Possessed by the Highlander

by TERRI BRISBIN

  Marian watched as the first of their escorts passed through Broch Dubh’s massive portcullis and into the main yard. Regardless of the late hour and the darkness of the night, many waited there for their arrival. Ciara climbed up on her lap and Marian felt the nervous shivering of her little body. Between all the horses and the late timing and all the other sights to see and hear, her daughter shook with excitement. When they reached the steps leading to the doors of the keep, Duncan helped them down from the cart and led them forward.

  Two torches threw light on the landing, but did not illuminate the faces of the two giants standing there. With their huge bodies outlined by the flickering glow and being unable to see their faces, ’twas not difficult to shiver a bit herself. Duncan took her hand and brought her before them.

  The nearest one stood nearly a full hand taller than Duncan and was fair in coloring. His crossed arms revealed the muscles and powerful arms of a warrior. The other one, standing back in the shadows, was darker in his coloring, taller than Duncan but not the other man, and his form looked as deadly and dangerous as the other. Which was laird? Who was the other? Marian felt Ciara step closer to her, a sure sign of her fear.

  “Here now, Connor. You are frightening them,” the taller one said as he moved into the light.

  She nearly gasped at his appearance, for he had to be the handsomest man she’d ever beheld. His pale blond hair, worn long and pulled away from his face in no way lessened his fierce appearance or diminished his masculinity. The ancient runes marked on his arms, where the muscles were at their widest, spoke of a heritage not of the Highlands, but the plaid he wore around his waist and over his massive shoulders said otherwise.

  “Lady,” he said softly, holding one of his large hands out to her, “I am called Rurik Erengislsson. Welcome to Lairig Dubh.” In a move she would have thought unlikely, his next action was even more welcoming. “And welcome to you, little lass,” he said, while crouching down to meet Ciara’s gaze. He held out his hand to Ciara who smiled shyly, still clutching at Marian’s skirts.

  “Rurik.”

  ’Twas only one word, but Duncan’s tone carried with it some warning to this man. Rurik smiled then, presenting the very image of an innocent man, but it was that smile that made Marian realize how this man could win over most any woman he met. The stories about his appeal to women, from cradle to grave, were most likely true and it was something tangible, a quality she could almost touch. She pitied the woman who he turned his formidable attentions on…or mayhap she envied her.

  “Connor,” Duncan said now, not waiting for Rurik to leave. “May I make my wife known to you? Marian Robertson, this is Connor MacLerie, the MacLerie, and the Earl of Douran. My laird.”

  Marian understood what was expected when meeting nobility. She dropped down to a deep curtsy and bowed her head before him, taking Ciara with her. Rurik stumbled back at her movements while the other man stepped forward out of the shadows where he’d been watching everything. Rurik, consummate warrior and quick on his feet, regained his footing and moved out of the laird’s way. When Marian lifted her head and glanced at Duncan’s laird, she understood how his reputation had grown from rumors to what it was. His gaze was more intense than Duncan’s, if such a thing were even possible, and she waited for his words, not daring to even breathe.

  “Welcome to our clan, Marian Robertson.”

  “My lord.” Marian drew Ciara in front of her. “May I make my daughter known to you, my lord? This is Ciara.”

  The laird followed Rurik’s example and crouched down so that he was face-to-face with her daughter. Then Marian realized why they did it—they were both fathers with wee bairns. Their attempts to make her daughter welcome were touching, truly, for it was such a small gesture but so significant.

  “Welcome to you both. Now,” he said, standing to his full height and reaching over to clasp Duncan’s arm in his. “Jocelyn will be very upset if we dawdle out here since she awaits us in the hall. She made us wait dinner for your arrival and I ken she is fretting over it at this moment.” He turned to motion Rurik to go ahead of them and then he held out his arm to Marian.

  “Come, lady. I am certain that you must be ready for something to eat and then a warm bed to ease the discomforts of the road.”

