Once Forbidden

by TERRI BRISBIN

  "Um, only one. I am my mother's only child."

  Ada began to talk and Anice's gaze found Moira still making her way to the kitchens. Finally, she realized what bothered her about Moira's words, or rather her expression.

  Moira lied to her.

  Moira knew that she would not be here for the birth and so had brought Ada here from Dunbarton. Moira knew and she lied about it.

  That was so unlike Moira. The seer was straightforward in her manner and had never lied to her, at least not as far as she could tell. So why had she done so now? Or had she? Was she seeing more here than truly existed? Mayhap this was exactly as Moira had said—Moira needed to leave and Ada would be there in her stead. And Moira would be back for the baby's birth.

  The babe was not due for weeks and weeks, close to two months probably. There was plenty of time for Moira to return to Dunnedin. Taking a breath in as deeply as she could, she tried to let go of the real fear that lay under everything else in her life. 'Twas not bearing the babe that worried her—her mother had had an easy time of it giving birth to her. 'Twas not facing the pain and uncertainty of the birthing, no, 'twas facing the uncertainty of the time after the birth that scared her witless and breathless. For once she gave birth to the heir of the clan—and she knew with unswerving confidence that the babe she carried inside of her was the heir the clan hoped for—she would once more be at the beck and call of her husband.

  Even though Struan had promised that he would protect her, even though he swore on his position as laird, she knew that little could be done to keep her husband away if he chose to come home and claim his rights once more. Oh, she did not doubt the truthfulness of Struan's intentions, but what father would act against his own son when the clan stood to lose? And that was what caused her nightmares. And what caused this powerful terror to take control of her and destroy the person she was before.

  Anice tried to listen to Ada's prattling tales about mothers and bairns, but 'twas difficult to turn her thoughts from those dark times once she dwelled on them. She had attempted to come to some understanding of her actions and to some acceptance of her inner weaknesses, but she'd not been successful in the months since her marriage. At times, it was easiest to believe what Sandy had told her that night—that her shameful behavior towards the man who had impersonated him deserved to be punished. And as her lawful husband and the one most shamed by her actions and open preference of another man, he was the rightful one to deliver the punishment he saw fit.

  But, and mayhap due to her inordinate pride, she found that his brutality towards her only spurred her on to question his behavior and not her own. She knew of no other man in this clan or her own who had ever beaten a woman the way her husband had beaten her. Surely she would have known, since little or nothing remained a secret for long within the closeness and intricate pattern of relatives of the clan. She'd witnessed disagreements and even some hands raised against wives by boorish or drunken husbands, but none could approach what hers had done to her.

  Had Sandy's feelings of rage diminished towards her in these last months? Did the news that she was pregnant please him at all? Would he come home for her lying-in? Would he stay to claim her again and again as he'd threatened on their wedding night? His words—until parted by death—had echoed over and over in her mind. Was her death the only way to avoid him?

  She shook her head and shifted in her seat, made even more uncomfortable by her long time in one position and the direction of her thoughts. Ada must have misunderstood her gesture, for the old woman continued to sew and talk at the same pace as before.

  She was not the same hopeful, willful girl that she'd been before her wedding. That one believed only in the good men could do, and in her own ability to handle anything that came her way and challenged her. The Anice she was today understood more about the ways and dangers of men and about the amount of courage and strength you needed to face the life that scared you witless and breathless, on your own with no help from anyone else. She knew that in spite of his promises, Struan may not be able to protect her. Moira would not be the protection she needed either. She would need to find her own way in this.

  Sighing, she realized that Ada had stopped speaking and was watching her now. Had she given herself away? Had she spoken out loud? The mixed expression of sympathy and concern on the old woman's face convinced her that she must have said something.

  "I can see by the look on yer face that my words have stirred yer fears rather than quieting them and sorry I am for doing that," Ada whispered as she took Anice's hand once more.

