He led the way into Castle Robson. Teagan’s first visit to her future home should have been an occasion filled with gratitude and optimism. Instead, he felt only dread and a deep sense of loss.
*
Teagan found it curious her future husband didn’t ride out with Marshall to greet her. Beathan’s scowl showed his disgust at the insult.
“Perhaps Clan Robson has different traditions,” Seth assured her as they passed through the gates.
She smiled at the brother who sometimes had difficulty understanding the simplest things, yet who always seemed to know what was in her heart. “Aye,” she replied, hoping he was right, but unable to shake a sense of foreboding. She felt trapped inside the high, gaunt walls of Castle Robson’s forecourt—a bird in a stone cage.
Marshall dismounted quickly and hurried to help her. “Welcome, Lady Teagan MacCray,” he said as he put his hands on her waist and lifted her.
Left with no alternative but to grasp his broad shoulders, she averted her eyes.
“My laird is anxious to meet ye,” he rasped as he set her on her feet.
A hint of regret in his voice caused her to look into his blue gaze. She gasped at the lie she saw there.
A Jest of God
Marshall could instantly tell he hadn’t fooled Teagan. She knew he was lying. Her mistrust was already evident in her wary hazel eyes. Instead of following his instincts and keeping his mouth shut, he babbled on about Elgin’s delight when he heard of his forthcoming marriage.
“I’m looking forward to meeting him,” she replied without enthusiasm, parrying his lies with one of her own.
“’Tis an impressive keep,” Beathan declared, staring up at the high walls.
“Aye,” Marshall answered. “We do our best, though the castle lacks a woman’s touch. There’s only my Aunty Moira left now, and she…weel, let’s just say she’s nay of an age to take care of a large castle.” He deemed it best not to mention her worsening absent-mindedness and occasional nonsensical outbursts.
“Teagan will set that to rights,” Seth interjected. “She’ll be a good chatelaine.”
Marshall cursed under his breath. Her brother’s prediction was probably correct and he seemed fated to spend the rest of his life watching Teagan take care of his home and not be able to confess his feelings.
Protocol required he offer his arm to Clan Robson’s new lady and lead her into the castle, but she smiled up at Seth and linked arms with him.
“If ye’ll follow me,” Marshall said, swallowing the lump in his throat and regretting she would never bestow that patient, loving smile on him.
*
Teagan chose to enter Castle Robson on Seth’s arm, afraid she might tremble uncontrollably if she allowed Marshall to escort her. She was glad of Bo’s steadfast presence beside her.
It was both a relief and a disappointment that Elgin Robson hadn’t greeted them in the forecourt. His failure to observe even the most basic time-honored traditions didn’t bode well, and Marshall’s lies about his brother were perturbing. What manner of man was he? Mad, perhaps? She dismissed as absurd the notion a clan would endorse a madman as its chieftain.
As they proceeded along a series of wide corridors, she decided to pay attention to her new home instead of fretting about meeting her future husband.
She recognized the odor of damp—inevitable for a fortress built by the sea. Castle MacCray was subject to the same problem, and she knew exactly what herbs and oils would combat it.
The people they encountered were decently clad and looked well-fed. They bowed respectfully to Marshall. Clearly, he was loved and his clansfolk appeared to lack for nothing, despite their difficulties plying trade.
Teagan had done her best to counteract the predominantly male decor of Castle MacCray and quickly recognized Marshall’s home lacked feminine touches. Her spirits lifted at the prospect of bringing the furnishings up-to-date and making the place look less like an armed encampment.
Marshall had said something about an aunty, but hinted she was elderly.
They paused several times. Teagan got the strange feeling Marshall was unsure where to take them. Looking wary, Beathan tightened his grip on the hilt of his claymore. Surely they hadn’t been led into an elaborate trap?
She breathed again when their host threw open a door and bade them enter. “My library,” he explained.
