Once Forbidden

by TERRI BRISBIN

  It looked so much smaller to him now than it did all those years ago. His feet moved him without thought to the gated fence in front of one of the houses. Robert swung open the gate and walked up the well-trodden path to the door.

  "Och, laddie, 'tis about time ye visited yer old friends." The feminine voice had not changed in eight years. The body making that voice certainly had.

  "Robena, did ye really think I could forget ye?"

  A woman with wild brown hair and an ample bosom pulled him into an embrace. The breasts were new since last he'd seen her, and so were the hips and shapely legs he observed as she pulled him inside the house.

  "Ye've grown into a fine-looking man, Robert Mathieson. Yer no' the skin-and-bones lad who left here too many years ago. Ye have filled out nicely." Robena's eyes roamed his body and he grew hot under her appreciative gaze.

  "And ye were more lad than lass and stuck up a tree when I saw ye last. And look, now ye have hubbies and hurdies that any man would love to touch."

  Her hands went to her breasts and hips and then covered her mouth as she laughed. Robena had been his friend many years ago—a gilpie, a lass acting more like a lad. She had kept up with him and his other friends as they fought and swam and explored their world of Dunnedin.

  Robena had also been his first woman. They had kissed and touched each other, imitating what they'd seen in her mother's cottage—just to see what was what. Their innocent gropings and feelings had turned to inexperienced passion and exploration. That had ended when Robert discovered the truth and left the clan.

  "Can ye stay, Robbie?" She took his hand and pulled him closer to the fire.

  "Aye, I can."

  At his nod, she helped him remove the cloak around his shoulders and hung it by the door. He watched her thin skirt sway over her hips and around her legs as she walked to the hearth and added more peat to the fire.

  "Yer maither?" Robert looked around the room and saw three other doorways leading off to other places.

  "She passed on near to five years ago." The smell of apples wafted through the small room as Robena poured cider from a stone jug into two battered cups and heated them with a poker from the fire. Handing him one, she continued, "She caught a fever and there was nothing to be done."

  "So, ye took over her place in the clan?"

  "Aye. It seemed the right thing to do. 'Tis for certain no' a hardship for me. I ken most of the men and they treat me well enough." She made no apology for what she did; he could hear that in her voice.

  "Ye have enough to eat and enough clothes to keep ye warm?" He looked at her bare feet. Robert did not want to think of his friend as deprived; he would help her now that he was steward here.

  "Och, Robbie, I dinna wear clothes most of the time. Or have ye forgotten what I taught ye those years ago?"

  They shared a laugh and Robert lost the last remaining bit of tension about meeting her again. They were still friends. Robena sat down on the stool next to his and took his hand, entwining their fingers.

  "Struan provides for the clan in good times and bad. I have enough, we all do."

  "Tell me about Brodie—is he still here?"

  "Aye, he's here and married Rachelle MacMunn. Do ye ken her?" Robena took a drink of her cider without releasing him.

  "Tall? Thin?" Robert searched his memory for a Rachelle.

  "She may no' have lived here when ye left. Her maither, a MacKendimen, brought her back here from the Borderlands when her faither died. 'Tis no matter if ye dinna ken her—ye will meet her soon enough. They married last spring."

  "And Brodie?"

  "I think he is away on the laird's bidding. I havna seen him around the village in weeks."

  "Weeks?" She nodded her reply. A trip at this time of year? In the uncertain weather and traveling conditions of the changeable Highlands? That did not make sense to him.

  "What can ye tell me about Sandy?" Her fierce shiver at his question said more than her words ever could.

  "He came back some months ago to marry Anice and then left right after the wedding." He didn't miss the look of disgust on her face.

  "And?" he probed for more.

  "And, good riddance to bad rubbish," Robena lifted her hand from his and stood, clearly ending the topic of conversation. "So, Robert, how long do ye stay in Dunnedin?"

  "For as long as it takes to find someone else to fill and train as steward. Then I'm back to Dunbarton." Robert stood and walked to the door.

