Harlequin Historical November 2013 - Bundle 2 of 2

by Carol Arens

  ‘Are you able to accept this handfasting even though you have sworn not to marry again? Will you hate me now for making you break your oath?’

  He lost his breath at her question. Not because he would hate her. He would not. But he had refused any thoughts of marriage for so long for such strong reasons, he wondered if he would simply be able to accept it and let his reservations and fears go.

  ‘I will not hate you, Isobel. I think it was clear to both of us long ago that the feelings we have for each other speak of something other than that.’

  She blushed then and glanced away, he hoped remembering the passion between them that night outside his chamber. A passion that promised to burn and delight them if allowed to burst into fullness. If he had not destroyed it in last night’s debauchery. She tucked some loosened strands of her hair behind her ear and met his gaze once more.

  ‘More than that, I...’ He stopped then, trying to put into words how he felt. Athdar was not accustomed to sharing such things with a woman, but this situation was far different from any previous betrothal or relationship and Isobel deserved to know. ‘I admit that I wanted no wife, for many reasons, but now that you are she, I think we can accommodate ourselves to it. And my first order as your husband is to stop trouncing me in our games of chess.’ She laughed and he let the sound of it seep into his soul.

  He could not admit to the depth of his feelings for her. Not tell her how much he liked and admired her. Not tell her how much he appreciated the way she’d acted more as part of his clan than as a guest these past weeks. For now, she knew of his attraction to her and the growing passion between them.

  That would be enough for now. He would let her find her way in this and follow her lead.

  And, God and the fates willing, they would have an understanding before her father arrived at his gates.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lairig Dubh

  ‘He comes,’ Connor said to his wife as he watched Rurik approach the keep from the yard. ‘And he looks none too happy about this.’

  ‘I did not expect him to be happy, Connor,’ Jocelyn replied. ‘I—’

  ‘I think I know what you had in mind, love. I just think you meddled far more in this than you should have. He has the right as her father...’ His words drifted off as the topic of their discussion threw open the door and strode inside.

  ‘Connor, there is still no word,’ Rurik bellowed. ‘None.’

  ‘And there will not be any until the pass clears, Rurik,’ he answered. He read the worry and the anger in his commander’s, and friend’s, eyes.

  ‘She will be cared for, Rurik,’ Jocelyn said softly. ‘She is safe until we can travel back to her.’

  ‘Your idea of safe and mine differs, Jocelyn, when your brother is involved.’

  Connor watched as Jocelyn took offence at the words and tone of Rurik’s words and stepped between them. For as long as he’d been married to Jocelyn, he had never seen Rurik take a stance against her in any matter, so Connor was not quite certain about this disagreement. Still, his words had been an insult to Jocelyn’s brother, one even he could hear.

  ‘Athdar knows your feelings about him, Rurik. As does Isobel.’

  ‘As does everyone here in Lairig Dubh,’ Jocelyn muttered under her breath. Crossing her arms over her chest, she mirrored Rurik’s stance. The battle was on and he stood in the middle of his long-time friend and the commander of all MacLerie warriors and his wife. Not an enviable place to be. He let out a sigh.

  ‘He is an ally and my brother-by-marriage, pledged in fealty to my service, Rurik. He answers to me.’

  ‘She is my daughter. He answers to me.’

  A stalemate for now, knowing that Rurik would never disobey a direct order. ‘When the pass opens, we will send some men to retrieve her.’ When Rurik rose to his full height, Connor recognised his discontent and desire to argue. ‘Those are my orders for now, Rurik. You have your duties—see to them now and until I give you leave to do anything else.’

  ‘But, Connor...’ he began.

  Damn it, where was Duncan, his peacemaker, when he needed him for things like this?

  ‘You may not like him, but Isobel is safe. She is her father’s daughter and will not be taken advantage of or abused. You know it and I know it,’ he offered, trying to reduce the tension in the situation.

  A stricken expression filled Rurik’s eyes for a second at Connor’s reference to Isobel as Rurik’s daughter and, if he had not been staring at his friend in that exact moment, Connor would have missed it. Something ran deeper here than Connor knew about. Rurik was hiding something about Isobel. He thought Rurik might have realised the slip, for he nodded to both of them and left without another word.

  Connor faced his wife and could tell with a glance that she’d seen it, as well, but there did not seem to be the surprise in her gaze that he must have in his own. She knew something. She knew whatever it was that Rurik kept secret about Isobel. And from the unseemly haste in which she bid him farewell and left, almost on Rurik’s heels, Connor suddenly felt like the only one who did not know.

  And as the MacLerie and Earl of Douran, he did not like that feeling.

  MacCallum lands

  If, at this moment, she was exactly where she wanted most to be, why did she feel so horribly guilty? So guilty, in fact, that she wished the MacCallums had a priest here so he could hear her confession. As she sat at table in the hall, next to her husband, accepting the salutations of his kith and kin, all she could think of was the deception she was committing.

  Oh, she had tried to tell the truth. First with Nessa and Jean and then to Athdar himself. But they all seemed to want to be deceived by the half-truths they thought they saw.