  "No, Ada. 'Tis not your words that stirs fears. I fear I am tired of being in this chair, tired of being held prisoner by this storm, and just plain tired." Anice handed the material she still grasped to Ada and pushed herself up and out of the once comfortable chair. "Here comes Firtha now to help me up to my chambers."

  "Are ye ready to retire yet, Anice?" Firtha asked as she reached them.

  "Aye, I think a rest would do me some good right now. Ada, thank you for your kind words. I appreciate knowing that you are here if I need you." Anice smiled at the woman who seemed to glow under her praise.

  "Good rest to ye now, my lady."

  "Just Anice is fine, Ada. My name is Anice."

  The words came out on their own, since she was so used to uttering them in response to someone using her title. If her darkest truth were known, she would be scorned by all; even her babe could be taken from her. She could be abandoned and even put aside by her husband for the grievous sin she'd committed and still not repented. Although she could not bring herself to utter the words in confession, she humbled herself before God and all by taking from herself the honorable position that title and marriage placed on her. She did not deserve to be honored among the clan. She was a sinner. She was just Anice.

  "All right then. Have ye a good rest now. Ye and the bairn surely need it."

  Anice turned and followed Firtha out of the great hall and up the stairs leading to her chambers. Now she worried that thoughts of Sandy and his return would keep her from sleep. Entering her rooms, she smiled as she caught sight of a steaming mug sitting next to her bed. Moira had promised a "soothing brew to aid yer rest" and this looked like it. After undressing and slipping beneath the covers, Anice lifted the cup to her mouth and sipped it slowly, enjoying the warmth and sweetness as it moved over her tongue and she swallowed.

  "Moira said ye will sleep after ye drink that. She said no' to allow ye to walk around unaided." Firtha smiled and took the empty mug when she finished. "'Tis no' good to see a pregnant woman swaying on her feet like a drunkard, she said."

  "My thanks to you for looking over me, Firtha. I do not know what I would do without you."

  Feeling the sleepiness creeping into her limbs, Anice slid down and pulled the covers up to her neck. So much faced her in the days ahead. And now she had to be strong for not only herself but also the babe who depended on her. The bairn must have sensed her thoughts for he began to shift within her, pushing and stretching and testing his strength. He? Smiling as she drifted towards sleep, she realized she only thought of the babe as a boy. A son. Her son.

  A son to live for and to love and to hold precious as none had held her. She would, she could, endure anything for the babe that lived within her now. He had saved her months ago. He had pulled her out of her walk in darkness and given her something wonderful and untainted to love. Something, someone, who was her own and no one else's.

  Her son.

  Chapter 11

  He spied the messenger as the man approached the keep. Stepping back into the shadows, he watched as the courier from England, wearing the royal insignia of the House of Plantagenet, dismounted his horse and strode into the building. The others in the entourage simply stayed on their mounts and waited. Robert was tempted to follow him in, but decided instead to bide his time and keep watch.

  Within minutes, the courier was back, this time racing down the steps and mounting his horse without a mom
ent's delay. A glance at his men was all it took for them to follow him out of the yard to the gate. The whole thing occurred in such haste that Robert would not have believed it if he had not witnessed it himself. Now he would go inside and see what news this courier brought from England. In the pit of his stomach, he knew it could only be about one thing, one person. His half-brother Sandy must be returning to Dunnedin.

  A sense of urgency filled him and he entered the keep, knowing even then that the direct approach would gain him nothing. Turning down one hall, he headed for the room he, or rather Anice once more, used as a workroom. It was off to the side of the hall and from there one could hear anyone on the dais if they were not guarding their words. He softened his steps as he came closer and listened for Struan's voice. The emotion in it was clear, although the low tones belied it.

  "I told him no' until the bairn was born and now he does this?"

  Struan's face was like stone; Robert did not remember ever seeing him this angry. The laird stood, turned to the clansman next to him and whispered something that Robert could not hear. The man—Iain?—nodded and left without a word. After taking a mouthful of whatever brew filled his cup, Struan looked at the group of elder clansmen seated around the table, one at a time.

