Beyond the Highland Myst

by Highlander 01-08

  She flinched when Armand Berard took her hand and looped it through his elbow. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, her chin slipped a notch. Never let anyone take your dignity, Lisa, Catherine whispered in her mind. Sometimes it is all one has.

  Her chin shot back up. If she was going to her death, by God, she would do it regally. During all her suffering her mother had never relinquished her dignity, and Lisa would do no less. Inclining her head, she smoothed her gown and straightened her spine.

  It seemed to take forever to descend the few dozen stairs. The hall was jammed with Templars and the Bruce's travel-weary men, and nearly a hundred warriors gazed curiously up at her, including the furious glare of one warlord who definitely looked like he wanted her dead, and the inquisitive gaze of the king of Scotland.

  She pasted a defiant smile on her lips. As they reached the bottom, the dark-haired king broke away from the crowd. He moved toward her, his arms extended.

  "Lisa," he exclaimed. "How lovely to see you again. You have blossomed under Circenn's care, but I suspected you would."

  He wrapped her in a fierce hug, and her face was buried in a thick beard that smelled of wood smoke from camping in the open country. She pressed close, concealing her stunned expression in his cheek. Circenn must have gotten to him first, she realized. He squeezed her so tightly, she nearly squeaked. When he fondly patted her rump, she did squeak, and tried to draw away. He was grinning at her.

  Close to her ear, he whispered, "Doona fash yourself, lassie. Circenn told me all. I am pleased he has chosen a wife."

  Wife? She squeaked again as her knees weakened. Surely that oversized, scowling barbarian didn't think she would marry him just to stay alive? She glanced over the Bruce's shoulder and saw Circenn standing five paces behind him, eyeing her with a glare that wordlessly instructed, Obey. Behave.

  On second thought… "Did he tell you that? He promised me he wouldn't announce it yet," she lied glibly. If that was what Circenn had told him, and it would keep her alive, she'd go along with it for the moment. There would be ample time to amend things later.

  "Nay, lass, he didn't say it. His eyes did."

  Whose eyes has he been looking at? she wondered, because the only eyes she'd seen held murder in their depths.

  The Bruce smiled broadly. "May you be as fertile as the hare. We need dozens of his sons in this land." He laughed and patted her abdomen.

  Lisa blushed, concerned that he might pat her breasts and inquire about her nursing abilities. She'd just been patted more familiarly by the king of Scotland than she'd been touched by any man, save Circenn.

  "Does your clan breed well?"

  "Uh… aye," she said brightly, with another blush.

  The Bruce hooked an arm behind him and drew Circenn forward, hugging them together. For a moment, her cheekbone was smashed against Circenn's chest. After a few moments of the most uncomfortable group hug she'd ever been subjected to, the Bruce flung back his head and yelled, "I give you my cousin, Lisa MacRobertson!"

  The Bruce stepped back, nudging them closer together. He took Lisa's hand and curled her fingers into her palm, making a fist. Ignoring her look of confusion, he placed her balled fist in Circenn's large hand. Lisa's gaze flew to Circenn's face and she saw the fury there, though the king seemed oblivious to it.

  "It is with great pleasure I give this lass, my beloved cousin, hand-in-fist, to my favored laird and knight in our blessed cause, Circenn Brodie, along with four additional manors outlying his demesne. The wedding will be at Brodie when we meet there in three months' time. Hail the future mistress of Brodie!" Robert roared, smiling at them both.

  Circenn's hand clenched around her fist. As the hall erupted into cheers, the look he turned on her was venomous.

  "Don't you dare look at me like that! I didn't tell him that," she hissed. "You're the one who told him that."

  Circenn took advantage of the momentary chaos and pulled her into his arms. His mouth to her hair, he growled in a brogue thickened by anger, "I did not tell him that. The king decided, wholly independent of me, so, lass, if you truly can be leaving this century, I suggest you set your mind to determining how to do so, long before the third moon passes. Or you'll be finding yourself wed to me, and I promise, lass, you will not fare well for it."

  "A kiss to seal it, Brodie!" the Bruce cried.

