Heroes of Honor: Historical Romance Collection

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Chapter Four

  T

  he evening meal progressed nicely, and it seemed the lairds’ families were getting along. While Alan still shoveled food and wine into his mouth as though he feared someone would steal his trencher, he did at least leave a decent portion for Mairghread. As befitting a soon-to-be betrothed couple, they shared a trencher. At first, Mairghread thought Alan was being kind with the choicest pieces of venison and pheasant going into the trencher, but she realized these were landing on his side. He plunked down any piece he found on top when he got around to serving her. The juices would have splattered and ruined her kirtle if she had not grabbed the edge of the table cloth to cover her lap. She never did get a drop to drink as they also shared a goblet, and Alan hoarded it as though he would soon expire from thirst. Mairghread had seen plenty of men drink wine or ale with their meals, but Alan alternated back and forth depending on which buxom serving wench was near to hand. If it was a homely looking woman, he did not wave her over as his goblet emptied, but if the woman was comely, he pulled her into his lap to pour another serving. He was well into his cups by the third course.

  Mairghread plastered her most serene smile on her face as she suffered through the meal. As though Alan’s manners and behavior were not bad enough, Lady Beatris sat on Mairghread’s other side. She kept rambling on about Alan’s many accomplishments. From what Mairghread could tell, they were not accomplishments but Alan doing the very least people expected of him and his boastful mother’s exaggerations. Lady Beatris spoke of how he learned to read and write well enough that he no longer needed lessons after the age of ten even though Tristan needed to continue with a tutor until he was seven and ten. She did not see the point of why Tristan had learned to read and write Gaelic, English, and Latin. She, herself, had survived two score and five without being able to read and write any of those languages. Alan had learned to sit a horse by the age of five and rode better than all the other guardsmen, or so Lady Beatris claimed. She was sure to tell Mairghread that Alan was the strongest of all the clansmen and he shot an arrow farther and straighter than any other man in the Highlands. Mairghread wanted to laugh outright at the comment about his strength. She had met Tristan and seen the blacksmith and his apprentices. Alan was far from being the strongest man in the clan. Had the woman not seen Mairghread’s own brothers? As for his prowess with a bow and arrow, perhaps when he was sober. At the moment, he was so drunk that he barely raised the goblet or eating knife to his mouth without missing.

  As the meal finished, the clansmen moved the trestle tables aside and musicians began to play. The meal was a small feast to celebrate Clan Sinclair’s arrival and the upcoming betrothal. Alan burped and patted his belly but made no move to invite Mairghread to dance. Tristan knew that he could not be the first one to invite her. That role should have gone to Alan. As couples began to move onto the floor, he observed the wistful expression upon her face. Mairghread wanted to dance, and she swayed to the music. After a few minutes, Tavish rose and took her by the hand to lead her onto the floor. They joined the others for a lively country reel. Soon Tristan recognized Mairghread’s laughter in the crowd as her hair flew behind her, and she kicked up her heels. She danced two more songs with her brother before Callum, Alexander, and Magnus each claimed a dance.

  “Alan, go dance with yer intended. Ye might at least pretend to pay her a bit of attention.”

  “Why? Ye’ve already drafted the agreement with her father. The deal is as good as done. I have nay need for her except to bear me sons. Since she canna do that right this moment, I shall continue as I am.”

  The heat rising up his neck and into his face scorched Tristan. He wanted nothing more in this moment than to throttle his stepbrother and smash his fist into his face.

  “Ye will go out and dance with Lady Mairghread. Ye will make her feel welcome. Ye will behave yerself and nae shame this clan. Or ye willna ever drink another drop in this keep. Now go!” Tristan veritably barked his order to Alan.

  Alan looked up at him. He had his perpetual sneer on his face. It was the countenance Tristan recognized meant he would do what he wanted despite any consequences. His demeanor told Tristan Alan was beyond reason. Please let him behave with even a modicum of decency.

  Alan made his way to the dance floor but stopped to flirt with three different women on the way. He promised to meet one of them in the storeroom behind the kitchen after the music ended. He stole a sloppy kiss from another. In his stupor, he did not realize and did not care that each Sinclair, the chief’s family and guardsmen alike, observed his behavior before he came to Mairghread’s side. She was dancing with Auld Michael, one of the clan’s elders.

  “Move on auld man. I’ve come for ma woman.”

