by Mary Wine
“We’ve business, lads.”
***
Archibald Douglas was the fifth Earl of Bothwell. There were relations in the man’s family who disputed his claim to the title. He enjoyed power, and becoming lieutenant general appeared to suit him. Torin studied the man as the wide doors were opened by his servants. The Earl of Bothwell knew how to intimidate well; he sat with his back leaning against the chair while Torin was announced.
He sat on a raised dais that was covered with a lavish Persian rug. The chair he made himself so comfortable in was a throne. It was carved lavishly and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Behind him, tapestries were hung from the ceiling to complete the regal setting. The only thing missing was a crown.
But the man didn’t truly need that when the royal guards stood on either side of the dais. The dowager queen sat behind him on her own dais, and young King James II was nowhere in sight.
“This is a foul bit of business with the McBoyd, Laird McLeren.”
Archibald Douglas didn’t sound sorry. Torin inclined his head before staring the man straight back in the eye.
“I never thought it anything but that, my lord. It was my clan that brought ye the proof in this plot.”
The Earl of Douglas fingered the large ruby ring that sat on his fourth finger. The thing was worth a fortune, but it was also a symbol of his position in Scotland now. James II was seven years old. He was king in name only; it was Douglas who would rule, so long as he was able to watch his back.
“Laird McBoyd will hang at sunset, along with his sons. Every last one of them shook hands with Atholl and raided yer holding of White Hill.”
It was a kinder death than Torin expected for the traitors. Archibald drew a stiff breath.
“It’s time to finish it. I’ll leave the torture to the English. I’ll send the priest to them and march them off to the gallows the moment they’re finished confessing.”
“They’d best make a good job of that.”
Douglas spit on the floor. The two large hounds sitting at his feet didn’t even flinch; obviously they were accustomed to their master’s habits.
“Ye have my thanks and that of the dowager queen, Laird McLeren. Yer loyalty is truly proven.”
“I want it rewarded.”
Archibald Douglas gripped the ends of his armrests, his fingers closing around the carved wood until they turned white.
“I’ll reward whom I choose, Laird McLeren. As laird of yer clan, ye owe loyalty to the true king. Such does no’ require rewards.”
“What I want shouldn’t be here at all. I took Shannon McBoyd, and she is mine.”
The earl chuckled, an unfriendly sound that made his dogs perk up their ears.
“And it was my authority that took her away from ye.”
Torin felt his teeth grinding against each other. “My men know whom to respect, and I’ll remind ye that I came to ye instead of settling my score with the McBoyds as most of my men wanted.”
“Or what? Ye will side with yer men and nae respect my authority?” The earl leaned forward, his face darkening. “Mind yer words, McLeren. There’s plenty of room at the gallows for another rope.”
Torin smiled at the earl, which sent the man back in his chair.
“That will leave ye Lundy as Laird McLeren. If ye would rather have that sniveling whelp helping to watch yer back, send me yer priest.”
Douglas suddenly chuckled. He slapped the arm of his chair while his dogs stood up and began pacing around his feet.
“I would have sworn that Lundy lied to me, but ye do love her.” The earl laughed some more before drawing in a deep breath. “Ye poor fool.”
Torin only shrugged. “It is something I’ll nae argue against, but I find it a pleasant affliction to have. If ye plan to hang Shannon McBoyd, expect to see me standing beside her.”
Douglas sobered.
“I should send the priest to ye for those words alone, but ye are right about me no’ wanting that cousin of yers leading the McLeren. Lundy will make a pissy laird, who will whine endlessly when he isn’t acting like a king in his own right.”
Torin glared back at the man, refusing to cower. “I want Shannon McBoyd. I stole her and had her first. She belongs to me.”
“Ye’ve got courage, man; maybe foolish courage, but it is there.”
“Stop toying with me, Douglas.” Men had died for less-forceful tones in this same room. Torin didn’t care. “A Highlander keeps what he steals. The Douglas know that tradition well. I’m going to wed her and watch her belly grow round with my child.”
“Her father will enjoy knowing that, but ye are right that a Highlander is entitled to the woman he stole.” The earl snapped his fingers, and there was a rustle of fabric. Shannon appeared in the next moment, her face bright with temper. But she held her tongue, biting into her lower lip to remain silent.
“Go on with ye, girl.”
She looked at the floor to avoid telling him what she thought of his making a gift out of her, but she walked across the distance between them, sending relief through Torin. He clasped his fingers around her wrist and felt her tremble. The earl studied her for a moment.
“Go on, McLeren. Never forget that I have paid the debt I owe ye. Insult me again, and I’ll give ye that hanging ye just asked for.”
“I’ll remember both things, my lord.”
Torin offered the earl a quick nod of his head and a slightly longer one for the queen before he turned and pulled Shannon from the room with him. She tried to jerk her wrist from his hold the moment the throne-room doors closed behind them. He tugged her behind a tapestry instead, setting her back against the wall. He lifted her up and pushed her mouth open with his.
Shannon pushed at Torin’s shoulders. The man didn’t move, did not make any motion that indicated that he felt her squirming in his hold. Instead he kissed her, hard and without mercy.