  Only Lisa saw the fierce look on his face before he kissed her punishingly.

  * * *

  Galan found Duncan lying on the floor of the kitchen, clutching his sides. Every few seconds he drew a deep, wheezing breath, stuttered, then lost himself again in waves of laughter.

  Galan watched him repeat the ridiculous sequence several times before nudging him with the toe of his boot. "Would you stop it," he said disgustedly.

  Duncan gasped, pounding his chest with his fist, then collapsed again into guffaws. "D-did—ah-hahaha—did you see his f-face?" Duncan roared, holding his stomach.

  Galan's lips twitched, and he bit the bottom one to remain serious. "This is a fankle, Duncan," Galan chastised. "Now he's nearly handfasted to the wench."

  Duncan's only response was another roar of laughter. "N-nearly? H-he is!"

  "I doona know what you think is so amusing about this. Circenn is going to be furious."

  "But he's st-stuck!" Duncan gasped between near-sobs of laughter. Then he rose to his feet, took several great breaths, and finally managed to subdue his laughter for the moment, yet the corners of his mouth twitched furiously.

  "Doona you see what must have happened, Galan? Circenn must have requested the Bruce acknowledge her, and the king—knowing Circenn is of Brude descent—assumed Circenn wished her to be of royal alliance so he might wed her. So, Robert took it a little further, kindly thinking he was clearing the way for the woman to be accepted as his wife. Thinking he was giving Circenn exactly what he wanted."

  "Oh, really?" a cool voice said.

  Duncan and Galan both sobered to immediate attention.

  "Milord." They nodded respectfully.

  "You underestimate me," Robert the Bruce said softly.

  "Where's Circenn?" Galan asked, glancing warily behind the Bruce.

  "I left Circenn in the Greathall, accepting congratulations with his new lady on his arm," Robert said smugly. "Think you I doona know the man has taken one of his ridiculous oaths not to wed?"

  Duncan gazed at the king admiringly. "You clever bastard."

  "Duncan!" Galan roared. "You doona address the king as such!"

  Robert raised his hand and grinned. "Your brother has called me worse, as I have him, besotted with whisky and wenches. He and I understand each other well, Galan. In fact, it was while wenching with your brother at Edinburgh that we discussed this very concern. It is no longer a concern, is it? I fixed what most of your clan has not been able to fix for years." Robert looked enormously pleased with himself.

  Galan glared at Duncan. "That's where you went when you said you were getting supplies? Wenching and drinking with the king? Have you no sense of responsibility?"

  Duncan smiled innocently. "Robert needed to alleviate some tension, and I know of no better way. And while we were being entertained most grandly by a few lasses, we discussed the fact that Circenn was getting no closer to making sons for Scotland. As Robert pointed out—he has managed to fix what none of us could. I, for one, am grateful."

  Galan shook his head. "Circenn would kill us all if he suspected this wasn't a vast misunderstanding."

  "But he'll never know, will he?" Robert said calmly.

  Duncan burst into laughter again, and after a brief, startled look, Galan joined him.

  * * *

  "I am not marrying you," Circenn rumbled behind a flawless smile.

  "I didn't ask you to," Lisa hissed back, a smile of spun glass bowing her lips.

  With brittle displays of teeth, they glared at each other, while accepting congratulations from the various men standing in the hall. Each time they had a moment of near privacy, or their
mouths and ears were pressed close together, one of them hissed at the other. To the room at large, they looked like a happily whispering couple.

  "Doona think this changes a thing," he snapped, lips tautly stretched over his teeth.

  "I'm not the one who told him a lie," Lisa snapped back, certain she appeared to be snarling. She smiled with effort.

  "Congratulations, milord." Armand Berard clapped Circenn's shoulder.

  "Thank you," Circenn said, beaming as he forcefully pounded Armand on the shoulder.

  Armand's brows dipped. "Why did you not tell us this morn, Circenn, when you told us who she was?"

  Circenn didn't even pause before spilling another lie. Och, but they were coming fast and furious, with shocking ease. He managed a self-effacing smile. "I wasn't certain the king wished it announced, but it seems he was eager."