  Auld Michael gave Mairghread an apologetic look and seemed to linger.

  “It’s all right Michael. I’ve been expecting to dance with Sir Alan.”

  Auld Michael moved away but not before hearing Alan’s hoarse whisper, “What the hell was that supposed to mean?”

  “Naught. I hoped at some point we might dance together.”

  Alan grasped her around the waist and yanked her into him. Something hard bumped against her front, and she was positive it was too low to be his abdomen and too high to be his thigh. She almost shuddered with disgust. He had not been near her long enough for her to cause it. Someone else had clearly aroused him. Which of the three women she had seen him with had made him stand at attention she did not know, nor did she care. He held her roughly as they began to move around the dance floor.

  “Ye are a sweet piece of fluff, are nae ye, ma sweet. Ye’ll do well warming ma bed each night. Dinna think ye shall sleep alone often. Ye’ll be in ma bed every night that I want ye. On those nights I want someone else, ye may sleep in another chamber...or ye could watch, if ye fancy.” He leaned forward and licked Mairghread’s ear. She struggled not to throw up.

  “We’re all but married at this point. Give me a taste of what’s to come. Come with me to ma chamber and show me what I’ll have every night after we stand before the kirk.”

  He grabbed her backside and thrust his hips forward. His other hand snuck between them to squeeze her breast. His hand grazed her right breast when she stepped back and thrust her right knee into his groin. When he gasped and bent forward with his hand over his crotch, she threw her left elbow into his nose. Blood shot out all over and splattered her kirtle.

  “Ye bluidy bitch. Ye broke ma nose! Ye’ll pay for yer insolence.”

  Mairghread flicked her right wrist, and a dirk appeared in her hand. She lowered her hand, so the point of the dirk was at his groin.

  “Take a step closer and I’ll saw off yer twig and berries.”

  “Ye donna have the nerve. Ye wouldnae dare. Ye’re naught but a cock tease. Ye--”

  Mairghread cut him short when she flicked her left wrist, and another dirk appeared. This one she aimed at his throat.

  “I wouldnae keep insulting me if ye would like to keep yer bollocks or yer throat in one piece.”

  At first, Tristan could only tell there was some commotion on the floor. Once Alan’s voice floated to him, he was certain it involved Mairghread and Alan had done something wrong. As he rose, he listened to five other chairs being pushed back. Each shot back so hard they fell over. Then there was the sound of five swords being drawn. As he rushed around the table, he watched Alexander and Magnus leap across the table followed by Callum and Tavish. Liam ran around. All five surged forward and leapt from the dais. At the sight of their laird and his sons with drawn swords, the Sinclair guardsmen drew dirks and sgian dubhs from various places on their bodies. In response, the Mackay guardsmen drew theirs. Most clans did not allow swords in the Great Hall apart from the laird’s family, personal guard, and guests. This was why.

  Tristan ran forward but came to a screeching halt when he took in the scene before him: Mairghread with two dirks pointing at his stepbrother, and Alan with a broken nose and a hand adjusting his groin
.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Laird Sinclair roared. “What the hell did ye do to ma daughter that she had to defend herself from ye?”

  “I didna do a damn thing wrong. Yer whore of a daughter teased me and then denied me ma due as her betrothed.”

  “Da--”

  “Silence, Mairghread!” The Sinclair stepped up to Alan and placed his face only inches from Alan’s. At over a head taller, the Sinclair had to lean down. “Ye dare call ma daughter a bitch, a cock tease, and a whore? I will kill ye right on the spot.”

  Tristan had to step in before this turned into a blood bath. He looked around as the Sinclair guardsmen inched forward, ready to defend any of the laird’s family who might be in need. Tristan did not miss the white hot fury in each of their faces. He noticed his own guardsmen were on the defensive, but it was to protect the clansmen and women. They had inched away. They had no intention of coming to Alan’s rescue. Doesnae that nae only speak volumes but scream it too?

  “Mairghread, tell us what happened, please.” He stepped in front of Mairghread to look at her. Her calm was remarkable considering she was a foot shorter and at least ten stone lighter than Alan. She looked up at him with her blue-gray eyes. They were a darker gray than before. They reminded him of a storm cloud about to unleash a blizzard.

