Possessed by the Highlander

by TERRI BRISBIN

  “I was drugged,” he said in a voice soft enough not to be heard by guards listening at his door. “At the feast.”

  “Drugged, ye say?”

  “I have a tolerance for drinking, Hamish. Even you have lamented about how much I can drink and still stand,” he began.

  “Ye are the only mon I know who doesna piss down his legs by the end of a night’s revelries, Duncan,” Hamish complimented.

  “But last evening, I could not stand or walk without help. Without the laird’s help.” Duncan had been sorting through what he could remember. “He offered me some special mead, but I remember now that he did not drink it.”

  “And we were all distracted at the same time,” Hamish added. “I tried to signal ye.”

  Duncan remembered the cough, but also remembered not being able to respond to it due to the confusion and the single-minded focus in his thoughts at that moment—Mara. Marian. He sat down on the bed and chewed another bit of bread.

  Marian Robertson. The Robertson Harlot.

  “I need to speak to her,” he declared. She was the only clearheaded one present last eve who could tell him, reassure him, that he had not harmed her. He would not believe himself capable of such a thing, but since he had no memory of the events after he’d begun drinking, she was the only one who could confirm his behavior.

  “The laird said you were not to leave this chamber until he called for you.” Hamish stood then and touched his hand to the place where his sword should be. “And we have been denied the freedom of movement for now.”

  “To make certain we do not upset his plans before they’re finished,” he said.

  Now that the drug was wearing off, he could think again. When he examined the last few days here, he could see some of the strands of the web being woven around him. Whether Marian was part of it or at its center mattered not, she was another of the strands. He would wait until the laird revealed his plan before condemning her.

  “Has he sent word to Connor?”

  “Nay. I wanted to send Tavis off last night, but he said to wait,” Hamish said.

  “If he’d been surprised by this, he’d have sent off to Connor straightaway. Nay, Hamish, this reeks of plotting.”

  Duncan walked to the small window in his chamber and opened the wooden shutters to peer out into the small yard beneath it. He preferred the air to flow in, regardless of the rain or wind. Breathing in deeply, he knew there was more yet to come.

  “What will ye do, Duncan?”

  “Wait to hear the offer.”

  “What offer?” When Duncan offered a grim smile, Hamish nodded. “Ah, the one that includes marriage to his whore of a sister?”

  “Did you consider that there could be certain benefits from such a wife as that?” Duncan asked of the only person he could ask such a question.

  Hamish snorted in reply. Duncan tried to make light of the stories they’d heard since he kenned that the reputation did not fit the woman he knew. He suspected that even more of it was just bluster to avert attention and the truth. The words now offered insult to the woman he knew would be his bride. And until he discovered the truths that stood hidden from him, he must stop such conjecture.

  “I’d prefer not to hear my betrothed wife called that particular name, Hamish. Tell the men.”

  “So ye are resigned to it wi’oot an offer being made then?” Hamish walked over and smacked him on the back. “Is there no way oot then?”

  Duncan thought about it, but the situation was clear in his mind even when many things still remained muddled. The drinking, the drugging, the helping him to her door, the convenient discovery of them lying together. Iain had marriage between Duncan and Iain’s sister in mind and the only way out without a bride was to leave Dunalastair without a treaty between their clans. Everyone involved, including Duncan, kenned that leaving without such an agreement was an unacceptable ending to this charade.

  The Peacemaker was gaining a wife even as the clans gained their alliance of power and property.

  ’Twas midmorning when the knock came at her door. She’d removed the bar early to give the guard some food and had yet to replace it. She feared no intruders this morn, even if there had been no guard. Marian tugged the door open and found Iain there. Stepping back, she gave him room to enter. And she allowed herself to savor the look of him while he walked into the cottage.

  Other than passing by on his way through the village or a chance appearance, she’d not seen or spoken to her brother since the day she returned. And even that had been with others present where all pretenses had to be kept up. Now, she was alone with him for the first time in more than five years. Well, almost alone.

  Iain stood watching Ciara at play for a few minutes before turning to her. His eyes glimmered with unshed tears and she knew he, too, had been thinking of the past. He held out his arms to her and Marian ran into his embrace. They hugged for what must have been hours and she found that, when he released her, it had not been long enough. It would never be long enough for two siblings who had once been so close. Iain took a few steps away and looked at her.

  “How does your head fare this morn?”

  Marian reached up and touched the robin’s egg–size bump on the back of her head. “It hurts,” she admitted. She was in no mood to soften the truth.

  “I can have Margret bring something to ease it,” he offered.

  That was when she realized what she’d tasted in Duncan’s kiss. It was a potion that the cook at the keep made to ease pain, especially head pains. She’d taken it before, even grew some of the herbs used in it. Now, his behavior made sense.

  “And what did you use to mask the taste of it? The honey mead that Old Innis brews for you?” she asked without hesitation. Would he lie to her or answer in truth.