It was perfection.
She wanted to melt against him. Her hands gripped his shoulders, trying to absorb the fact that he was real. Her lips clung to his, moving in unison and kissing him back with every bit of anxiety that had tormented her.
“Torin… I need to catch my breath…” Her heart was hammering so hard, it threatened to burst through her chest.
“No, ye just want to argue with me for saying that ye belong to me.” He pressed another kiss against her mouth, following her when she tried to pull her head away. She finally pushed herself up, above his reach, by flattening her palms on top of his shoulders.
Torin snarled softly at her, using his hands to pull her back down.
“I swear I’ll spank yer arse if ye say one word in argument.”
He meant it too. Shannon placed her fingers over his lips, delicately tracing them while she drew in the breath her racing heart needed.
“Ye scared the life out of me by asking to be hung.” To maintain her composure, she smothered a sob that broke through her resolve. “I swear I cannae bear such a thought. I’ll be yer mistress. Ye need to please yer clan and marry an heiress with blue blood.”
“Ye’ll be my wife.”
She shook her head, biting back the shout of joy that she wanted to give. He suddenly let out a curse that shocked her with how dark it was.
“Ye will wed me, Shannon.” He spit out another curse before framing her face with his hands.
“But I’m nae with child, Torin. I’m sorry, but I know I am not.”
“I do nae care. I love ye, woman, and ye will marry me. It will bring peace to all but Lundy and his followers. I refuse to spend my life trying to please him.”
He tried to press another kiss against her mouth, but Shannon flattened her hand against his mouth once more. Her heart was full of happiness and devastated too.
“Ye will lose too much by wedding me. I won’t allow you to do that. Yer love is enough. I swear I
will never grow discontented, even when ye bring home a bride.”
He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled it gently away from his mouth.
“What I must have is ye, sweet Shannon. God has blessed me with a woman I love; we’ll nae be greedy by debating the matter further. Swear that ye will wed me.”
“I cannae. Ye must think of ensuring that Lundy does nae gain more favor among the McLeren.”
He growled and pulled her away from the wall. With a hand wrapped around her wrist, Torin took her down the hallway and into the receiving room. Conversation flowed softly from the nobility waiting there. Music filtered down from the musicians playing in the alcoves, and then Laird Torin McLeren knelt on one knee in front of her.
“Will ye become my wife, Shannon McBoyd?”
Her heart froze, and the conversation died. Silence surrounded them; even the music stopped. Torin had spoken loudly enough to have his voice bounce off the walls, and everyone waited to hear her reply.
It was gallant beyond compare. Her protests died in the face of his public declaration. How great a love must it be to see him embracing it when she brought him nothing but her own love in return. Nothing but herself. It was the stuff that legends were written about, and her heart swelled with it.
“Yes.”
Soft applause filled the room. The musicians played a fanfare, but most importantly of all, Torin pushed back up to tower over her with a smug look of satisfaction on his face.
“Ye are arrogant, Laird McLeren.”
He shrugged and renewed his grasp around her wrist. Connor Lindsey appeared next to his friend, looking every bit as smug.
“Aye, lass, and a barbarian, I hear.”
Torin aimed a look at his friend. “I learned everything I know from ye.”
“Glad to hear ye admit it. Now are ye getting married or no’?”
The grip on her wrist tightened. “I’m getting married.”
“Good. I want to kiss the bride first.” Connor Lindsey stepped right between them and clasped her face between his hands. A second later the man kissed her. It was no sweet salute of her mouth, but a full kiss between a man and woman. Connor Lindsey stole her breath, for the man knew more than his fair share about how to kiss. She finally shoved him away and felt her cheeks burn when he chuckled at her. He winked before turning to smirk at Torin.
“Better get to it, before I steal her.”
“Not before I get my turn to kiss the bride.”
Quinton Cameron looped a hard arm around her waist and pulled her against his body. His kiss was unique, just like the man, and he gave her no mercy, demanding a deep kiss just as Connor had. He spun her back toward Torin, and she heard Torin’s chest rumble with a growl. His friends smirked, but Torin held her tightly, and that was what mattered most. Quinton raised an eyebrow.
“Of course, lad, if ye move too slowly, I might be tempted to get the lass to the church before ye.”
Torin renewed his grip on her wrist and shot her a look full of excitement.
“Shall we, lass?”
“We shall.” Torin took off at a run through the hallways. His boots echoed between the stone walls along with her laughter. They ran like children… They ran like lovers.
***
The gloom of early spring gave way to bright weather. It warmed her face while they traveled back toward McLeren land. Her husband looked ready to burst with pride, but Shannon was too happy to take issue with him. She caught him watching her and felt her cheeks heat. If the man never told her he loved her again, she would not question his feelings, because they were there in every glance he sent her way.
They climbed higher into the hills, and the heather was blooming now. Shannon grinned when they sighted the towers of Donan Tower.
“Why are ye still calling it Donan Tower? It is a castle.”
Torin tilted his head to one side. “Well now, lass, I suppose I should have expected that ye would begin changing things now that we are wed.”
