The Draig's Woman

by Wadler, Lisa Dawn

  On the morrow, he would see her dressed in the finest he had to offer. Ian would see that she wore his plaid over her shoulder, the Draig colors marking Claire for all to witness. The clan would be pleased. His sister would approve, more than approve, and he could see them as friends. The sheet would hang over the fireplace in the hall. Their vow would be repeated for the whole clan to hear. The women would welcome her, and the men would be pleased. She would be recognized as a part of his clan. Their beginning would truly start. Claire was his now.

  Ian had never been so grateful to see his lands and to not hear horses in the distance. They had kept their lead. Changing paths again and again had worked. It had made for a much longer ride, but it was worth it.

  “Do you see it before you, sweeting? It lies just ahead.” Ian knew his voice was filled with pride.

  Ian could only see the outline of stonewalls in the dark night. The keep itself was only visible due to the torchlight from within. The smell of the sea offered a balm to his tired soul. Even from where they were, he could hear the crash of the waves against the cliffs that guarded the far side of his home. In the distance, the village looked safe and secure as the storm raged.

  Ian needed only to bring Claire inside the walls. The threat was gone. He had brought her to safety. He had brought her home. Safe at home with Claire was a thought that held much meaning for him. She had gifted him with a vision of the life his heart wanted. Ian wondered how many other things in his life truly had value. His family, of course, his lands, his clan, and this place he was not sure he would have ever seen again. For the first time since becoming laird, there was a sense of well-being in his heart.

  They would be warm and safe in only a few moments with his gates in sight. Ian should prepare her for the reception she would receive. It was not every day he rode in with a wife in his arms. Despite the cold rain and wind, he smiled. The entire clan was waiting to hear that their laird would marry. They waited for news of the prosperity the match would bring. News of prosperity . . .

  The clan was waiting for word that Ian had agreed to the betrothal, a marriage with a dowry to ease their worry and his burden. It all flooded back in, every reason he was on the road and every reason he had refused to acknowledge for the past day and a half. Taxes, not enough coin or wealth to provide for his people, a promise of a marriage contract and the dowry so desperately needed. Clan wars had started over broken contracts. He had lost his way, lost sight of his path. So captivated was he by the lass in his arms that he had forgotten his duty.

  In a single heartbeat, Ian saw his dream of a happy future with Claire fade. Responsibility and duty were the first lessons given to him by his father. He was tormented by the paths that lay before him. He had a duty to Claire. He had taken what belonged to her future husband, what she had saved. He had claimed her, and she had said nothing in return. Did she not want me? Or did she remember what I had chosen to forget?

  “Why d-d-did we s-s-stop?” Claire’s teeth chattered.

  Ian’s arms tightened around her waist, turning her slightly in the saddle to see her face as he spoke. “I need to ask you a question, one of great import.” Ian tried to search her eyes in the dark as his hands brought her face to his and then leaned in with their foreheads touching. With a voice full of urgency, Ian posed his questions. “I claimed you, Claire, I ken well you heard my words. Why did you nay agree? Why did you nay give me the words in return? I can still claim you as wife, do you ken that?”

  “What do you mean, your wife? I don’t understand. She doesn’t arrive for a while yet.”

  Laughing at the response, Ian said, “I mean you, Claire, you are my wife. There is nay a man or woman on my lands who would deny that what passed between us was anything less than a marriage.”

  There was no laughter returned as Claire replied, “I am not your wife. Why would I be your wife?”

  Ian didn’t understand how she could doubt him. In his eyes, he had treated her as his wife. “Claire, I told you last night I would honor our bedding. I claimed you as my own. On the morrow, we will say the words before all who gather in my hall. ‘Tis all but done.” He was satisfied now she would take him at his word. Ian would do his duty.

  Claire’s eyes widened at his statement. “Ian, that doesn’t make us married, it just . . . it just doesn’t.”

  “Among my people, what happened between us does mean we are wed. Come into my walls as my wife.” Ian knew his voice had taken on a pleading tone.

  Claire looked up at him, startled by his tone. “Married?”

  Ian studied her like a hawk. Taking a breath, he told himself she just needed a moment and then she would see he was right. She would acknowledge him and what had passed between them. Unable to wait any longer, he kissed her. No small kiss, but a hungry kiss, one that would remind her of their passion, one that would leave her breathless and wanting more. He took Claire’s mouth captive and kissed her with everything he had. She melted into him and his fire.

  When he released her, she was exactly as he wished, breathless and not done with him. Holding her face with both hands, Ian stated, “You are my wife.” As Ian spoke, he tried to wipe the rain from her face and hair.

  For a moment, Ian saw what he wanted, soft eyes holding his, and he could read the agreement in her expression. He placed a gentle kiss to her lips. “You are mine, say it.”

  With a shaking voice, Claire replied, “You are already supposed to be marrying someone else. I think we both know we shouldn’t have made love last night.” Her eyes closed. “I understand you are trying to do right by me. There is no way I can hold you to something said when we thought we would never see tomorrow.”

