power.”
Helen regretted her words. Katherine was young and shouldn’t have to face life’s harsher lessons just yet. The English girl surprised her by nodding, her eyes full of comprehension.
“No’ that it matters,” Helen continued. “The wedding was only for the Earl of Morton’s benefit. We shall get an annulment.”
Skene heard every word, his eyebrows lifting nearly to his hairline. But Helen quickly lost interest in the man because Marcus was standing behind him. Her new husband didn’t care for what she’d said. His jaw was tight, and the knuckles on his hand where he was holding the pommel of his sword were white.
“Mount up,” he ordered. “I won’t rest easy until we get out of the Lowlands.”
* * *
The next few days passed in a blur. Helen spent most of it on the back of a horse. Marcus would call a halt and let them rest for short periods only. So when he stopped in front of a rough-looking inn, the place looked as welcoming as a castle.
In reality, it was a tavern that served basic meals to those on the road. The bottom floor of the building was filled with long tables around which a plump woman bustled as she served up stew and the local ale.
Marcus had words with the owner of the place while Skene and Finley stood very close to Helen and Katherine. The rest of the MacPherson retainers moved to some of the tables, making it clear they expected the other travelers to make way for them. No one argued. The other travelers picked up their mugs and bowls and gladly sat across the room while casting suspicious looks toward the Highlanders. They were still in the middle lands, not yet truly in the Highlands. For all that every man in the tavern room was a Scot, there was a marked difference between them.
The MacPhersons were Highlanders. They gave allegiance to their clan and survived in harsh terrain. They clung to their traditions because there was strength in numbers. Katherine’s predicament was certainly an example of this. Without her family, the girl’s fate could be a dire one.
Well, the MacPhersons had interfered in that. At least insofar as stopping the Earl of Morton’s plans for her. It came at a price, though. Brenda would have to face the earl when he learned of their deception. And Katherine? She was heading to a place where no decent English lady ever went. Her reputation would be stained forever.
Helen knew a great deal about a stained reputation. She shifted her attention to Marcus but didn’t feel the rise of her temper. That was new, and it shook her a bit because he had been the target of her anger for so long. Oh, it was a sin to be so discontented. She’d often reminded herself of the merits of cultivating forgiveness, if for nothing other than the ease it would grant her.
Today, it seemed that was the case. She wouldn’t go so far as to say she forgave Marcus. No, not while she was fairly certain her toes were still numb from a winter spent in house shoes. All Helen had to do was look at Katherine and see the patches upon patches on the clothing the girl wore to recall just how little forgiveness she owed Marcus.
And yet…
She frowned as she felt her conscience stirring. Guilt was needling her as she looked at Katherine. It would have been in Marcus’s best interest to wed the girl. The Earl of Morton was not a man to cross lightly, and many in the room would have said not at all. Not only was the man regent, but he was a Douglas, and that clan had the numbers to make it very unwise to cross them. Even if his dictates fostered revulsion in many of his clansmen, they would listen to his reasoning and find it just. Or at least justifiable because of the good it would bring in the end.
Indeed, guilt was sitting solidly on Helen’s shoulders now, urging her to improve her opinion of Marcus. Oh yes, he was arrogant and presumptuous. Yet he was also a decent, honorable man. Marcus finished his business by pressing silver into the palm of the innkeeper. He caught Helen looking at him, their eyes meeting. Something twisted inside her belly. Some recognition of him went deeper than the way she noticed the other men in room. Clearly, she sh
ould have dispensed with her anger at him sooner, because now she knew no way to think about the man other than intensely.
“This is no fit place for women,” Marcus said once he was standing beside her. “I’ve rented a room above stairs for ye both.”
Katherine made a soft sound of gratitude. The child looked worn out, with dark circles beneath her eyes. Marcus took her arm to steady her as they climbed the stairs. The wood creaked and dust tickled Helen’s nose, but the promise of a bed shimmered like a treat.