  “The mead’s hearty taste masks it well, I think.”

  Marian closed her eyes and shook her head. Iain had staged the whole incident. “Why, Iain? Just tell me why?” Opening her eyes, she lowered her voice so that Ciara’s attention would not be drawn to them. “Have I not paid a high enough price in these last five years? I have kept my promises to you.”

  And she had—living quietly, not drawing attention to herself or her daughter. For five years, but especially since returning to Dunalastair these last two. She’d even changed her appearance so she would evoke no memories of the Robertson Harlot in the villagers who saw her or in her family.

  “I do this for you, Marian. This is not a punishment.”

  “You would marry me off to a man whose honor you have smeared. You would make the whole treaty contingent on his acceptance of the Robertson Harlot. And I am certain that part of this will force him to take me with him and not allow us to live apart.”

  Iain approached and took her hands in his. “Aye to all of that. But, he is an honorable man, Marian. And he is attracted to you. I do not think he is capable of mistreating you. Given a chance, I think you could find happiness with him.”

  “Attracted, Iain? Present a drunken, drugged man with a half-naked woman in the middle of the night after his lust has been stirred.” She ignored his raised brow and continued, “And true attraction has little to do with it.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to resist the memories of her own weakness toward Duncan and the attraction she felt for him. No matter, she’d accepted that the temptation he presented to her and her empty life had been only that. Now, she was a burden to be borne by him and she had no doubt that any attraction was gone.

  “He lives by his honor, Iain. He lives and breathes it. His success for his clan and his laird are based on it. Now, you give him no choice but to take me or face ruin and failure.”

  She watched as Iain changed before her eyes into someone resembling their father. He stood tall and took a deep breath and then spoke. “I am laird here, Marian, and this is my decision. You will marry him.”

  When he was in such a mood, he was inordinately stubborn and immovable in his decisions or opinions. Bu
t, she’d been in tougher situations before and had learned he was not the only one in their family with nerves of steel.

  “A handfasting,” she said.

  “Marriage with the Church’s blessing, Marian.”

  “A handfasting with a dowry to be held by his laird,” she insisted, crossing her arms and straightening her stance.

  “Marriage with his laird holding your dowry,” he countered.

  “Handfasting or nothing, Iain. I will not consent to a marriage.”

  “Are you daft that you would spurn an honest marriage for a temporary bonding that ends in a year-and-a-day?” Iain stood with his hands on his hips and shook his head at her. “Think of your daughter, Marian.”

  “I am, Iain. I think only of her protection and her life.”

  Her words had the desired effect on him. He swallowed and swallowed again before he could speak. “I will also send something to the MacLerie to be held for her.”

  “How long do I have?” she asked, looking around the small cottage that had sheltered her and trying to determine how long it would take to pack everything she would need for a new life. Considering that the treaty was nearly complete, she kenned she had little time here. With the clues falling into place, she saw the extent of Iain’s plan even if he spoke not of such a thing.

  “The ceremony will take place this evening and you will leave in the morning.”

  She gasped at the speed of the arrangements. When she would have argued, he held up his hand and shook his head.

  “Take only the clothing you need for the two of you. Everything else will be packed and sent to you.”

  “But, Iain. My plants. The garden,” she began.

  “Margret will see to them. And, Marian?”

  She could not believe Duncan agreed with such speed and wondered at the price paid for it. “Yes?”

  “Make arrangements for the child to stay with someone here in the village. Your first night of wedded life will be spent at the keep and it’s best for her not to be seen there.”

  Marian could not find the words to use in argument now that that particular arrangement had been declared, and her thoughts turned to surviving a wedding night with an angry husband. But Iain did not wait on them. He turned and walked to the door, tugging it open. Before he left, he asked one more question.

  “Why that color?”

  Marian touched her hair, realizing what he meant.

  “’Tis the easiest dye to make to cover it. And it seems to straighten the curls as well. More efficient than other things I have tried.”

  “Come at midafternoon. All will be prepared.”

  Marian fretted through most of the day, packing things she thought indispensable for the trip and avoiding the emotions and fears she did not wish to face at the moment. The most difficult moment was when she tried to explain to Ciara about the changes coming into their lives. But Ciara did not hesitate in her appraisal or excitement in the plan to go with Sir Duncan and live in his village for some time. Of course, all the child could think of was how the journey would be accomplished and she was won over by the horse alone.

  If it were only that simple to put her mind at ease over the coming days and the thought of being under the control of a man who did not want to be married, or even handfasted, to her. She tried to convince herself that she truly did not fear him, for he had been kind to her daughter when there was no need to be so.

  Indeed he seemed to be a man who was not driven by his emotions and he would understand the situation better than she. So, even if he wished to bed her, she could not believe he would be ruled by any anger he felt. At least, that was the basic plea in the prayer she offered in that scant second.