  With Rurik as their leader, the laird as her escort and Duncan at their backs, they made their way into the keep, up another set of stairs to reach the main floor and then into the great hall where many sat at table eating their dinner. A petite woman, great with child, paced along the table that sat on the dais at the far end of the hall. Marian managed to keep up with the long-legged men who walked with her, but ’twas a near thing.

  When they reached the dais, Rurik was pulled aside by a woman and Jocelyn stood before them. Marian began to sink into a curtsy, but the laird’s strong hand on hers kept her standing.

  “This is Duncan’s wife, Marian Robertson. I hurried them along as much as I could, Jocelyn.”

  Marian watched in amazement as this man practically groveled before his wife! The lady stepped closer and Marian could see that the laird’s wife was not much older than she herself and that she was far along in her pregnancy. The lady threw her arms around Marian and hugged her strongly.

  “The daft man!” she whispered into Marian’s ear. “He worries so when I am carrying and he forbid me to come out into the cool night air to wait for you.” Lady Jocelyn leaned back and said louder, “Welcome to our home, Marian, now yours as well. Come, I can only imagine what more than a fortnight on the road with men was like for you.” She shuddered then, as though thinking on the sheer horror of the situation.

  The men frowned at her words and looked one to the other as though one of them could explain the problem, but none dared contradict the lady’s words. Within minutes, Marian found herself eating a steaming bowl of tasty stew and drinking watered ale. Freshly baked bread and creamy butter and cheeses finished out the plain but filling fare. Duncan, she noticed, had not yet spoken to his laird, which she thought he must need to do. Just as they finished eating, Jocelyn motioned to one of the maidservants.

  “Would your daughter like to see the nursery, Marian? She is welcome to sleep there while you stay here in the keep.”

  Marian felt Duncan’s gaze on her and took a deep breath. So long on her own, making her own decisions and taking care of herself and her daughter, left her out of practice with trusting in others for such things. Now, it appeared that she had not only a husband who believed ’twas his right to interfere, and it was, but also his kin and clan. This was simply the first of many such choices to make and it terrified her.

  “Connor’s son and daughter as well as Rurik’s daughter are there. Ciara will be in good company,” Duncan whispered so only she would hear. “’Tis not a prison, only a chamber, Marian.”

  ’Twould not do to appear to insult his laird’s wife by refusing such an invitation. He tried to smooth over her fears and she felt a measure of gratitude for his calm and easy manner at such a tense and fearful time.

  “Aye,” she said, letting out her held-in breath and standing. “Ciara would love to meet the other children, lady.”

  “Marian, we are both the daughters of lairds. There is no need to call me by some title and bow and curtsy every time we encounter each other. I am Jocelyn. And this is,” she said, placing her hand on the laird’s shoulder, “this is simply Connor.”

  It must have been the long day’s travel or the presence of so many people after being unaccustomed to it for so many years, but the tears in her eyes came as a surprise she did not want to think on. She blinked them away and, with a nod at…Jocelyn and Connor, Marian took Ciara’s hand and began to follow the maidservant off the dais. She would see her to the nursery and try very hard to leave her there for the night.

  The maidservant chattered to Ciara as they walked along the long corridor and up one flight of stairs to a tower room. Opening the door for them, the girl waved them inside. With another deep breath to
fortify herself, Marian entered.

  The chamber was larger than her cottage and was filled with small beds, even a cradle, toys, chairs, a table, storage trunks…and children. Two girls and one boy, him about Ciara’s age, were being cared for by an assortment of servants. A large hearth built in the wall warmed the room of any chill and the remnants of a meal still on the table spoke of their care.

  “This is Duncan’s wife and her daughter, Ciara,” the girl said to the other woman. “I am Glenna, lady, and this is Peigi, and we see to the bairns.”

  “I am no bairn,” the boy said, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his nose in the air. From his coloring and arrogance, she kenned this was Connor’s get.

  “Of course no’, Aidan,” Glenna said, going to his side. “Ye are the oldest one here and the laird’s son. No bairn ye be.”