  "Milady." Armand bowed low over her hand and kissed it. "We are pleased Circenn has chosen to settle down and begin a family. Although those of our order do not wed, we believe if a man is not going to take an oath of celibacy, he should take a wife. It keeps him humble and inclined toward sobriety."

  Lisa smiled brightly at Armand. Humble indeed, she thought. There wasn't a humble bone in Circenn Brodie's body. Although, dislike him as she may, she wouldn't have minded searching for one.

  "Where did he go?" Circenn growled, the moment Armand melted into the crowd.

  "Armand?" Lisa asked blankly. "He's right there." She pointed to his retreating back.

  "Rrroberrrt! That traitorous bastard." His burr was so thick on the name that that the rs were a growl with a weak t at the end.

  "How should I know where the king went?" Lisa rolled her eyes. "I'm the last person who ever knows what's going on around here."

  "This entire fiasco is your fault for leaving your chamber! Did I not tell you to remain in your chamber? How many times did I tell you to remain in your chamber? Did I tell you at least a dozen times in the past two days not to leave your chamber?"

  "Repeating the same question three times, in slightly different ways, does not make me more inclined to answer you. Don't talk to me as if I'm a child. And don't even think you're going to blame this one on me." Lisa sniffed and averted her face. "I certainly would never have told anyone I was marrying you. Leaving my chamber didn't get us betrothed. You did that all by yourself."

  Circenn studied her through narrowed eyes, then lowered his head menacingly near hers. "Perhaps I will wed you, lass. Do you know that a wife must obey her husband in all things?" he purred against her ear. He stopped scowling abruptly. "Renaud!" He clapped another Templar on the shoulder and smiled painfully.

  "We are pleased, milord," Renaud de Vichiers said formally.

  "Thank you," Circenn replied. "If you will excuse me, Renaud, my betrothed is feeling a bit faint. She grows swiftly overtaxed." With a dismissive nod to Renaud, he whisked Lisa away from the crowd and pushed her into a corner of the hall, uncaring what anyone thought. For the moment, they were as alone as they could be in the crowded room.

  "I do not grow swiftly overtaxed. I am the picture of calm, considering all I've been through. And I am not marrying you," she said defiantly.

  His response chilled her blood: "In three months' time, lass, neither of us will have any choice. Now I will escort you to your room, and you will remain in it this time."

  Glibly informing the room at large that his wife-to-be was overexcited by the commotion—a fib that Lisa resented because it made her appear fragile—Circenn guided her abovestairs, his hand a steely vise on her arm. He stopped at her door and informed her that if she left the room, he would ensure that she had extreme cause to regret it.

  She opened the door and began to step in, when he suddenly spun her around into his arms.

  Without a word, he closed his mouth over hers brutally.

  Too shocked to resist, Lisa stood motionless, her lips parting at the insistence of his tongue. He darted it between her lips in blatant mimicry of sexual play, probing firmly, receding, only to thrust again. She tipped back her head, her body sparking to life. He was angry, she could feel it in the bruising crush of his lips, and it fed her own anger.

  Then it occurred to her that kissing was quite a useful and fascinating way to express anger, so she worked diligently at putting every bit of her irritation and displeasure into her response. She bit, she nipped, she fought his tongue with hers. When his tongue withdrew, she followed it with hers and sucked it hard back into her mouth, priding herself on how nicely she won that battle. When he kissed her so deeply she couldn't breathe around it, she dropped her hands to his waist, then dipped lower, just to show him she was completely in control. Tight, muscled ass; the thought was accompanied by a surge of excitement as she imagined his powerful hips tensing in a timeless rhythm.

  When his teeth nudged against hers, a moan blossomed in her throat. She brought up her hands and plunged them into his hair, sliding her fingers through black silk. Her fingers moved down the nape of his neck, then she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back so uninhibitedly that he stiffened abruptly, stepped back, and gazed at her with a startled expression.

  Briefly, he looked pleased, then his eyes narrowed swiftly. "I doona like you, and I will not tolerate you complicating my life."

