“I asked to speak to her after the noon meal. Would you prefer to be present?”
“Prefer?” Duncan asked.
“You are her husband. ’Tis your right.”
He thought on it for a moment and then nodded. “I would let you become acquainted with her alone.”
“And your gold?” This much gold could spin even the soundest of heads. “What should I do with this?”
“I told Iain, I have told Marian and I will tell you, Connor. I can provide for my wife and her child without that.” He nodded at the bags still sitting on the table. “Hold it until the matter is settled one way or another.”
“Duncan,” Connor said, waiting for him to meet his gaze. When he did, Connor smiled. “You could make her want to stay married to you if you set your mind to it.”
Unfortunately the expression staring back at him did nothing to reassure him that keeping her was what Duncan wanted to do. This did not bode well at all. Not for Duncan. Not for Marian or her daughter. But especially not for him, for it would be practically impossible to keep Jocelyn from meddling in this situation once she came to realize that they needed meddling.
And he’d never seen a couple who needed meddling more than this one.
“First I will find out if she presents a danger to this clan, then I can decide about the rest of it,” he said with the sound of great confidence of a man who rarely had to deal with women.
If there was one thing that Connor knew now, it was that things were never as simple as one and then the other. And the heart had a way of jumbling everything out of order. He suspected that there was more than an attraction between Duncan and Marian. He also supposed that neither of them realized it.
Damn it! Now he was thinking in the same manner that softhearted Jocelyn did and that could only lead to trouble. Connor needed to stay away from such things and allow Duncan and Marian to find their own course. If a true marriage was destined for them, he had no doubt it would happen.
“Use whatever you need to settle your doubts.”
“On another matter…” Connor nodded for him to continue. “With your permission, I would like to build a cottage in the village for Marian and Ciara.”
Connor walked to the window and looked out over the yard and the walls, down to the village at the river’s edge. The adage “keep your friends close, but your enemies closer” ran through his mind and he shook his head.
“Can it wait until spring, Duncan? I would rather have you close and I ken that Jocelyn would appreciate the presence of another mother, another woman who has given birth that is, in the keep when her labor begins.”
He tried to cover his surprise when an instant of sheer panic filled Duncan’s eyes, turning his gaze back to the activities below them. Then, his cousin said, “I will tell Marian.”
“Now, I have to beat Rurik senseless. Will you come and watch?”
Duncan laughed then, sounding very much like the friend he kenned and he began gathering up the treaty and contracts from the table. But Connor had other plans for them.
“Leave them for now. I will have Murdoch arrange for their storage later.”
They walked toward the chamber’s door when he stopped them. Something else had occurred to him, mayhap another bit of Jocelyn’s meddling rubbing off on him.
“Speak to Murdoch about moving to that larger chamber in the south tower. With the lass’s child, you need something to give you and Marian a bit of privacy.” He pulled open the door and let Duncan walk out first. “Aye, I heard about last night in the nursery. And next time you find yourself needful of a place to sleep, there is a small room off the stables that goes unused.”
He left Duncan standing behind him and began the trek down the stairs to find Rurik and then a meal and then to speak to Marian and unravel part of her mystery. Aye, the guards had reported Duncan’s sleepless and restless night to him. Very little went unnoticed here in Lairig Dubh and little went unreported to him by one or another. All in a day’s work as laird.
Marian stared and stared, but still could not accept that the woman staring back at her from the looking glass was herself. In the few short hours since she and Jocelyn returned from the gardens with the intention of examining Jocelyn’s gowns for any that might fit her, she’d been washed, her hair scrubbed and cleaned of the brown stain she wore in it, dressed, adjusted and fixed some more! The woman staring back looked so much like the girl she’d been those five years before, even on the night of her fall from grace.
She turned and let Jocelyn and Margriet and Cora have another look at the back of her. Wearing a gown that fit as it was meant to, her womanly curves were outlined and accentuated. Her hair, closer to its true reddish-blond color, now hung down her back loose, but for a circlet on her head to keep the curls from her face and to hold up the small gauzy veil.
The women sighed and smiled, content with the changes they’d wrought, but Marian was fearful of what was to come. She’d seen it before, the reputation combined with her appearance led to men behaving stupidly and usually she was the one to pay the price.
“You must remember to hold your shoulders back when you walk, Marian. Slumping forward only…” Jocelyn began to instruct her and then just stopped and smiled again.
“Your husband will be surprised by this change in your appearance?” Margriet asked.
“Most likely, he will swallow his tongue!” Jocelyn exclaimed before Marian could answer. “Just look at her, Margriet. If Rurik were not married to you…” She let her words drift off.
“This was a bad idea, Jocelyn. I am a married woman now, my hair should be covered,” she said reaching up to remove the lovely circlet and veil.
“Do not touch that,” Jocelyn ordered. The tone of her voice warned Marian of her seriousness. But the soft touch as she took her hand and patted it lessened the harshness of it.