  Marian smiled as Glenna smoothed the ruffled male feathers and continued with the introductions until she and Ciara had met all the children. With a skill Marian admired, Glenna drew her daughter into the group and had her playing with Rurik’s daughter.

  “Ciara, you may stay here for the night if you wish,” Marian said with more confidence than she felt. “Glenna and Peigi ken where I will be if there is need.”

  Part of her wanted Ciara to refuse. Part of her wanted her bairn to need no one but her. A larger part, though understood this was a good thing and tried to tell her heart ’twas so.

  Luckily her daughter accepted the invitation and Marian left the nursery as Ciara and the others were sharing sweet cakes with Glenna and Peigi.

  She lingered for a few minutes outside the chamber, listening with her ear pressed against the door, in case Ciara changed her mind. Instead she heard only the laughter of children and the soft voices of the women inside. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she forced one foot in front of the other and walked down the steps that would lead her back to the hall and away from her daughter.

  Caught up in the anxiety of their parting, the first of many like it she feared, Marian paused at the bottom of the stairway. Several small groups of men and women passed her in the alcove, not knowing she watched and listened as they made their way to the hall…to see the Robertson Harlot.

  “Hurry! Hurry! The Robertson Harlot is here at table with the laird.”

  “She doesna look much like a whore.”

  “I’d heard she has the largest titties!”

  “Nay! Nay! Quite a disappointment for a whore.”

  “I canna see Duncan keeping her. They handfasted, did ye ken? She’s no’ good enough as wife to a man such as he.”

  Each word and laugh was like a blow to her, stinging and cutting her deeply. She leaned back into the shadows, willing them all to pass without seeing her there.

  It was all lies, all of it, yet bound by the past, she could offer no retort, no argument to clear her name or her daughter’s. The pain of it seared her heart and she felt the tears flowing down her cheeks.

  ’Twas why she’d sought refuge in the anonymity offered by Iain. Returning to Dunalastair as a widowed cousin, she changed her appearance, used another name and lived quietly. No one there mentioned her disgrace or the events of that bygone night for fear of the laird’s displeasure or wrath.

  Now, though, with her identity laid out before the MacLeries, these reactions were what she’d come to expect. Marian was certain that, just as the Beast’s story was used to frighten daughters into compliance, so too was the Harlot’s. The story was too large and too widespread and, with the laird’s negotiations with the Robertsons just concluded, too interesting for the clan not to tell…and to retell.

  Marian waited to be certain they’d all gone past and thought about her promise to Duncan. How much more dishonor could be suffered than to have your wife called a whore? How much more shame than to ken others think you unworthy of a man such as he?

  Not ready to face more of it this evening, Marian decided to find a servant who knew where Duncan’s chambers were and go there without returning to the hall and facing such humiliation. Stepping out of the alcove, she turned and found him standing across the corridor, staring at her.

  She’d been gone too long from the table and Duncan wondered if she’d changed her mind. He’d expected the difficulty she had in letting Ciara stay somewhere else for the night and he’d been pleased when it appeared she’d decided so. Then after staving off Jocelyn’s attempts to pull more details from him and after ignoring Connor’s glare since he’d bear his wife’s displeasure at not being able to glean it from him, Duncan excused himself to find her.

  Somehow, he’d managed to avoid thinking about some of the more personal repercussions of Marian’s reputation through this whole series of events. Oh, aye, his men knew the story as did most anyone who lived in the Highlands. Before meeting her and finding out just how untrue it was, it had not bothered him in the least—’twas simply gossip about a woman. Now, though, it involved his wife and he knew it for the lie it was.

  Worse, looking at her after she’d heard the mean, crude comments, he realized that somehow she was as trapped in the lies as he. Her eyes lost their sparkle and swelled with tears both shed and unshed and her face lost its color as she stood and heard these strangers’ judgments of her.

  And they were all lies.

  Before he knew what he could say, he walked to her side. He thought to reach out and hold her, but he did not think she would accept his touch at this moment. Truth be told, the only time he’d touched her, other than helping her on or off of her horse or the cart, was when they’d tupped.