  “He yanked me against him and then ground his staff into me. Someone else had clearly already entertained him when he interrupted ma dance with Auld Michael. Then he grabbed ma backside and one of ma breasts. Sir Alan said I should give him a taste of what he’d be getting after the kirking. He said since we were practically betrothed, it was his right. He also told me how I’d warm his bed every night another woman wasna already in it.” She leaned around his shoulder and glared at Alan. She looked ready to spit fire. Tristan thought he had never seen a more remarkable woman.

  “He said all of that, lass? Aught more?”

  “Nay. Isnae that enough? I canna remember aught else.”

  “Ye’re bluidy right that was more than enough! The Sinclairs ride out at dawn. There will be nay betrothal. Laird Mackay, count yerself lucky I respect ye even if yer brother is a piece of shite. If I didna, I’d raze yer fields from here to the Orkneys.”

  Out of nowhere came the shrill yell of Lady Beatris, and Tristan’s heart sank even further, if it was possible. For Jesu’s sake, could this get any worse?

  “What did that hateful wench do to ye, son? Let me see ye. That trollop is a tease. I watched her at the table and the way she tried to entice ye with more food and drink. She’s to blame for this.”

  Anyone who had seen the diners at the dais knew this to be ridiculousness. Everyone observed how Alan behaved. Everyone knew how Alan behaved. There did not seem to be a single face in the crowd moved by Beatris’s claims.

  “Woman, haud yer wheesht. Dinna fash at Lady Mairghread for Alan’s disgusting behavior.”

  “Tristan! How could ye speak out against yer own brother? How could ye betray me, yer own mother?”

  “Ma brother, nay, ma stepbrother and ma stepmother will retire now.” Tristan turned to face Alan. Alan moved to swing at Tristan, but Tristan wrapped his hand around Alan’s throat. Being almost half a head taller and stronger, Tristan almost lifted Alan off his feet.

  “Ye would insult our guests and then attempt to strike yer laird? Ye are through here tonight. Guards, escort Alan and Beatris to their chambers. Lock the doors from the outside and post men there throughout the night.”

  When he released him, Alan attempted to shove past Tristan and lunged at Mairghread.

  “Bitch!”

  Tristan pushed Mairghread behind him and stepped between them. His hand shot out and slammed into Alan’s jaw. Tristan had never head a sound more satisfying than the crunch of his stepbrother’s jaw breaking. Alan collapsed, and Beatris screamed. Tristan looked at his guardsmen who had come forward. They collected both Alan and Beatris and removed them from the Great Hall.

  Laird Sinclair rushed forward and wrapped his daughter in his arms. Mairghread melted into his embrace and clung to him. She began to shake as all the energy drained out of her, and she was certain she would dissolve into nothing but a puddle if her father did not continue to hold her up. When he stepped back, she dipped her head, so no one witnessed the tears that were now streaming down her face. She would not have any of these people believe her weak. When she was a bit more composed, she looked up at her father. He gave her a tiny nod of the head. Tristan caught sight of it. Ah, now I ken where she gets that mannerism from. The apples dinna fall far from that tree.

  “Lady Mairghread, ma apologies canna go far enough after what just happened, but I offer them to ye anyway. I am so vera sorry. I ken that ye bathed already, but if ye would like, I’ll have another bath sent up to ye and perhaps a hot toddy to help ye sleep.”

  “Thank ye, Tristan. I willnae have anyone hauling up a tub and hot water for me at this late hour. I would take that tot of whisky though.” She was too tired and drained to realize she had addressed him by his Christian name in front of his clan.

  Magnus pushed past and elbowed Tristan in the ribs. Tristan was about to shove the person back until he realized it was Magnus. Magnus looked stricken to see his sister in such a state. While the other Sinclair men still looked ready to do murder, Magnus looked as if he would be ill. He scooped Mairghread into his arms and moved towards the stairs without a word.

  “Magnus, I’m tired but nae broken. I can walk on ma own. Put me down. Now!”