She scoffed at him. “Well, husband, far be it for me to mention to ye that there are three towers, and that clearly makes a castle.”
He shrugged. “We’re working as fast as the weather permits on the fourth one, lass. Ye’ll just have to wait for it.”
He smirked at her, clearly in the mood to tease her.
“But ye still want to call it Donan Tower?”
“I want ye to call it home.”
He leaned across the space between them and hooked an arm around her body. With a smothered cry, she found herself pulled over to his horse in a tangle of her gowns. Shannon clung to him as the ground felt like it was spinning beneath them, but Torin never faltered; he held her firmly in front of him while they entered the village. People were outside, working the newly plowed fields. The blacksmith was busy, the clang from his hammer filling the air. Women looked up from the bank of the river where they were washing laundry, lifting their hands to shade their eyes so that they might see who was on the road.
They rode onto the bridge and heard the bell in the church begin tolling. This time it was a welcome sound, ringing in happiness that the laird was returning. Once they passed the raised gate, they heard a cheer from the men gathered along the curtain walls to view them.
“My wife!”
They sent up a louder cheer; this one startled several birds off the rooftops. Baeth squalled like a girl from where she stood at the top of the stairs. Shannon turned to look at her husband’s face.
“’Tis only home so long as ye are here.” She watched his eyes glimmer with satisfaction and tenderness, and, more importantly, love.
“But ’tis still a castle, as any right-minded soul could tell ye.”
***
Shannon knelt next to her trunk with only a single candle to illuminate the dark chamber that she’d first been given. The room was quiet now, as though it were waiting for something or someone to come and breathe life into it once more.
That would not happen tonight.
Shannon lifted the lid, the leather hinges creaking in the silence. Very little was inside. She reached for her folded arisaid, which had been sitting on the table in Torin’s chamber just as she’d left it. Running her fingers over the scarlet and blue threads, she stared at them before sighing.
Her father was dead, and his sons too. She couldn’t even lament their passing from this life, because she honestly felt that they might be more content now that their positions of earthly life were removed. Her stepmother would be. Fate was being kind to the child bride her father had taken to gain a rich dowry. Word had arrived that her stepmother had birthed a daughter. That little girl was the most welcome girl baby in all of Scotland, for she would be allowed to live and maybe someday restore honor to the McBoyd name.
Shannon placed the McBoyd colors in the trunk. She closed the lid, sealing them in darkness. For now, the future belonged to her life with the McLerens. This was her home.
And it was the most wonderful place she might ever have imagined.
A soft step in the doorway drew her attention. Torin stood there, concern etched into his expression. His eyes were dark and unreadable, but she felt his love. His attention moved to the hand she still had lingering on the top of her trunk. He stretched out a hand in invitation.
“Are ye ready, lass? My chamber is too cold without ye.”
She stood up, pinching out the candle before reaching for that hand. His fingers closed around hers, gently, firmly sealing them in a grasp that sent two tears down her face.
“Then I shall warm it for ye, my love.”
***
“Push now, mistress.”
Shannon would have liked to tell Baeth that she hated her, but there was too much pain for her to do anything more than snarl. Her entire body was dripping sweat, and her fingernails dug into the arms of the birthing chair. Looking dow
n, she stared at her swollen belly, still slightly amazed to see herself so round so soon after marrying.
“Push harder.”
“I am pushing hard!” And it felt like her body was ripping open. She felt her baby being forced from her, fighting to be born. The birthing chair made it easy for the child to use gravity to assist in its birth, the wide legs supporting her spread thighs, leaving room for the midwife to crouch between her legs and catch the infant.
“I’ve got it, mistress. Just one more push.”
Shannon bore down and groaned through the final, agonizing contraction. Her child began to wail, sending tears down her cheeks.
“A son, mistress, a strong son for the McLerens.”
Shannon cursed. The midwife and the maids looked shocked to see their mistress using such profanity. But in the next moment they giggled, because birthing rooms were always full of surprises and it didn’t matter if the mother-to-be was high or low.
“But he’s strong and healthy, mistress.”
“I wanted a girl because everyone has been telling me how much Torin needs a son. Well, I’ll decide what I have, nae anyone else. Everyone needs to stop telling me what to do…” She stopped because another contraction went through her; thankfully this one was much milder. “That hurt too much. I hate giving birth.”
But her voice grew softer as she heard the soft cry of her baby. The midwife finished cleaning him and held him up for her to see. Tears flooded her eyes and fell down her cheeks unchecked. She suddenly didn’t understand why she was angry at all. The tension and pain diminished, leaving behind nothing but happiness. Shannon reached for her son with a pleased sob on her lips and fresh tears sliding down her face.
“Oh… look how perfect he is…”
“Does that mean ye are pleased with a son, madam?”
The midwife snorted with disapproval, but Torin didn’t heed her. He walked into the room, in defiance of tradition that dictated he remain behind the door. But his eyes glowed with love, and Shannon didn’t care what anyone else said about the way things were supposed to be done.
“I suppose a son will do, at least until ye give me a daughter.” She fixed him with a hard look. “I want a daughter, so ye’d best just know that now, Torin McLeren. Do nae be surprised when I birth one.”