  "Ditto," she clipped through swollen lips.

  "Then we understand each other," he said.

  "Mm-hmm," she said. "Perfectly."

  "Good."

  They stared at each other. She noticed that his lips were slightly fuller. She had done that. Her own lips felt tingly, warm, and most assuredly not finished expressing her anger.

  "Doona forget who's in control in this castle, lass," he snarled before stalking off down the hallway.

  If that was how he asserted his control, she might just have to challenge his authority more often.

  * * *

  RISING…

  What is your substance, whereof are you made,

  That millions of strange shadows on you tend?

  —Shakespeare, Sonnet 53

  * * *

  CHAPTER 13

  the journey from dunnottar to inverness and from there to Castle Brodie would live long in Lisa's memory. With dismay she tallied each day of their journey that ticked by, knowing it was one more day she was losing in the future, and the thought made her miserable. She feared that the farther they rode from Dunnottar, the slimmer her chances became of returning home. She knew it probably wasn't true, because if anything had the power to return her, it was the flask, and she suspected Circenn wouldn't permit it out of his care. Still, each step she took deeper into his lush, wild land made her feel she was moving a step farther away from her own life, farther into a realm in which she had no control and might lose herself entirely.

  Shortly after Circenn had deposited her in her room—or more accurately left her reeling in the hallway—he'd sent Duncan and Galan to whisk her out of the keep, and the three of them had ridden off ahead. Circenn and the rest of his entourage had joined them hours later. She was acutely aware that the knights studied her far too intently for her comfort. They were not men she wished to slip up around, so she spoke as little as possible, choosing her words with great caution.

  The first night they journeyed across Scotland, a nearly full moon hung above the shadowy ridges and valleys, and the thunder of more than a hundred horses carrying packs and heavily muscled men was deafening. The ground trembled as they galloped the hills. Cold despite the thick plaid covering her gown, she was awed by the miles of untouched, open country. Although her body ached after riding only a few hours, she would have ridden all night to savor the untamed vista.

  She was of a far different mind the next morning, though, and wouldn't have ridden at all had it been left to her discretion. She'd arrogantly thought she was in good condition, but riding a horse was quite different from rappelling or tumbling, and she quickly realized that her athletic skills had better trained her for falling off the horse properly than f
or staying on it with any degree of finesse.

  The second thing that lingered in her mind was Circenn Brodie, who rode beside her the entire way, not speaking, but watching every move she made, every expression. She hid her discomfort well, determined not to reveal any weakness to the indefatigable warrior. Since leaving Dunnottar the man had scarcely uttered two words to her, had not so much as touched her to help her dismount; she could tell he was seething. He moved away from her side occasionally to talk with his men in low voices.

  In every village they passed through, she noted the people heralded Circenn as befitted royalty, and he comported himself with regal reserve. If he appeared a bit detached, none of the villagers seemed to mind. Children gazed at him with awe; old men clapped him on the shoulder and smiled proudly; the gazes of young warriors followed him admiringly. It was clear that the man was a legend in his own time. With each admiring, flirtatious glance flashed by a woman beneath lowered lids, Lisa felt a surge of irritation. In more than one village, women found a reason to approach him and try to lure him off "to discuss a most private matter, milord." She was relieved to see that none of them succeeded. However, she wasn't certain if it was because he genuinely wasn't interested or because they were riding so hard. They rarely slept more than a few hours each evening, but she was used to inadequate sleep from working two jobs.

  The third thing that weighed upon her mind was the flask, which she now knew that Circenn had with him, because she'd caught a glimpse of it one night as he rummaged in his satchel. Unfortunately he was such a light sleeper that trying to get the flask while he was asleep would be a fool's venture. Better to bide her time, waiting for the right moment.

  It was the last night of their ride, however, that would live longest in her memory—the night they approached the perimeter of Castle Brodie. Throughout the physically punishing journey, Lisa had worried about Catherine, wondering who was taking care of her, weeping silently under cover of darkness. All the while Scotland was subtly invading her veins, and despite her fear and feelings of helplessness, she knew she was falling in love.