Marcus went inside, looking around the chamber twice before he turned and caught Helen with a stern look. “Do ye still have that dagger tucked into the top of yer boot?”
“Of course,” Helen answered.
Katherine’s eyes widened. “What a fine idea.” The English girl only smiled when both Helen and Marcus looked at her in shock. “Of course I was speaking of the boots.” For all her youth, Katherine was very accomplished in the art of plying her innocence.
“Aye.” Marcus’s tone made it clear he didn’t believe her.
“Here now.” The woman who had been serving the tables hustled through the doorway, her arms full. Helen took the pitcher she was grasping with her right hand while the woman laid out the other items.
There was a large plate with supper for both her and Katherine. Bread, cheese, and some late-harvest fruit. Marcus waited until the woman finished and left.
“Bar the door,” he instructed Helen before he went back into the passageway. Marcus turned and pegged her with a solid look. “We’ll be just below, but I can nae set a man here without insulting the landlord.”
Which meant another night on the cold ground. Helen nodded, taking solace in the fact that Marcus didn’t trust easily. He’d passed up a string of villages behind them because he didn’t know the landlords of the taverns.
As he left, Marcus pulled the door shut with a solid sound.
Katherine was already sitting on one of the stools at the table. She was gripping handfuls of her skirt to keep from tearing into the food.
“Eat,” Helen told her. “Ye need no’ wait on me.”
Katherine smiled before reaching for the round of bread and ripping it in half. She plunged it into one of the bowls of stew and sighed as she bit off some of it. Helen was more interested in washing off the grime from the road. She poured water into a bowl and dunked a length of linen into it.
The water was dingy by the time she finished, but her skin felt delightful. By then, Katherine was done with her meal and had stood up to go and make use of their washing facilities. Moments after she finished, the girl was lying in bed, exhaustion taking over.
Helen took longer to eat, but in the end, no matter how much she wanted to think, her body was too spent. She crawled into the bed next to Katherine and surrendered to sleep.
* * *
She smelled him.
Marcus, that was.
Helen shifted closer to that scent, a deep sense of enjoyment moving through her. She felt him stroking her again. Those large hands that held so much strength could be so very gentle against her skin. It was a marvel that surprised and delighted her.
Yes. He was smoothing his hand along her face and down her neck, then back up to her face and chin before he clamped his hand over her lips.
Helen came fully awake with a start, slamming into Marcus as she sat up, which felt very much like falling onto the floor. He held her against him, his hand cutting off the shriek that tried to escape her lips, but she heaved and lifted her body right off the bed. She must have surprised him because his body gave way, rolling back and away from the bed.
She tumbled down on top of him, her head knocking against his jaw. She heard him grunt before he turned them, rolling her beneath his larger body and locking her in place.
“Damn ye…vixen,” he muttered.
“What are ye doing in here with me?” she demanded in a harsh whisper.
“Am I no’ yer husband, woman?”
Helen gasped, bucking against his hold. He cursed in Gaelic and followed her as she rolled away from him. It must have been surprise that allowed her to break free, because a moment later she was able to get to her feet, backing out of the chamber. It seemed too small with Marcus sharing it.
“I did nae mean it like that,” he said as he followed her out of the room and closed the door behind him. “And ye’ll be telling me now if any man under my command put his hands on ye.”
“I’m no’ sure what business it is of yers.” Actually, she did understand. Fully so. Marcus had always taken his duty to heart. She sighed when he stiffened. “I should no’ have said that. ’Twas scurrilous and unfair.”
His expression had hardened. She watched him absorb her apology and relax a bit. “Ye did nae bar the door.”
That snapped her completely out of slumber. “Oh…aye, ye did tell me to do that.”
“For all the things I allowed ye to go without, protection was no’ one of them, Helen.”
She nodded, acknowledging the truth of his words. But her temper was still stirred. “Checking to see if the door was barred did no’ have anything to do with ye putting yer hands on me.”
“True.” He tilted his head to the side, and she caught a flash of his teeth as he grinned.