  Isobel understood why he had offered her a handfasting union. Even if they believed her, someone would not. There would always be stories and questions about the real truth and her reputation and honour would suffer. Honour, to be preserved, demanded satisfaction and, short of her father killing Athdar, marriage was considered the correct, long-standing and customary response.

  So, here she sat. Lady MacCallum. Married to the man she wanted to marry. Married to a man who did not want this. She glanced around the hall at the subdued wedding supper and wondered if any other man had been so dead set against marriage and then forced into it against his will? Could any good come of this? In the yard, he had sought atonement for what he thought he’d done to her, allowing his men to batter the sin out of him.

  What then could she do to expiate her sins?

  Their talk this morning, after he attempted to die for dishonouring her, had gone well. She tried to admit he’d not done what he thought he had, but he was intent on believing it...or suspecting it, for he had no memory of what had happened. After being battered and bruised in the yard, there was no way to differentiate the cut on his hand from the broken jug from any of the many other slashes and tears in his flesh.

  Athdar rose and went to speak with his friend’s widow. As she watched him speaking quietly to Ailis now that her husband had been laid to rest, a thought of how she could atone struck her.

  If she simply carried out her original plan now, to show him that his worries about marrying again had nothing to do with a curse of God or the fates, she might actually help him.

  Curses, she’d discovered in her readings, were like a good story—a small kernel of truth surrounded by layers and layers of lies, told convincingly over and over again. Athdar might believe in some curse, but Isobel would look closer with an unbiased eye to find that truth.

  There was no other person who could seek the truth about his actions—the strange and frightening lapses in his memory, the inappropriate rages and more that none spoke of but knew of for a certain. As his wife, she could offer him solace in his moments of need. She could watch over him and protect him in ways no on
e else could or would, whether they be kith or kin.

  Only his wife would have standing and power to do it. So, though she thought to marry him and simply prove the silliness of a curse, mayhap now her wifely task would be to save him from the darkness and loss she’d witnessed within him?

  If she became the wife she knew he needed, one who loved him and stood by his side and encouraged him to be the man and laird she knew he could be, one who was faithful and useful, mayhap he could find it in his heart to forgive her when he discovered the truth?

  For, the first he bedded her, he would find her virginity intact and expose the lie.

  From his words, he would not rush that event, so it gave her time to show him that she was perfect for him, and to discover why he believed himself responsible for Robbie’s death. And who the others were he mentioned. And why he thought that the women he’d chosen to marry were part of some curse.

  Athdar rose from the stool next to Ailis and returned to her, hesitantly placing his hand on hers. This could be the nice part of being handfasted—she did not have to act demur when he touched her. She could accept it and some time soon, when they were accustomed to each other, even instigate it herself.

  ‘I would speak with you about something, Isobel,’ he said, sitting in his chair and leaning in nearer to her for a private moment. She noticed he did not release her hand.

  ‘What is it, Dar?’ she asked. His eyes widened at her use of it. ‘If you would prefer me to call you Athdar...?’

  ‘Nay, I like the way it sounds coming from you. My question is rather would you prefer to remain in your own chamber or if you will move into mine?’

  There was a gleam of hope in his gaze as he asked her. Once more, giving her the power to decide something this personal. But then, it was not a private matter, was it? The whole clan would know she kept separate chambers and would believe that his actions had not made things right. Worse, it would give lie to his claim and public declaration that they had handfasted last night before he shared her bed if she now refused to sleep in his.

  ‘Which would you prefer?’ she asked him back. Other than for duty and honour and to right what he thought he’d done wrong, he’d given no indication what he wanted of her. He looked away and then back at her before speaking.

  ‘Many marriages have begun on less than what we have between us, Bel. You know I like and respect you. You know I want you. I would like this to be as though tonight is our first night. I cannot take back what happened, but I swear it will never be like that again between us.’

  He lifted her hand to his mouth and touched his lips to the inside of her wrist, sending chills of fire down her body. There was danger here, for if she granted his request, it would take her, take them, down a path from which there was no return.

  And yet, was that not what had brought her here? It was not as though she wished for a different ending—she had come here intent on convincing him that marriage between them was the right thing.

  So, why was she hesitating?

  ‘Aye, Dar. I will share your chamber.’

  He called one of the servants over and sent her off to find Glenna as soon as Isobel gave her consent. By the time they sought their rest, it would be together in his chamber. The guilt about allowing him to believe the lie still assailed her and Isobel made a promise to herself—until she knew he committed freely to this marriage, she would not allow him to consummate it. That way, when the year had passed, they would have no reason to reaffirm it in a formal marriage.

  * * *

  When the meal was done, Athdar stood and held out his hand to her. Taking it, she walked with him to his chamber. It felt incredibly strange to be permitted to enter a bedchamber alone with him and a bubble of laughter escaped as she watched him close the door behind them.

  ‘After trying for so long not to be alone together, that seemed too easy,’ she said to explain her mirth. ‘Sinful somehow.’