It was odd for him to claim the library as his but she supposed he meant he made good use of the hundreds of bound volumes lining the shelves that clung to every wall. A quick glance revealed plays by Shakespeare, some of which she hadn’t had the opportunity to read. It put Castle MacCray’s relatively meager collection of tomes to shame, but seemed an unusual location for the first meeting of two newly-betrothed people.
“Ye’ve amassed a good few books,” Beathan allowed.
“Aye,” Marshall replied. “I’m interested in history, and…”
Teagan scanned the room as he talked, noting the large leather-bound book open on the antique desk that dominated one corner. She recognized it as a clan log. Beathan took seriously his responsibility to record the everyday history of Clan MacCray as previous lairds before him had done for generations. She saw naught amiss with wandering over to peruse Clan Robson’s journal.
Marshall paused in his chatter that seemed designed to fill the uncomfortable silence. “’Tis the laird’s log,” he explained.
“Aye,” she replied, impressed by the bold handwriting. “Yer laird has a fine hand.”
The color drained from his face. “Actually, I keep the log up to date. Er…Elgin has so many responsibilities, I do what I can to help him.” He chuckled nervously. “I have some catching up to do…momentous events to record.”
Teagan had learned something more about her elusive fiancé—he was lazy, and Marshall was in the habit of making excuses for him. She’d made enough for Beathan to recognize the ploy.
She startled when a woman bustled into the library, babbling about not being able to find scissors. She assumed this was Marshall’s aunt, but wasn’t afforded much time to form an opinion of her.
The apparition that entered next absorbed all her attention. As her knees buckled beneath her, she vaguely wondered how many brides swooned with despair when they first set eyes on the creature they were to marry.
*
As Bo barked frantically, Marshall gritted his teeth, wishing he’d been the one to rush to catch Teagan before she fainted. However, he’d been momentarily gobsmacked at the sight of Elgin swaying in the doorway, and Seth had beaten him to it.
His brother certainly looked a lot cleaner than his normal disheveled self, though the odor of years of drinking was unmistakable. Marshall suspected the reek of whisky had seeped into his brother’s skin and no amount of washing would ever remove it.
Elgin’s hair and beard had been trimmed. However, Marshall suspected Aunty Moira had played the role of barber and now understood the remark about the lack of scissors. The laird of Clan Robson looked like an escaped maniac from London’s infamous Bedlam Hospital.
Jaw clenched, Beathan stared at his fellow chieftain as he strode over to assist Seth.
Elgin’s idiotic grin turned to a concerned frown. “Is the lady unweel?” he asked, eyeing the frantic dog nervously as Beathan scooped Teagan up in his arms.
“If this is yer idea of a jest,” Seth hissed at nobody in particular. “’Tisna very funny.”
Marshall could only watch as the MacCray men stalked out of his library with their precious burden. Bo bared his teeth one last time before joining them.
“Nay,” Marshall muttered under his breath. “’Twas a jest of God my father’s first-born son turned out to be a drunken fool.”
Honor
Teagan awoke in an unfamiliar bed, closing her eyes when the room seemed to spin around her. Had she dreamed the entire episode of meeting her betrothed? When she opened her eyes and tried to sit up, a face bending over her came into focus. She recognized the woman
who’d preceded Elgin into the library and knew with a heavy heart it had been no dream.
“Lie still,” Aunty—what was her name?—said. “Ye’ve had a wee shock.”
A wee shock! My life is over.
“I’m Moira. Elgin and Marshall are my nephews. Their mother was my sister.”
“This is yer chamber,” Teagan replied, unable to formulate any other thought.
“Aye. If I’d had my wits about me, I’d have come back here to find scissors, but, as it was…”
Teagan frowned, trying to fathom what the woman was going on about.
“Elgin ne’er looks what ye might call handsome,” Aunty Moira continued with a weak smile. “But I have to admit I didna do a good job of cutting his hair.”
Her rambling gradually began to make sense, but Elgin’s terrifying hair wasn’t the only problem. “He was drunk,” she wailed.
“Aye, he was,” Moira agreed. “But ’tis possible ye’ll be able to wean him off the whisky once ye’re married.”