  "I promised her protection through this time. I canna break my word when given as laird."

  "Were ye daft then, Struan, to ever promise such a thing? A man haes the right..." The grizzled old man, on Struan's left, let his words drift off as Struan glared at his challenge.

  "I do whate'er I must to protect the future of the clan MacKendimen. And right now, the future of this clan lies in the belly of that woman." Struan pointed over their heads, in the direction of the chambers above.

  "But Sandy is yer son. He is yer heir, the tanist of the MacKendimens. He was chosen by the laws of the clan, by this verra council, and stands as our next laird." Struan's opponent would not lessen his stance at all.

  Robert moved closer. Struan stood a bit taller and, if such a thing were possible, his gaze became even more fierce.

  "But I am yer laird now and she haes my protection until the bairn is born safely. I will no' allow him to touch her until then."

  "And after the birth, Struan? What will ye do then?"

  Robert waited with the rest as Struan considered his words. 'Twas obvious that Sandy was some kind of danger to Anice and that Struan had made promises to her. What had Sandy done to engender this kind of fierce protection from Struan?

  "They were joined by God in front of this clan and her own. 'Twould be against God and clan to interfere in the business of a man and his wife."

  The group seemed to release their held breath at the same time. Some crisis had been averted, but Robert was not sure of the nature of it. The men rose and pushed back from the table, the discussion clearly at an end. The distastefulness of it was obvious in the way the men moved quickly to leave the dais and hall.

  Struan mumbled something as he waited alone. Robert strained to hear the words.

  "Until parted by death," 'twas how it sounded. Until parted by death?

  The words so startled him that he left his place and took several steps towards Struan before realizing it. The click-clack of his boots on the stone floor surprised both of them and he found himself staring into Struan's icy gaze and unable to think of a word to say.

  "What is yer business here, Robert?" Struan stepped to the table and took the seat reserved for the laird.

  "I saw the messenger and came to find out the news."

  "The messenger and his information do not concern ye. Now, go about yer tasks." Struan lifted the cup to his mouth and drank deeply until none remained.

  "What concerns the clan MacKendimen concerns me." Robert would not back down from this. For months Struan had treated him like a lackey, an errand boy to be ordered about at the laird's whim. If he was to carry out his duties, he needed to know the happenings of the clan... and the reasons behind such occurrences.

  "I think no'. Ye are here as a visitor, only until Anice regains her strength and can oversee the new steward. Do no' expect more than ye are due here, boy."

  Robert could not see; the furious haze that filled his vision blocked everything in front of him. His heart pounded at such a rate and loudness in his own ears that he wondered how it stayed in his chest. All he wanted, all he craved was one word of welcome, one word of acceptance and he would stay and make his life here. Every day of working in the clan and the need to stay and be part of his family seeped deeper and deeper into him until he recognized it for what it was. Now, that one desire, that one need, was crushed once more by the only man who could fulfill it.

  "Expect more than I am due, Struan? We both ken the lie of those words. We both ken that I should expect and be due much more than yer willing to offer me."

  "Robert, no' now. I canna argue this with ye now." Struan waved him off and stepped to one end of the table.

  "No, no' now? Then when, Struan? We both ken that ye have no' made any attempt to talk the truth of our bond in these many weeks since I arrived." Robert approached him, knowing only that he had to confront his father. "Ye have allowed me to work for the clan, plan for it, prepare for its needs, and yet ye willna call me as one of yer own."

  He stood before Struan, arms on his hips, chest swelled out in anger and challenge as he waited for some acknowledgment. Struan pushed back the chair nearest him with such force that it fell backwards, crashing loudly on the wooden floor of the dais. The few men and women working in the hall paused in their chores and turned towards them. In spite of an audience, in spite of the rational part of him that screamed caution and calm, Robert forced his words out through gritted teeth.