  Marian made arrangements for Ciara to stay with someone in the village, one of the other young women who had a daughter, and walked to the keep. Just before she reached the gate, she turned to take a final look around. She’d grown up here and faced disgrace here. She’d returned thinking she would live here and raise her daughter, but now everything she’d hoped for and dreamed of was changed.

  Once their year-long commitment was finished, she would take the money Iain was sending and leave to find another place to live with Ciara. One where they did not know of Marian Robertson, the Harlot. One where she might find some measure of happiness. One where her own dreams of a husband and more children might happen.

  First, though, she must face this battle and tie herself to a man who did not want her. Then she must live a year under his control. Only then could she be free of her past. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the keep, where she had not been in more than five years and faced the man her brother had bribed into marrying her.

  Chapter Seven

  Duncan stood by the dais and waited for her arrival. Word passed through the keep some time ago that she’d arrived, but he’d still not seen her. His men stood at his side, all except Tavis who readied their supplies and horses for traveling on the morrow. The pain in his head lessened to a bearable level and he’d ordered his men to watch their drink this night. Although this was akin to hobbling a horse after it had escaped, his warning was clear.

  A few servants came and went, each one staring at him as they passed, but still no Marian. Finally he saw her standing at the stairway that led to the solar. He was about to go to her when Iain appeared at her side and escorted her forward. The laird had ordered the hall to be cleared, wanting the ceremony to be no spectacle, though Duncan suspected the reports of last night had proved spectacle enough.

  He nodded and his men stood with him waiting and watching her approach. Each time he saw her, he noticed something different about her and this time she wore a new tunic and gown, one befitting the daughter and sister of the laird. Her long hair was braided back off her face, revealing high cheekbones and pale cheeks. Her appearance today reminded him that she was above his station and he’d only gained an heiress because her brother needed it to be so.

  Did she ken that? Did she know the wealth that was hers by inheritance from her mother and father? She could not have and still have lived such a meager life in the village as she did. Marian would probably be shocked to find out the extent of her value. But would she feel resentful when she learned of his lack of it? Iain drew her to a stop and Duncan bowed before her.

  “Lady Marian, how do you fare?” he asked, but she did not reply. He repeated his question with no more success than the first time. Iain shook her hand and she finally met his gaze.

  “He is speaking to you, Marian.” Iain motioned to Duncan.

  “I am well, Sir Duncan,” she answered in a soft voice, sounding not the least bit well. “And you?” she asked back.

  Duncan could not play this game with her. He needed to speak to her, speak bluntly to her and set things aright before the ceremony and certainly before they shared the bed already prepared above for them. But things needed to be done first.

  “Lady, may I make known my men to you?” he asked as he took her hand from Iain’s and turned her to face them.

  Duncan took his time introducing each of them to her, for they would be her escorts and protection on their journey back across Scotland to Lairig Dubh. And they were the first of the MacLeries she would meet. Iain stepped forward once he’d finished, but Duncan held her hand.

  “I would speak to Marian before the ceremony, Iain,” he said. It was not a request.

  “You may use Struan’s chamber there,” he said, pointing at a door off to the side of the hall.

  He led Marian away from the group and into the small room, closing the door behind him before speaking. He offered her the stool that sat next to Struan’s table, but she shook her head. Having never faced this situation, he was at a loss as to where to begin until he looked at her face.

  “Truly, Marian, how do you feel? You injured your head last night?” He remembered seeing her touch it several times while talking with Iain.

  “It hurts,” she answered plainly.

  “As does mine,” he replied.r />
  “He drugged you last night.”

  He’d suspected but now had the truth of it. “And I remember nothing, except that we were found together on the ground.” Other bits and pieces involving his attack on her were creeping back into place, but he did not want to concentrate on those now.

  “Did I…?” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. He watched her now and waited on word of how bad his behavior had been to her.

  “You did not….” she began. Then her face filled with a blush as though such talk embarrassed her. After taking in a deep breath, she shook her head at him.

  “’Twas as though you were in your cups. Your words slurred and then you stumbled and fell on me. ’Twas how we ended up as we were found, I think.”

  “You do not know?” he asked.

  “I hit my head as we fell. If there was anything else, I slept through it.”

  She had not meant to be humorous but he took it that way. God help him if a woman could sleep as he swived her. Duncan smiled at her then and shrugged. “That has not been a complaint of women in the past.” He walked to the far wall of the room and stood watching her reaction.

  “I did not know what he planned, Sir Duncan. Truly,” she said.

  “But I have dishonored you and this is the right outcome of such an act.” The correct words flowed smoothly, but they both knew them for the lie they were.

  “One of your men had the right of it—you cannot dishonor a wh…” He was at her side, covering her mouth to stop the rest of it before she could finish.

  “Is that why you did not demand marriage as any woman in your situation would have? The daughter and sister to a laird such as you should demand more than a simple handfasting.” He felt anger on her behalf. Even if this was convenient to her brother’s or to her own plans, she should demand marriage.