Teagan knew of several men in her own clan who were ruled by drink. Their spouses were bitter women who never smiled. She supposed a loving wife might have the power to combat a man’s addiction, but she could never love Elgin Robson, especially after meeting Marshall. How was it possible for two brothers to be so different?
“There willna be a wedding,” Beathan declared as he strode into the chamber, Seth in tow. “Come, Teagan. We’re going home.”
Moira shrieked when Bo tried to follow the men into her chamber. “Shoo, shoo,” she screamed, slamming the door when Teagan’s startled hound retreated. “I hate dogs.”
In that moment, the world seemed to stand still. Marrying Elgin was the last thing Teagan wanted to do, but breaking the promise she and her laird had made would destroy the fledgling alliance.
The MacCrays would be shunned throughout the Highlands as oath breakers. She’d end up with no choice but to wed someone from her own clan.
The gains Marshall had worked so valiantly to achieve would be lost. She knew in her heart he cared for her. He had sacrificed his own wants and needs for the good of his clan. She could do no less. In the throes of despair, she clung to the only thing of value she had left—her honor. “Nay. We canna break the promise.”
Moira patted her hand. “Ye’ll make a fine wife.”
Teagan doubted it, but there was no going back.
*
“Crivvens,” Marshall snarled at his brother after Teagan was carried out of the library. “Even I’m afraid to look at ye.”
Eyes downcast, Elgin nodded. “Aye. I’m ashamed of myself. After all yer efforts…if I’d kent they were coming…”
Marshall doubted it would have made any difference, and Teagan was bound to discover Elgin’s shortcomings in the long run. However, at least his brother seemed to realize he’d ruined any possibility of improving the clan’s prospects. “’Tis yer loss. Teagan MacCray would have made ye a fine wife and a sorely needed capable chatelaine for this place.”
Elgin arched a brow. “Ye think highly of her.”
Defeated, Marshall clenched his fists, afraid he might cry like a bairn. “She’s easy to admire.”
“Do ye suppose, if I tried talking to her, she’d give me another chance?”
Marshall shook his head, more to clear the fog from his brain than to answer. “Nay. Ye’ve alienated her laird. He’ll ne’er allow ye to marry his sister.”
A maelstrom of emotions swirled in his heart. On the one hand, it was an enormous relief Teagan wouldn’t be shackled to Elgin. On the other…
His attempt to sort out in his mind what might be done to counteract the rekindling of the feud was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of Beathan MacCray. The thunder darkening his face didn’t bode well.
“I apologize,” Marshall began.
“’Tisna ye I’m here to speak to,” Beathan declared. “Ye’re nay the laird of this misbegotten clan.”
Marshall had never envied his brother the chieftaincy. He’d grown up knowing Elgin would become laird and that his role would be to support his brother. He’d done so to the best of his ability. For the first time in his life, he cursed the fate that had made Elgin laird.
“’Tis for me to apologize,” Elgin said, extending his hand.
“I dinna ken why she has decided this,” Beathan hissed, ignoring the gesture of reconciliation, “and I’m nay in favor, but my sister insists the marriage must proceed.
“I’m taking her back to Castle MacCray and we’ll send word when the arrangements have been made. I trust, Laird Robson, ye’ll be sober and look more presentable when ye show up for the nuptials.”
He left without another word, leaving Marshall to lament the loss of Beathan’s regard.
“Hah!” Elgin crowed. “She mayhap didna find the notion of marrying me so repulsive after all.”
Marshall had to get out of his brother’s presence before he punched his grinning face. The selfish idiot had no idea what an honorable woman he was lucky enough to have as his bride.
*
Teagan didn’t recall much of the ride home. She harbored no regrets about her decision to honor the promise but recognized the choice had changed her forever.
Henceforth, she resolved to guard her heart against feelings. Not allowing herself to care would make her stronger. She would need strength to bear the years ahead.
There would be compensations—bairns to love and dote on. Castle MacCray was close; she could visit her family whenever she wished.