  Magnus looked at her and shook his head.

  ~~~

  The Great Hall cleared of all of those who would return to their crofts. Those who remained were bedded down for the night, and snores rumbled from all corners of the room. Tristan was very ready for that drink he had promised himself hours ago.

  As he turned towards his solar, he spotted the last person he wanted to deal with ight now. Sorcha headed straight to him, and it was clear she was on a mission. He had been bedding Sorcha for the better part of two years. While she was satisfying between the sheets, she was also a social climber. She kept hinting she should have the official label of the chief’s leman. Tristan recognized what she wanted was to become the lady of the keep. Neither would happen. While Sorcha was beautiful and satisfied his lust, he had no intention of making their arrangement anything more serious or in any way permanent. He was aware she was cold to the other servants in the keep, and she would never fulfill the duties of the lady of the keep. Never mind the fact that marriage to her would bring no dowry or alliance to his clan. Tristan had never formally kept a leman even though there were two other women he had had a long-standing agreement with. He was unwilling to commit to any woman enough to give her that much influence over him or to believe she had authority over the members of the clan.

  Tristan watched her approach. The normal surge of lust he experienced when she was near was missing now. She did nothing to stir him or his cock. Just the opposite. Tristan was dreading having her near him. Her scent of roses was cloying and sickening to him after the light fragrance of Mairghread’s lavender and heather. Sorcha was aware she was a very attractive woman. She had long, wavy blond hair with blue eyes and an ample bosom. The latter she had on display for him now. The ties to the front of her kirtle were half undone, and she was practically falling out of her gown. She stopped in front of him and reached out to run her hands over his chest. It was her normal greeting, but this time, Tristan grasped her wrists before she touched him.

  “Sorcha, tis nae a good time.”

  “But ma laird, ye ken I can always make it a good time.” She purred as she stepped closer.

  Tristan took an instinctive step back. With sudden clarity he was certain of what he needed to do. As he looked at Sorcha, there was nothing but an overwhelming desire to find Mairghread. He wanted to hold the lass with the chestnut hair that had streaks of fire running through it just as those flames ran through her spirit. He had once found Sorcha’s blond hair enticing. He ha
d enjoyed seeing it draped across his shoulders as she rode him or when he wrapped it in his hand as he took her from behind. Now it seemed mousy compared to Mairghread’s. He had once enjoyed flicking his tongue against Sorcha’s lips to prod them open as his tongue dueled with hers. Now he only remembered the fresh mint scent that always seemed to come from Mairghread’s perfectly shaped, pinky-red lips.

  “Sorcha, this canna happen now. This willna happen again. Our arrangement has seen its course and is now at an end.”

  “What?” She screeched.

  Tristan looked around the hall to make sure no one noticed. He had no intention of pulling her into a dark alcove for privacy because she would launch herself onto him. While his mind wanted nothing to do with her, he was not so convinced his body would stay in agreement.

  “Lass, I’ve enjoyed our time together. Ye ken that to be the truth. But this situation with Sir Alan and the Sinclairs has made me realize I’ll be needing a wife soon. I willna bring a woman to this keep to consider taking to wife if I have another woman here who I’m bedding. I willna do that to any potential wife. That means our time together is done.”

  With that Tristan turned towards his solar. He left a fuming Sorcha staring at him. If he had stayed any longer or looked back, he would have seen the pure hate and malice that shone in her eyes. He would have been forewarned that a woman scorned was a dangerous enemy to make.

  Chapter Five

  M

  airghread tossed all night long. The chamber was spacious and warm without being stifling. The bed was among the most comfortable she had ever touched, but her mind would not settle despite how weary she was both physically and emotionally. She had been convinced the journey to Mackay land had been never ending, but now she wished she never arrived. Her mind kept replaying the events of the previous day. What she found most disturbing was her memory kept rushing back to her interactions with Tristan more so than her interactions with Alan. While she held nothing but contempt for Alan, she could not help the warmth that spread across her whenever she pictured Tristan. She pictured him as she had first seen him as she entered the Great Hall. He had seemed such a hulking figure at first that she wondered before her eyes unadjusted to the dimness if she was seeing a shadow cast along the wall. She realized it was not a shadow but a towering, braw man who took her breath away. Then she remembered him as she and Magnus returned to the keep. Her heart ached for him as he tried so very hard to make up for his stepbrother’s disinterest in her. Her conjured him as he pushed her behind him for protection and grasped Alan around the throat after he insulted her for the last time. She was unable to stop the gasp that came out each time she pictured him slamming his fist into Alan’s jaw. He had been so kind to offer another bath to help her calm. He looked so earnest when he gazed into her eyes. She had almost swooned then. Not from her confrontation with Alan. Not from the stares of all the people surrounding them. But from the warmth and concern she had seen in his eyes.