  “I promised not to dishonor or embarrass you, Duncan, yet my very name has done that.”

  “Have you been whoring in this hallway since you left my side, Marian?”

  She gasped at his both ludicrous and vulgar question.

  “Of course not!” she answered. “I have never been a whore.”

  “Then you have not dishonored me or embarrassed me. You did promise not to disappoint me, though, and your silent skulking off into the shadows as though guilty of the gossip they monger, would do that.”

  “I cannot face them,” she said softly. “’Tis too much to ask of me.” She twisted her hands nervously in front of her, reminding him that she had just relinquished her daughter’s care to a stranger. “I cannot.” Marian met his gaze for only a second, showing him the terror there then dropped it to the floor.

  “Then you will allow them to rule your existence here, and your daughter’s,” he argued. “Is that what you want?”

  “If we go back into the hall, do you plan to announce that you spilled a virgin’s blood on our wedding night? Duncan, will you proclaim that you were the first man to enter the Robertson Harlot?” Her words should have sounded bold, now though they pleaded with him. “Will you?”

  She’d neatly nailed him to the wall with her question. He could not or his arrangements, agreements, contracts and negotiations all fell to the floor, scattering all the good they’d achieved for his clan and hers. But, he must do something and do it now.

  He held out his hand to her and waited. “Come.”

  Marian glanced at him and then up the stairs where her daughter remained, clearly undecided between the choices that faced her, clearly not ready for either one. He watched as she wiped the tears from her eyes and face with the edge of her sleeve. Taking a deep breath in and letting it go, she took his hand.

  Neither said a word as they entered the hall, but their presence was noted and the gathering there fell silent as he led her back up onto the dais. He guided her behind the table to where Connor sat and whispered a few words to Connor. Connor nodded and stood at their sides, motioning for Rurik to join them. As he expected, they did so without a question. Once those in the hall had quieted, he held up their joint hands and spoke.

  “This is my wife, Marian Robertson. No matter what came before the day we joined ourselves each to the other, she is mine now and I am hers. If anyone speaks ill of her or calls her whore, they attack me
as well and will answer for it.”

  Duncan paused and waited for the words to echo around the room. Then Connor reached over and placed his hand on theirs.

  “She is mine and I protect my own,” Duncan called out louder, using their clan’s motto as his own.

  Connor added his voice and his blessing as laird as he repeated the words. “I protect my own,” he shouted, lifting their hands so all could see.

  Rurik joined then, calling it out once more. “I protect my own! A MacLerie! A MacLerie!”

  When the battle cry was called, no one in the clan hesitated. The men stood first and answered the call, and then the women, until the entire hall shook from the sound of it. As they quieted once more, Connor released his hold, but Duncan held on to her hand. He nodded his thanks to Connor and Rurik, he would speak with them in the morn, and leaned his head down so Marian could hear him.

  “Come, I will show you to our chamber.”

  Shock filled her gaze and she looked a ghostly pale white, so he put his arm around her waist and guided her to the north tower and his room. Once there, he sat her on the chair nearest the window and poured a cup of wine for her, a courtesy arranged by Jocelyn. She was so unresponsive he nearly had to pour it down her throat to get her to drink, but after a sip or two, she drank it on her own.

  He’d not noticed the sparsity of his room and its lack of comfortable furnishings or decoration until just now. This was simply a place to sleep when he was here in Lairig Dubh, a place to keep his few belongings and a private place to bring a woman if need drove him to it. Now as he looked around it, he saw he had only a small trunk of clothing, another that held the books and parchments of his work and…nothing else.

  Well, a wife.

  She’d not moved, other than to lift the cup to her mouth and back down again. Had he pushed her too far too soon? He’d only realized, when saying the words to Jocelyn, that Marian had been on her own, and making her own decisions, for the last five years. Bringing her back into a clan, and one she kenned not and wanted not, and forcing her to live among so many when her custom was to live alone would be a hard adjustment to her.