  "And what is waiting for ye there? A wife?"

  "Nay, I have no wife awaiting my return."

  A frown drew her sable brown eyebrows together. "Then why do ye return to Dunbarton?"

  "My life is there—I am castellan to the MacKillop at that holding. I came h—... here only to see to Dougal's last days and to help Struan until someone else can take over."

  "Well, Robert, my door is always open to ye while ye are here."

  She stood on tiptoes and braced her hands on his shoulders. He knew what she wanted and he gave it without hesitation. He, too, was curious about the feelings remaining between them. Her lips were warm and she rubbed them against his. He opened his mouth slightly and moved over hers, slanting his head to make the touch easier. When she responded by parting her lips, he slipped his tongue inside and tasted her more deeply, thrusting slowly, then more quickly. She moaned and he brought his hand up to the back of her head and held her closely. The kiss deepened and went on and on and he knew she enjoyed it as he did.

  He let the many emotions run over him—kinship, comfort, remembrance, passion, longing. His body started to respond in kind to her movements against him. As much as he'd like to stay and continue this reacquainting, he had much to accomplish this day. There would be time for this later. Lifting his head slowly, he gazed into her eyes. No whore's trickery there—she was moved by their kiss.

  "Well, Robena, I fear I must go now. I will be back at another time."

  "Aye, Robert, ye do that."

  He put his cloak on and pulled open the door. Leaning down, he kissed her lightly on the lips in farewell. He had to know; the question burned in him.

  "Do ye like doing this?" Robert glanced around the cottage.

  "Most times, I do, Robert. 'Tis no' a hard life for me."

  "Will ye promise to tell me if ye want to change from it?" The least he could do for a childhood friend was to find her a new place if she had need of it. No one in Dunbarton would know her and she could start over there, if she wanted.

  "I will, Robert. I promise."

  She reached up and kissed him again as he backed out the door and pulled it closed. He stood up, straightened his cloak, and walked to the gate. Without looking, he stepped onto the path and into Anice.

  Anice stumbled as Robert's body knocked into hers. The icy ruts beneath her feet, coupled with her ungainly size and shape, made it difficult to remain upright. He reached out to grab her, to steady her. The men of the clan knew not to touch her, even in passing, but Robert did not know yet of her abhorrence to being handled.

  Her body tensed in response to his handhold on her forearms. Without thinking about how tenuous her position was, she shook off his grasp. Her sharp and sudden movement away from him caused her feet to slip out from under her and she fell to the ground. Only his quick action kept her from landing hard on the frozen ground.

  "Well, my... Anice, 'twould seem that I save ye again from injury." His eyes twinkled as he pulled her up from her seat upon the frozen ground.

  "Aye, Robert, it does seem that I owe you my thanks for last eve and for this."

  Anice pulled her hood back onto her head and straightened her cloak. Her heart thundered in her chest and her breaths were labored. She stood still, trying to calm her body's reactions to both the fall and the touch.

  "Are ye well today?" Robert took a step back from her and passed his glance over her from head to toe. Warmth spread through all the places his eyes touched. "Ye still look pale."

  "Aye, I feel much bett
er today. Firtha told me that you rescued me from my faint at supper. 'Tis sorry I am that you had to see that."

  Anice looked at the ground, searching for a safe place to step. She needed to get to Moira's cottage, needed to get someplace safe to think about what she had witnessed. She had seen the kiss exchanged by Robert and one of the village whores. It should not have bothered her. She knew quite well that men sought out the comforts and pleasures of the flesh regularly.

  Pleasures? Mayhap that was not the correct word to apply to it, in her opinion. Robert's seeking a whore shouldn't matter.

  But it did.

  It left her unsettled inside. He didn't seem the kind of man to run off to a whore as soon as he'd arrived. Well, she'd been wrong before about men, so...

  "Struan told me it happens more and more?" Robert offered his arm. She ignored it and took a careful step towards Moira's.

  "'Tis the babe, Moira says. She and Struan are two old hens, clucking about me."