Marriage was something lasses looked forward to. The temptation to seek her bed and sob uncontrollably had to be resisted. There were details to plan, arrangements to make.
She belonged to an ancient and honorable clan. “MacCrays dinna weep and wail,” she told Bo. “They get on with it, make the best of things, and I will too.”
Two Lairds Meet
Marshall went up to the battlements every morning for a week, hoping to see Teagan enjoying her usual ride. He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t appear, but not catching a glimpse of her weighed heavily on his heart.
He admired the courage it had taken to honor her promise, but worried the decision might ultimately destroy her. He often found his brother’s shortcomings exasperating. Marriage to Elgin could quickly change Teagan into a bitter, resentful woman.
Following his usual avoidance of public speaking, his laird called a meeting of the clan but expected Marshall to announce his upcoming nuptials and the alliance with the MacCrays.
“Naught amiss with telling them ’twas my idea,” he whispered as Marshall reluctantly stood to address the clan.
There was cheering when folks learned the news, but it was plain to see confusion on many a face as Marshall stammered his way through the announcement. The words stuck in his craw, turning an articulate speaker into a hesitant mumbler full of resentment.
Elgin insisted on riding to Wick in order to assess what he referred to as “the lay of the land”. He’d already sent a cohort of men ahead with instructions to prepare the birlinns for the next voyage, seemingly unaware they might not meet with a warm reception from the MacCray clansmen.
Marshall had lost all enthusiasm for sailing but considered it his duty to accompany his brother, who would whine and deem it odd if he refused. He’d always dutifully done Elgin’s bidding.
After riding in silence, they looked down on the village from the top of the hill. As Marshall expected, the Robson birlinns were moored at the far end of the dock, in the least sheltered part of the harbor.
“We’ll have to do something about that,” Elgin declared.
Marshall resisted the urge to snort. What his brother meant was that Marshall would have to do something about it, but he intended to do naught. Better mooring spots would have to be earned.
MacCrays working on their clan’s birlinns stopped to glare at them as they rode past.
“Nay very friendly,” Elgin observed.
As they dismounted beside the Ro
bson birlinns, Marshall filled his lungs, wondering, not for the first time, which long-dead ancestor Elgin had descended from. For all his faults, their father hadn’t been a dimwit. He scanned the dock. “We’ll need to discuss with Laird Beathan where we can store our gear, and the goods we import and export.”
“Ye can see to that, I’m sure,” his brother replied, apparently not noticing their clansmen greeted Marshall with a respectful nod but ignored their chieftain.
“Perhaps we should take a quick sail out of the harbor and around the headland,” Marshall suggested, climbing aboard. “So ye get a feel for the port.”
Elgin shook his head and remained on the dock. “Nay. I’m sure ’tis much easier than sailing in and out of Cèis. I’ll manage when the time comes.”
Evidently not hearing the muted snorts of derision coming from the men working on mending sails, he carried on. “I think we should call in at Castle MacCray on the way home so ye can discuss the details of the ceremony with Laird Beathan. He seems to like ye.”
Marshall refrained from pointing out Castle MacCray was not on the way home, and a visit there would require a lengthy detour around the cove and back again. The last thing he wanted was to face Teagan; Beathan’s friendship was lost forever. Elgin clearly didn’t consider a visit to Castle MacCray as an opportunity for his bride to see him sober and looking less like a madman now that Moira had tamed his hair.
Marshall spent a half-hour speaking with the crewmen and inspecting the work done on the sails in an effort to delay their departure as long as possible. It occurred to him a voyage to Norway would be a convenient way of avoiding attendance at his brother’s wedding. He had no appetite for being a part of such a travesty. The Robson coffers needed to be replenished in order to contribute to the costs of the wedding and make up for the loss of a birlinn. He decided to mention the plan to Elgin during the ride to Castle MacCray.
*
Teagan had long wished for an end to her brothers’ teasing, but after a week of being treated like a wounded fawn, she could stand it no longer.
Kilts Ahoy! Page 8