  "I... am... yer..."

  "Brodie!" Struan interrupted. "Come quickly, for I have an important task for ye to do and it must be done with haste." Waving at Brodie as he made his way to the front of the room, Struan whispered a warning to Robert. "In spite of yer beginnings and in spite of how highly ye have risen within the ranks of the MacKillops, ye ken ye have no place here. None then, none now. Dinna expect more or ye will face disappointment."

  If Struan had buried a sgian-dubh deep in his chest, the pain could not be worse. Robert staggered back a few steps and struggled to control his rage and hurt. His head spun with all the seething thoughts, and the urge to strangle Struan at that moment grew until he could almost not control it. He turned on his heels and ran full-tilt down the steps and past Brodie. If Brodie tried to say anything to him, he did not hear it, for the roar of anger filled his ears and his being.

  Even the icy wind, still howling days after the storm had moved on, did not slow him, nor did his lack of a protective cloak. He needed to get away. He needed to get his anger under control for it did him no good. A ride would tire him but he dared not approach Dubh when his rage was this strong. Needing a place and time to sort out his thoughts and set up his plans and priorities, he trotted through the gate and towards the loch off in the distance.

  His eyes burned but whether with tears caused by the icy gusts or by the blow from Struan, he did not know. Tilting his head down, Robert continued his run. Soon, the resistance of the wind and the freezing air slowed him to a walk. As his pace slowed his thoughts quickened.

  Why had he even let himself believe for one moment that he could return to Dunnedin and his clan and be accepted? He was usually a man who displayed a good measure of common sense, but the rawness of his confused emotions overcame any attempt to think rationally about his father, and about his father's refusal to acknowledge him.

  Something else lay at the core of his feelings. Something darker and stronger than the need for recognition. Robert wanted... he wanted everything that his brother had. Everything his brother ignored through his absence and stupidity. He wanted the clan to know him as a member of the same MacKendimen blood. He wanted to take his rightful place as eldest son of the laird. He wanted to be accepted as tanist by the elders of the clan. And, if he were hone
st with himself, he wanted her.

  Anice. His brother's wife. But as usual, Sandy and his get would always stand between him and what he wanted most in his life.

  His steps slowed and he took in deep breaths of the frigid air. His thoughts turned back to Anice. Did he want her simply because she was his brother's wife? Did he covet her along with all that his brother owned? His brother's position and status?

  Yes. He did. He wanted everything that Sandy had. It should be his; he was older, he was better. He was here, carrying out many of the duties that should be Sandy's. He even looked after his brother's wife. And he wanted her for his own.

  He'd seen many different aspects of Anice in these last months. She could be a strong woman in control of home and hearth one moment and a weakling needing succor the next.

  Her green eyes could blaze with anger or lately even happiness, or look vulnerable and full of emotion. Robert had many times fought the urge to draw her close and comfort her or to offer her encouragement as the days of her pregnancy became more and more difficult to bear alone.

  He realized that part of him wanted her for the woman she was and another part of him coveted her as his brother's wife. Ironically, the very reason he wanted her was the very reason that would forever keep them apart—even if Sandy died, marrying her would be forbidden. She would be forever his sister-by-marriage if his true heritage were known. So a marriage between them would be sinful in the eyes of the church.

  Robert let out a rough laugh at the quandary that existed for him. He wanted to be recognized as Struan's son for all that he could gain rightfully as that and yet that recognition would put out of his reach the one thing he craved most in Dunnedin. Anice. His brother's wife.

  'Twas truly a situation where no good would come of his wanting. How many times did his hopes have to be crushed before he would give up and go back to Dunbarton? How many times could Struan ravage his dreams of a life among his own clan before he stopped opening himself up to the hurt? As a warrior he knew he could not win with this strategy. And he did not have enough strength to keep the wanting and desire for all his brother possessed within and not show it to those around him.