“I ken, we…” She nodded to Margriet and back. “Ken that this is all so much a change from your life. A new village, new people to meet, living here in the keep after living on your own for so many years. All of it and more yet to come.”
Jocelyn tugged her over to a bench and pulled her down to sit, never letting go of her hand. “I can only imagine the terrible things people said or did to you that made you hide yourself away under those clothes—” Jocelyn pointed to the pile of discarded gowns and tunics “—and under that hair.”
“This is done now, Marian,” Margriet added. “You are part of this clan now and your husband has made it clear that any transgressions are to be left behind you. So, this is a good way to start anew.”
Marian rubbed the soft gown and tunic and felt the new linen chemise beneath them against her skin. She felt five years younger in these clothes, with her hair loose around her shoulders. For a moment she let all the years and all the changes and hardships fall away. Closing her eyes, she fought against letting loose the memories of being the laird’s only daughter, a cherished one she thought, and of having her whole life waiting ahead of her.
“I do not ken if I can do that, Jocelyn.”
She looked at both women, both so completely reassured of their places in life, surrounded by loving husbands, respected by their kith and kin. Afraid to accept the friendship and concern they offered and knowing that she would not be here long enough to become part of the clan, she shook her head.
And yet, she could not tell them that part of it. She could not admit that she did not wish to stay married to their cousin, a man who was honored by this clan for his work on their behalf. A man who deserved a better wife than she could ever be to him. A man who should be married to a woman of his choosing and not one he was forced to.
“Margriet, why do you not braid Marian’s hair while I search for something she can wear over it?”
Jocelyn rose and walked toward the door and Marian caught sight of some furtive hand movements over her head and saw Margriet shaking her head against whatever Jocelyn planned. Margriet put her needlework down and went over to Jocely
n and the two exchanged words for a brief time. Then Jocelyn left and Margriet directed her back to the stool in front of the looking glass. Then, standing behind her, she lifted the circlet and veil from her head and gathered her hair into her hands preparing to arrange it in a braid.
Margriet took the brush and began to run it in long, slow strokes through Marian’s hair. The feel of it soothed her as it always had and soon Marian closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift as the motion of the brush continued. Soon, how much time had passed she knew not, the door opened and Margriet stopped brushing her hair.
“Marian.”
She opened her eyes to discover Duncan standing at the doorway staring at her reflection in the looking glass. Uncertain if he was pleased or displeased by the change in her appearance, she sat unmoving, waiting for some sign. For so long she’d avoided this kind of dealings with others, and especially men, and now she had no experience at understanding them.
Then, and though only for a brief moment, his eyes took on that glint that men’s did when they found out she was the Robertson Harlot. He seemed to conquer it, for it disappeared and something more appreciative and less threatening entered his eyes then.
“Hamish tried to tell me that there was a beautiful woman hidden beneath the baggy gowns and muddy-brown hair, but I could not see it.”
She turned and faced him then. “He said that?”
“Aye, and he had the right of it.” Duncan walked up behind her and stood there for a moment. She watched as he raised his hands as though he would touch her hair and then dropped them at his sides. “Jocelyn said you were uncertain of this change.”
“I saw the look in your eyes, Duncan. The others will get it as well and I just do not want to hear what they will say. And neither will you.”
He touched her then, placing his hands on her shoulders and squeezing gently. “You saw the appreciation that this man has for his beautiful wife. And if you see anything in other men’s gazes, it will be their jealousy that you are mine and not theirs.”
She met his eyes in the looking glass and offered a warning, one he seemed uninterested in abiding. “They will see the Harlot, Duncan. The flaming-red hair, the womanly curves and expect something that is not here.”
“That was never there, Marian,” he said softly. “Come with me now. Enjoy a meal among these good people.” He guided her to her feet and she stood before him. “Give yourself a chance to adjust to this place before condemning them.”
She would have argued and told him of the last three villages where she lived before returning to Dunalastair. She would have spoken of the way men acted once they learned that the well-known whore lived in their midst. She would have, but she could feel his concern and she kenned he believed the MacLeries would be different. She had not the heart to disabuse him of his mistaken ideas.
“Please do not make me eat at the laird’s table.” The thought of sitting up on the dais, where everyone could see her and watch her unnerved her now.
“Come. Worry not, for Connor and Jocelyn eat with the rest of us during the noon meal. I saw Hamish with Margaret. Mayhap you would like to meet her now?”
He held out his hand to her and she took a breath before placing hers in it. His smile, warm and pleased, was almost reward enough.
“Ah, before you ask your next question, Ciara is in the nursery sharing a meal and her newest carved sheep with Lilidh and Isobel.”
“Tavis made her another one?”
“He’s quite taken with the lass. No one else has appreciated his talent with carving like Ciara does.” He stopped and looked at her then. “Ready to go then?”
“Aye” was such a simple word to say, but one that would put an entirely unknown series of events into motion and change her world forever.
Marian felt the danger in it—the danger that she would grow to like this place, these people, this man, too much to let it and him go when she must. The danger in the attraction to a place she could call home. The danger in giving control of her life and her daughter’s over to this man forever. If she found acceptance here and buried her past, how could she look elsewhere for a future?