  Weighing her words, he knew she was right. Their time together the previous night hadn’t been some quick tussle with a lass. Claire spoke true; he had made love with her, and he wanted to spend every night with her in his arms. Ian knew she was the one he wanted, not only in bed, but also by his side.

  “I claimed you because I want you by my side. That you were untouched had little to do with my offer. I want you, Claire, for all my days and nights. Spend your life with me.”

  Opening her eyes, Claire finally met his gaze. “I can’t pay your taxes or provide for your people. I thought that was what you needed.”

  Ian wanted to fight but couldn’t. The hope had been that she would agree and the decision would be made. The dream that he would marry for pleasure and not profit died painfully. The full weight of what had been set in motion sat upon Ian’s chest like a dead weight. This chance at happiness was gone. It had been just a brief respite from his fate.

  Answering his unspoken thoughts, Claire continued, “Ian, I can’t be with you, not if your people would suffer because of me.”

  “I should make you marry me just for saying those words.” Holding her face in his hands, Ian wished he could argue away the truth.

  Trying to find a way, any way that she would demand he claim her, Ian’s next words were strained. “Then tell me, why were you untouched? Were you waiting for your husband?”

  “I never assumed it would be with the man I would marry. I . . . I . . . I just wanted it to matter.” Her answering voice was soft and steady but held little conviction.

  Ian heard the lie mixed with truth in her answer. “It did, sweet Claire, I swear this to you.” Ian’s voice was strong and clear. “I never kenned it could matter so deeply.” He wanted her to know this, needed her to know this. There were no words to impart how she had touched his heart. He added, “I dinna have the words to tell you how much I regret nay bringing you in as my wife.”

  Holding his face in her hands, she gave him a soft kiss, sweet and chaste. Without looking directly at him, Claire said, “Let’s go inside, Ian.”

  Gazing at her face with only sadness and longing for what could not be, Ian answered, “Of course, Claire. You m
ust be freezing.”

  Part Two

  “The reputation of a thousand years may be determined by the conduct of one hour.”

  - Japanese proverb

  Chapter 6

  Warm, dry, fed, and safe. Such simple things, yet they were so hard to believe after the last three days. Claire sat before the fire in a comfortable chair in her new chamber and tried to process the whirlwind that had been the last hour or two. The chamber was pleasant, boasting a comfortable bed, small nightstand, a chest, her current seat, and a small table next to it that held a cup of warmed wine. A small window on the far wall let in the sounds of the continuing storm and the smell of the ocean. A fur rug warmed her feet before the fire. She knew she should have been comfortable. The truth was that Claire had never been more afraid or lost in her life. Now what? Somehow everything had been better with Ian. Now she was alone in a place and time that she didn’t understand.

  Everything had changed the moment they entered the keep. The unsure man she had kissed at the gate was gone. In his place was a man in charge. The laird had come home, and the household had burst into life. All commands were immediately attended. The wet blanket she wore was replaced by something soft, dry, and clean. Claire hadn’t even had a chance to take in where they were standing. She was given immediately into the care of Neala, the housekeeper, who bustled her off with the promise of a warm bath and dry clothes. Even as she had walked, she heard Ian making arrangements for a chamber for her, a meal, and something to wear. The last she heard of Ian was men taking him somewhere else.

  The bath had been glorious. A warm room with a giant tub somehow seemed normal. Neala tried to explain the workings of the water heating system; it seemed to be a source of pride for the household. Claire was too overwhelmed to care. The woman fussed over her, fretted over her mud-stained clothing, and talked about Ian’s poor travel methods. After washing her hair, and helping to dry her, Neala produced a soft, warm undergarment, which she called a shift, and a robe. There were even slippers to protect her feet from the cold stone floors as they made their way to Claire’s chamber.

  A clean room was waiting, next to Neala’s own was all that she understood. A young woman had brought in a meal while Neala fussed with seating Claire before the fire. The food was warm, and it was good. She ate it quickly. She knew the housekeeper had questions. She could see it on her face, all the things left unsaid. Instead, Neala told her she was safe, to not fret, and that her clothes would be cleaned and more suitable ones found. Neala produced her somewhat ruined black bag and left that for Claire by the fire. The housekeeper left the room with the promise of a quick return and, again, her promise of safety. She could have sworn that the housekeeper was a bit angry at something.

  I hope I didn’t offend her. Maybe good manners are different here?

  Neala left the chamber in which she had placed the poor lass. How dare I not be told what I am dealing with! How am I to tend the woman without all of the information? The laird’s chamber was where she was headed intent on giving an earful.

  Since the door was open, Neala didn’t bother to knock. She looked at Ian with disbelief. “Why have you not taken a bath yet? You are chilled to the bone, and the last thing I need is a keep full of fever.” He had changed into his robe. She picked up the wet, dirty clothes from the floor and placed them outside his door.

  “I had things to attend to, my horse needed care, and I had news to deliver. The men I left with will nay be returning. The men and their families needed to be told.” Ian’s pained voice left no doubt in her mind as to why. Ian moved to sit before the fire and eat the meal left for him.