  Then she looked around the chamber. It was not as large as she thought it would be and rather sparse in its furnishings. A bed. Two trunks. A small table and chairs in the corner. A hearth. The other chamber seemed larger than this one.

  ‘I do not spend much time here, other than to sleep. Unlike Connor, I keep this private and use the clerk’s room for estate business.’

  ‘Why do you not have a clerk?’ she asked, as he paced around the chamber as though uncertain of what to do next. ‘Your lands and holdings are large enough to warrant one.’

  ‘I have just not tended to such things in the past. Sometimes ’tis just easier to handle matters myself,’ he explained. ‘So, we are avoiding the obvious, are we not?’

  Did he expect her to undress before him? Did he sleep naked? She glanced at the bed. ‘You do not wish to discuss inviting a holy brother into your household?’

  Isobel had the great ability to change the subject or, rather, to return to a previous one to avoid the current one if she so wished. A holy brother was the last thing he wished to talk about with her. But, from the way her hands trembled, the way she shifted from one foot to the other and the way she glanced at everything in the room but him, he knew she was nervous.

  ‘Ah. I forgot to give Broc instructions for the morn. Let me go back down to the hall before he retires.’

  Puzzlement and a frown flitted over her lovely face.

  ‘Why not get settled for sleep and I will return shortly?’ he asked, walking to the door. He would give her time to undress and get in the bed.

  She nodded as he left. He did go back to the hall, but not to speak to Broc. Retrieving the chessboard and pieces, he thought it could help ease the strain between them in his chambers. And give them a way to regain their footing with each other. He did not rush or dawdle for he did not want it reported among his kith and kin that he avoided his chamber on this night. When a few minutes had passed, and no sounds came from within, he lifted the latch and entered.

  Isobel lay in his bed.

  He swallowed and then again, taking in the sight of a woman he’d wanted, but never thought he could have. He had pushed her away and pushed away the thought of any woman in his bed and in his heart for so long, this did not feel real and true to him.

  Yet, Isobel lay in his bed.

  He did not know, could not tell from where he stood if she slept yet, so he placed the chess game on the table, having a care to be quiet, and then he walked slowly towards the bed. Halfway across the chamber, he could see that she watched him.

  ‘Ah, you are awake,’ he said.

  ‘I did not know where to settle. Do you sleep on one side or the other?’ she asked, touching each side of the bed.

  ‘I sleep all over it, I fear,’ he admitted. It had been so long since he’d shared a bed with a woman—for sleep—that he could not remember. ‘And you?’

  ‘I have shared a bed when cousins visit and they have said that I, like you, sleep all over it. So choose a side,’ she said.

  ‘I will take this side,’ he said, pointing to the one closer to the door.

  She slid over and made room for him without hesitation. A good sign, that. He went around the room and blew out the candles that the servants had lit. Leaving only the one on the small table next to the bed, he turned his back and loosened his belt. He lifted the plaid from his shoulders and placed it over a chair. Then he dragged his trews off, leaving only his shirt on.

  He listened to her breathing behind him. Each garment he removed was met with a slight pause, then she began anew. Athdar could feel her scrutiny as he undressed, but worried if she was simply being wary or if her curiosity was still strong. He hoped so. Turning, he walked to the empty side of the bed and climbed up on it. The ropes beneath the mattress groaned from his added weight.

  Athdar found his body wanted to sleep as soon as he settled on the bed. Between the amount of whisky he’d consumed
yesterday, the beating he’d taken this morn and everything else that had happened all day long, he was exhausted. Without a word to her, he sank into sleep’s grasp.

  He woke when he felt her touch.

  Startled at first, forgetting she lay at his side, he found her on her side facing him, tracing her finger along his shoulder and arm. The touch was light, not quite a caress and sometimes so gentle he thought he might be dreaming it. Then she slid it up to his neck and began gliding it along the edge of his jaw and cheeks. He did not move for fear she would stop her exploration.

  Then, she dropped her hand and closed her eyes. He stared at her for a few minutes, deciding she was asleep and then slipped his hand around hers.

  * * *

  The second morning of waking with her at his side was much different than the first one.

  His head did not hurt quite as much as the first time.

  He was not met with a screeching servant and destroyed chamber.

  Nay, on their second morning together, he woke alone to an empty chamber.

  Chapter Fifteen

  He slept like the dead. Far from taking over the whole of the bed as he’d threatened, he had not moved once he climbed on the bed and positioned himself there.

  Laying on top of the bedcovers was his attempt to ease things between them and she accepted it. But some time in the night, he had slept so deeply that she did not think him breathing. Rather than shake him awake, she touched him, reaching over and sliding her finger along the muscles of his shoulder and arm. He shuddered so she knew he was alive.

  Unfortunately, she wanted to touch more of him—so she did. Gently she slid just the tip of her finger along his neck and around the masculine curves, angles and planes of his face. She did what she had not been permitted to do before—touch him. He had drawn in a deep breath and she feared disturbing his much-needed rest.