So much to think on and so many possibilities to consider! For now, she decided to look on this as a simple invitation to a meal and that made the saying of it much easier.
“Aye.”
They walked hand in hand along the corridor and then turned into the hall where many of the clan gathered for the noon meal. ’Twas not a festive event, like the meal last evening seemed to be, but a simple break in the day during which they shared a meal before returning to their daily tasks and duties. Duncan led her to one of the tables and stopped in front of Hamish. The woman at Hamish’s side stood when he did.
“Marian, this is Margaret, Hamish’s wife and Connor’s sister,” Duncan said as he introduced them. Margaret bowed her head in greeting. Having never heard of the MacLerie having a sister, Marian was puzzled.
“Connor and I shared a father, lady, but no’ a mother.”
Hamish broke in before the pause was apparent. “Did I no’ tell ye, Duncan, that she was hiding her true looks from us?”
“The puir woman!” Margaret said, reaching out and guiding Marian to sit at her side. “How ye survived nigh on a fortnight on the road with these brutes? Mine alone,” she said, laying her hand on Hamish’s arm, “would try the very patience of the good saints in heaven.”
“Here now,” Hamish argued. “We saw to her comfort, Margaret. Lest ye think her roughly treated, ask her how Duncan ordered a respite for two days at the MacCallum’s so that she and the little lass could rest.”
Margaret looked at her husband and then at Duncan and back again. Marian got the strong feeling that such stopping on a journey home was not the normal course of things for them.
“The men were quite kind, Margaret. Truly,” she said at the woman’s expression of disbelief. “Even when I was cross or my daughter tired of the road, they never lost their good manners or behaved badly.”
“Well, that was a first then for them,” Margaret muttered, though her eyes were filled with love for the one she called husband.
Reaching over to a platter of some kind of fowl, Margaret lifted some slices off and placed them on their wooden trenchers. She did the same with other foods—cheeses, bread, stewed turnips and more—until their plates were filled to overflow. Marian could not have eaten it all if she had the whole day to do it.
“Tell me of your daughter,” Margaret said once everyone was eating. “Hamish tells me she is a sweet lass. How many years has she?”
Marian answered the woman’s questions about Ciara and, as the meal progressed, the topics moved from family to clan to king and country and back again. Marian sat quietly most of the time, listening and eating a small portion of the food on her plate and answering questions when they were directed at her. She learned much about how things were done here in Lairig Dubh, including that they had little use of standing on ceremony or rules that would elsewhere be considered paramount to the order of things.
The laird’s bastard half sister ate in his hall. He’d taken the village overseer and made him one of the men who represented him to other clans and even to the king’s court. He ate among his clan and no one bowed to him or called him laird. Yet, the deep respect for him was unmistakable here. If anyone who’d ever called him “the Beast of the Highlands” saw how his household and clan lived, they would think that the story was told of the wrong man.
As their meal progressed, several people stopped at the table and asked Duncan to introduce them to her. Jocelyn walked by several times beaming a smile at her. Even Margriet’s Rurik waved from the other side of the hall. She found herself invited to meet the women of the village and Margaret’s children as well as offers of help with the garden.
Murdoch, the old steward, and Gair, his young apprentice, asked if they could speak with her on the morrow about the gardens, and told Duncan they would meet in the south tower after the meal. She
puzzled over that until Duncan explained that there was a larger chamber they could make use of instead of his, if she approved.
The meal sped by, and ’twas not until she stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to the laird’s chambers that she realized all of that had kept her worrying at bay. Now, though, her dread increased with each step and when she stood before his doorway, she had to take several slow, calming breaths before she had the courage to knock. Before she could, the door opened and Jocelyn stood there. Then Connor stepped around her and apologized to Marian for a delay in their talks.
“Let me escort Jocelyn down the stairs before we talk,” he said. “Go in. There is wine or ale on the table. Pour some for us both.”
Daft man, Jocelyn mouthed as they walked past.
Transfixed by the sight of this warrior laird, walking his pregnant wife down the stairs because of her ungainly size brought tears to her eyes. Marian entered, as bid, found the pitchers and cups and poured a small amount of wine into each. Sipping it, she let the warmth trickle down her throat.
Walking over to the long table, she recognized the copies of the treaty just entered by their clans and other parchments she did not. Sitting down in the chair, she perused the treaty and laughed when she realized that the MacLeries could have gotten so much more from her brother.
“Something is humorous in there?” Connor asked when he entered and closed the door behind himself. When she started to place the documents back on the table, he stopped her. “Nay, do not stop. Pray continue and tell me what made you laugh.”
“My brother artfully dodged giving better concessions about leasing this land and this one,” Marian said, pointing out two sections of the language. “And this rate of interest is much too high when you look at the length of time involved.”
The laird was looking from her to the parchments before them and back again, his mouth dropped open in surprise. But surprise over what?
Possessed by the Highlander Page 17