  "They worry about ye, Anice. About the babe and ye as well."

  The babe. 'Twould the babe always come before her? She knew the answer before the question even finished forming in her mind. Aye, the babe, quite possibly the heir of the clan. Never for herself, only for what she could give to the clan. Shaking her head, she roused herself from her reverie.

  'Twas her place. There were expectations on women in her position—marriages to join clans, money and land to support them, and children to inherit them. No one could ever say that Anice MacNab, now heavy with a babe who could be the MacKendimen heir, did not do her duty to the clan. Once, though, it would be nice to feel safe and secure and wanted for who she was, not what she could give. But, who was she?

  Anice rubbed her belly as she walked carefully down the narrow path. The sun peeked in and out of the clouds, never warming the frigid air. Robert matched her steps, obviously shortening his longer strides next to her waddling ones. It must be the babe making her so maudlin and weepy lately. And the fainting. Struan ordered her to see Moira often, so she was on her way there now. Was he also going to Moira's?

  "I mustn't keep you from your duties, Robert. You do not have to accompany me. I am quite well now." She drew to a stop at the crossing of the paths in the village. The path away from the village center led to Moira's. Now that he was done with Robena, she knew not where he was headed.

  "I would like to see Moira also, Anice, if you'll but lead the way."

  "You want to see Moira? Oh, to ask about your father, I'm sure. Or do you also know her from your growing up here?"

  "Also?" Robert looked at her, questioning her with his gaze. He blinked and shook his head. "Ah, so you saw me at Robena's. 'Tis true, I knew both Moira and Robena afore I left the village those years ago."

  She felt silly; heat flooded her cheeks at her unseemly curiosity. It should not matter who he knew before and who he did not. Who he visited, who he...

  But it did.

  "I was not sure," she stammered out. "You left a few years before I came, so I know not who is familiar to you and who is not. Not," she added, "that it is my business to pry."

  "Ye are no' prying, Anice. Curiosity is a normal thing. Actually, from what I heard in the hall last night, there are a few new families who I dinna ken." He paused and held out his arm again. "Come, let me help ye in yer walk to Moira's and ye can tell me who is new to the village."

  He was not going to allow her to refuse. The moment dragged on—his arm extended in the space between them. She waited for him to lower it, but he did not. She waited for him to simply start walking, but he did not. She waited for him to say something, but no words came. She saw no way out of this without an explanation... which she would not give.

  Finally, she took a deep breath and placed her hand as lightly as was possible on his forearm. The long sleeve of his tunic and her leather gloves kept her hand from contact with his skin. It was... bearable. He lowered it slightly and waited for her to choose a path. She turned and nodded to the right.

  "I understaun that Brodie is wed to a woman from the Borders? Her name is Rachelle?" Robert broke into the silence with his question.

  Good. Small talk would ease the racing of her heart and help her to think about anything but the strong arm beneath her hand and the man it belonged to.

  "Rachelle's father's family came from the Borders. Her mother moved there when they married. When Rachelle's father died, she and her mother returned."

  "How long have they been married?"

  His question seemed innocent enough, but her traitorous body shook at the thought of another woman under the physical power of a man. And a huge, strong one at that. No. She forced her fear aside. Brodie was a good man. A good man, she repeated to herself.

  "'Twas last year, in the spring. Were you friends with Brodie?" Anice kept her eyes trained on the path before them.

  "Aye, we were. A small group of us caused havoc wherever and whenever we went!" His laughter came out loud and deep. She glanced at his face as he continued. "Hellions, we were. Brodie, Ramsey, even"—he nodded his head back towards the way they had come—"even Robena."

  "Robena? The whore?" Anice bit her tongue as the words slipped out. Robert had just identified the woman as one of his friends and now she'd insulted her. Friends? With a lass? Unconventional, to be sure. Anice stared in puzzlement over Robert's acceptance of a woman within his circle of friends.

  "She may be a whore now, but back then she was more lad than lass," Robert explained. "She could keep up with us at most everything we did. Running, fishing, hunting, even wrestling." His face brightened as he spoke of the happy memories.