That smile was trouble. A solid promise that the man was in the mood to press his will on her.
“When I opened the door and saw ye lying there, it was pure pleasure to know I have the right to touch ye.”
Her breath got lodged in her throat for some reason.
“Ye should no’ be thinking like that,” she admonished him in a voice that was too breathless for her taste. They were just at the top of the stairs, which meant their words could bounce right down to the men sleeping in the tavern below. The last thing she needed was more than thirty witnesses to the fact that Marcus was declaring he’d put his hands on her. There would be no annulment if that happened.
“Ye’re thinking about it too.” He was watching her from his greater height, coming closer.
Helen felt him testing her nerve. Her heart was accelerating, her breathing increasing to keep pace, and all of it because he was close enough for her to catch the scent of his skin.
“I was reacting to it, ye gob.” She kept her tone soft, trying to imply he was of little importance to her.
“We have that in common, lass.” He cupped her elbows and had her upper arms clasped in his hands before she finished snarling at him. “I was drawn to ye as well.”
Helen flattened her hands against his chest, but there was no stopping him. Marcus angled his head and pressed his mouth against hers. She jerked against his hold, but not because she thought to escape. No, it shamed her to realize she had no control whatsoever over her body. The second she felt his grasp on her arms, it was as if someone had set off a black-powder keg inside her. It blew right through the wall of decorum that stopped her from doing the things she wanted to do.
And the things she wanted to do with Marcus were definitely among the things she’d been warned against.
Now, with his mouth coaxing hers to respond in kind, she couldn’t seem to recall why it was wrong to kiss him back.
It felt so very delicious.
So did the way his chest felt beneath her fingertips. Her intention to push him back melted beneath the sweet wave of sensation sweeping through her from his kiss, leaving her smoothing her hands along his chest and slowly, tentatively exploring the way he felt beneath her fingertips.
The kiss changed in response. Marcus pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her and making it a true embrace. She wasn’t his captive just then. No, there was a whole new feeling to the way he moved his hands along her back, rubbing her gently as he brought his hand up to her nape and threaded his fingers through her loose hair.
She shuddered, gasping at the intimacy. Somehow, she had n
ever realized what that word truly meant. Now, it was a feeling, working its way through her flesh, layer by layer, seeping deeper than she had thought possible.
It was shocking and she craved more of it, but the sheer intensity of it all made her pull away. She only succeeded because he’d abandoned his hard grip on her. She ended up against the wall, her hands flat on the rough wood because she feared she’d reach out for him again.
She wanted to.
No, that wasn’t exactly true. Part of her needed to put her hands on him. It was a craving, a hunger that grew with every passing second. His embrace made her feel complete for the first time since she had left her father’s house.
She couldn’t. The only thing she had left that was truly her own was her body.
He crossed his arms over his chest. She’d seen him standing that way too many times to count, his feet braced shoulder-width apart while he considered those around him with a keen gaze.
“Go back to bed, Helen. Before we wake that child.”
Even whispered, she heard the command in his tone. Her temper arrived at last, balking at being told what to do.
Which only made her scoff at her own fickle emotions.
Clearly she needed more sleep, because she was making no sense whatsoever. She stopped long enough to place the bar across the door and make sure it was pushed all the way down. The bed was warm and inviting, although she was still pondering why she could not control her responses to his kisses.
For the first time, she thought about what it would cost him to keep her as wife. The MacPhersons were a powerful clan to be sure, but one reason they were so was because of alliances. She brought none, and after the annulment, Marcus could wed another who would strengthen the clan.
So that was it. There was nothing more to consider. They would get an annulment.
And she was going to make sure she explained to him exactly why he wouldn’t be kissing her ever again.
* * *
Brenda had expected to be discovered sooner.
Not that she was unhappy, far from it. Nearly a week passed before Morton sent for her. There was no way to keep her face hidden from the guards, and they lost a great deal of their color when she turned to face them instead of Katherine. The door to her tiny cell was closed quickly before she heard one of them running down the passageway.