  Three young men were dead, a great loss. One of them had a mother in the village. Neala knew she would need to visit with her. None were married or had children. Neala had seen too many grieve the loss of a loved one in her forty-eight years. For a moment, her anger was forgotten, and she took a moment to be thankful for Ian’s safe return.

  “I sent for Hagan. Have you seen him? There is much we need to discuss,” Ian said.

  Neala sighed. “Hagan was in bed when you arrived. I’m sure he will be along shortly. The wee one has nay slept much for the past three nights. He and your sister were taking advantage of Cerwyn finally sleeping.” She could read his look of concern. “Dinna fret, there is nothing wrong. Wee Cerwyn is cutting some more teeth.”

  Ian answered with a small smile. “If you say all is well with the child, I believe you. Though I dinna look forward to the next week or so. That child can be verra loud when miserable.”

  What am I doing discussing teeth now? Neala had come for answers, not a pleasant conversation. “Did you kill him?” This time she held Ian’s gaze.

  Ian looked away from the housekeeper at the question and replied, “The men who killed my own? Nay, to my shame I did not.”

  “Not them, the man who raped the lass. I should have been told. How am I to care for her if I dinna ken what has happened?” Neala knew her voice was a bit too loud.

  Ian’s response was too short for her taste. “What? No one raped the lass, this much I can promise you.”

  What is he not telling me? Neala always knew when Ian held something back. “Well, then explain to me why she had blood in her undergarments and winced as she entered the bath. The poor thing has bruises all over her hands and arms. I tried to get her to talk and to make her feel safe with me. Nothing. Claire would not look at me directly. I have tended one too many abused lasses in my years. If she was nay raped as you claim, what happened?”

  “Who was raped?” Hagan asked upon entering Ian’s chamber.

  Neala didn’t even glance away from Ian as she said, “Claire was.”

  Hagan ran his hands through his mussed hair. “Who is Claire?”

  Ian stood and motioned for them to sit in the chairs before the fire. He paced as he addressed them both, “Claire rode in with me this night.”

  Hagan shifted nervously in his seat. Neala knew it had taken a long time for Hagan to find a bride with a large enough dowry. It was very clear Hagan did not like the implication of Ian riding home with a woman in tow.

  Hagan said, “I thought the bride’s name was Mairi.”

  Ian quickened his pacing. “That is the bride’s name. Claire is to stay here. She will handle the accounts and ledgers.”

  Hagan voiced disbelief. “Where did you find this woman? Why are you bringing in someone now?”

  “Aye, ‘tis a fine question, where did you meet her? And what happened to her?” Neala was still no closer to the answers she sought.

  Ian stopped and looked between the two. “‘Tis a long story, but one you both need to hear. Hagan, I would ask you nay to repeat this to my sister, the tale stays between us.”

  “I dinna like keeping secrets from my wife,” Hagan replied as he tensed in his seat with worry too clear on his face.

  “When I am finished, you will see the import of my request.” Ian resumed his pacing and began. “The men and I were attacked shortly after leaving Tavis’s lands, and the men with me were killed in battle. I was captured and tied to a tree . . .”

  Never had she listened with more attention to the details, to the way Ian described their journey. As a young lass, Neala had come to this clan with Ian’s mother. The stories told by the old women had been fascinating. The tales of these doors and the old women had been fascinating. She thought the tales of the doors and the people who had come through were a local myth, perhaps just a continuing tale to chase away a dull day. Neala knew all the tales by heart, so the reason for Claire’s strange attire and lost expression should have been obvious. The way he spoke of Claire . . . she had never heard Ian speak of a lass like that.

  Ian’s tale continued with the chase, the storm, and the cold. She feared the part about the inn would haunt her forever. No wonder the lass looked terrified. Neala wanted to i
nterrupt several times but held her tongue. The questions could wait.

  “And then we banged on the gate and waited to be let in,” Ian stated. “Which chamber is she in? I want to check on her and make certain Claire has all she needs.”

  Neala had heard enough. “Hagan, you need to cancel the betrothal contract. Ian is already wed.”

  “Perhaps you were nay listening. There is no agreement between them. The marriage continues as planned.” Hagan’s response was short and clipped.

  “The laird is married. You heard the tale. That is a well-bred lass down the corridor. One can tell just by looking at her. Claire was untouched, and our laird claimed her. ‘Tis done. You of all men ken how this clan marries.” Neala’s comment was made with the assertion of one who was right.

  Ian broke up the conflict. “Neala, Hagan is speaking true. Claire and I spoke of this. I offered to honor her, and she refused. The lass kens of our troubles and does nay wish to come between us and our solution.”

  Neala stood and faced Ian. The laird she knew looked so like the little boy she had helped to raise, and he had been raised better than this. His parents would never have tolerated such behavior. She could see what he did not say: Ian wanted the lass. The decision brought only pain for him. Part of her wanted to comfort him, and the rest wanted to give his ears a solid boxing. “So what becomes of her now? Have you thought on that? Everything the poor child has been through and now she is set aside simply because she has no coin. Claire has been ill used by you. I thought you were better.”