  A pang of jealousy at his belonging to the clan rippled through her. Anice remembered the wanting to belong, in her own clan as a wee lass and then in the MacKendimens when she fostered here. But at her mother's side, she was training to go elsewhere and when at Dunnedin, she was from elsewhere. A heaviness crept over her heart and she shook her head at the dark feelings.

  "I ken yer disbelief, but ye should ask Brodie about Robena's head-lock and watch his reaction. 'Twill be a sight to behold, I assure ye."

  She allowed him to misunderstand her head-shake.

  "Will Rachelle misunderstand my question of him? I would not want her to think wrongly of him." Asking about a whore's wrestling with her husband could give the wrong impression and Rachelle's kind acceptance was something that Anice did not wish to jeopardize.

  Robert laughed out loud as the realization of what the question would sound like became apparent to him. His eyes sparkled and deep dimples appeared in his cheeks.

  "Yer right to hold back on the asking of it. Rachelle may no' ken about our younger days and misunderstaun the remark."

  Anice drew to a halt at the end of the path. Moira's cottage stood before them. Larger than most of the other dwellings, it stood on the edge of the barren and frosted forest. Wide plots of ground, lying fallow for the winter, were arranged to the side and back of the house. Faint wisps of smoke escaped from an opening in the thatched roof and curled when touched by the colder air outside.

  "'Tis Moira's cottage," Anice said, nodding her head at the small building.

  "'Twas her maither's afore her as well," Robert added. "Well, shall we visit her for a wee bit?" He looked over at her.

  "She is expecting me, but you will be a surprise for her."

  "No' much surprises Moira if she haes grown to be anything like her maither."

  "Struan says her healing and her visions are stronger than her mother's ever were," Anice answered. "You knew her mother as well?"

  "Oh, aye. The guidwife Glenna healed many of my injuries with her remedies, potions, and dressings."

  "Injuries? When you were younger, you mean?"

  Anice gazed at him while her mind thought back to his more uncovered form. No evidence of past injury marred his figure, his face, his gait. And what kind of wounds would a young boy suffer? Aye, he was tall and well-muscled now that he was grown. Also obvious was the fact tha
t he worked physically in his position at Dunbarton. But being a steward was different from being a warrior, like Brodie. Warriors were constantly injured, stabbed, beaten. Warriors were strong and powerful... and could be dangerous when angered. Sandy had been trained as a warrior once, all those years ago....

  "Anice? Yer face haes lost all its color. Come, let's make our way to Moira's door and she can see to ye."

  She nodded and sagged against him, something she'd sworn not to do. Even the slightest thought of her husband sapped her strength and sent daggers of fear through her. Moira knew her fears. Moira would help.

  Chapter 8

  The door opened as he half-carried Anice the last few steps down the path. He could feel her strength draining with each moment. Moira would know what to do for her since he was convinced it was due to the pregnancy.

  "Anice? Are ye ill, lass?" Moira moved back into the cottage and allowed them entrance. Robert walked Anice over to the fire and sat her in the chair that was already there. Moira had been expecting her.

  "She began to faint as we approached yer door, Moira. Can ye help her?"

  His stomach knotted with unexplainable tension as he waited for Moira's assessment. Was this really just part of the pregnancy or was it something more? As he watched Moira loosen Anice's cloak, he tried to pinpoint when the change had happened. Ah, yes. It happened when the talk turned to injuries. But why should that upset her? Mayhap, she'd been injured as a child and treated by a healer? Or mayhap her husband had been injured?

  There it was again. Could it have been thoughts of her husband? The fainting at dinner was definitely linked to Sandy.

  Was this day's also? But it made no sense at all to him. 'Twas surely a riddle waiting to be solved.

  "Thank ye, Robert, for bringing Anice here." He looked up to see Moira gaze on him.

  He nodded in acknowledgment. "'Twas no problem since I was on my way here as well." He took off his cloak and hung it on a wooden peg by the door.