She offered a sassy smile. Why not flirt with him? In a short time, the North Woods would be hers, declared so by the king himself before men of both the Burnard and Forrest clans. She had a right to be flirtatious. Tonight she had a right to be any blessed damned thing she wanted to be. She was about to accomplish what her father and his father before him had been unable to do.
She looked up at him through her lashes. "Thank ye for the gold cloth. It suits me," she said, for once in such a good mood that she did not begrudge him the compliment.
"Suits ye." Holding her hand above her, he turned her slowly, as if they danced. For that moment, it seemed as if they were the only people in the small passageway. "Suits ye, indeed," he murmured, his voice thick with an emotion that made her shiver.
She didn't dare meet his gaze. He wanted her.
She could hear it in his deep voice, feel it in his fingertips. Elen had no idea where she would sleep tonight, but she wondered if perhaps it would be with Munro. She knew he had insisted that day on the beach he would not make love with her again without wedding vows to bind them, but she wondered if she could not persuade him otherwise. Such deeds, even such thoughts, were a sin, but what matter did it make now? She was already bound for hell, wasn't she? For surely any woman who wanted a man as much as she wanted Munro was too sinful to enter the gates of heaven.
"Where are Cerdic and Rosalyn?" Elen asked, stepping out of the way to let one of her men carrying a cask of ale pass between them.
"Still in the hall. Your sister is fraught with the wait," Munro said over the cask. "Cerdic said he would meet us outside should he survive the onslaught." He took her hand and led her out of the tower and into the bailey, where they would await the king.
Elen cut her gaze to him to see the amusement on his face. "All isnae well in paradise?" she questioned.
"The bloom has fallen from the newlywed rose, I fear. Your sister has been in a terrible mood all week. Naught suits her, nae the servants, nae the meals, nae the accommodations, and Cerdic has taken the brunt of it."
"What on earth could be wrong? She wanted him, did she not?"
He shrugged. "Love is fickle."
"Love, my arse." She clung to his arm as they traipsed over the icy ground across the bailey, which was crowded with men and a few women converging on the open gate. "Rosalyn nae has the first clue of what love truly is."
"And what of her sister?" he asked softly, tightening his grip on her hand.
"Your questions are too weighty, m'lord," she said hesitantly, her stomach fluttering.
Did she love Munro? At this moment she was unsure of what would be worse, to be in love with him or not to be in love with him. Either, she surmised, could be painful for both of them.
Once again, the herald blared his trumpet, and suddenly the bailey was filled with the commotion of horsemen. The king rode not at the front of the party, as would an English king, but in its midst, as if he were one of his men. Still, Elen spotted him right away. His red hair and beard could not be missed.
"Your Grace." Still holding Munro's hand, she lowered her head and half bowed, half curtsied as low as she could without landing on her knees in the snow.
Beside her, Munro bowed. "Your Grace." His voice was rich with a warmth that was respectful, yet personal.
"Munro," the king called amiably as he leaped from his shaggy Highland pony and tossed the reins to one of his men. "Good to see ye, friend." He grasped Munro's hand warmly. "And this must be the blessed Elen I have heard so much about." He took her hand from Munro's and lifted it to his mouth, his mustache tickling her.
Elen was both confused and delighted by the king's familiarity with them. She understood that Munro and Robert Bruce had known each other in the days before he had taken his rightful place as king, but she had not realized they were actually friends.
"Munro, ye didnae tell me how truly breathtaking this woman is." The king held tightly to her hand.
"I most certainly did," Munro protested.
The king shook his head, directing his comments to Elen, as if Munro were not here. "Aye, I recall Rancoff muttered something of hair of spun red gold and lips created for kissing, but mostly he babbled on about your ability to lift a broadsword, bring down a stag, and make better men than he quiver in their boots."
Elen laughed, but felt her cheeks color. She was never one to take compliments well, but she tried to be gracious. "M'lord is too kind," she said, cutting a wicked glance at him. "And has been known to tell a tale or two."
At last, the king released her hand and clapped his together. "Well," he said to Munro. "Shall we be to the kirk?"
Elen looked to the king, then to Munro, then back at the king again. She had understood he would wish to hear mass in the morning before he took his leave, but she had not realized he was so devout as to attend service daily. Even so, she would have thought he would have gone this morning while still in Aberdeen.
"Now?" Munro said, a strange intonation to his voice. "I thought we might sup first, Rob." He motioned, suddenly seeming nervous. "Ease into it."
"Ease, hell!" The king waved a hand. "Let us be done with it and then we can drink to the bride and groom."
Elen's face grew warmer as the king's words seeped through her head. Bride and groom? What bride and groom? Suddenly she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"Ye... ye wish to hear mass now, Your Grace?" she questioned, already realizing that was not what he had meant when he said he wanted to go to the kirk.
"Aye. A wedding mass," Robert said, still in good spirits. "For I have made a decision, Elen of Dunblane, and have come to deliver word myself." He grabbed her hand and offered it to Munro. "For the well-good of Scotland, I have decided ye are to marry Munro and forever join these squabbling Forrest and Burnard clans."
Elen felt as if she were in one of her headache dreams where events floated around her, events she could not participate in, but only watch as if from afar.
She yanked her hand from Munro's grasp. "M-marry, Your Grace?" she heard herself say.
"Aye, marry." The king grinned. "So let us be to the kirk." He waved a hand in invitation toward the gatehouse. "Then to your hall to celebrate."
Elen turned to Munro. "Marry ye," she shouted. "Marry ye? I told ye I would nae marry ye. What is this folly? What makes ye think ye can force me into a marriage I nae want?"
Up to this very moment, Munro had thought his and the king's scheme to be a good one. He knew he loved her. A union between the two families truly would be a blessing to Scotland. Now, though, the fury on Elen's face and the low pitch of her voice made him think perhaps he had erred.
Munro looked to Robert for aid.
"I willnae marry ye," she shouted, giving Munro a push with her hand.
Elen turned to face her king, her legs spread wide in a manly stance, her hand upon her side as if she would have drawn her broadsword had she carried it. "I willnae marry him. Nae if the king orders me wed. Nae if God Almighty upon His throne bid me wed."
Chapter 19
The king glanced Munro's way with amusement. "The lady says she willnae have ye. Ye havenae abused her or taken advantage of her, have ye?"
Munro frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Elen beat him to the first word.
"Nae, he has not taken advantage of me." She stepped right up to the king, her hands firmly planted on her hips, her woolen mantle thrown off her shoulders to whip around her in the bitter wind. Snow had begun to fall, and a light sprinkling of snowflakes rested in her hair, setting it aglitter as if she wore a crown of jewels.
The crowd in the bailey was beginning to take notice of the king and Elen of Dunblane and Lord of Rancoff. Curious, they began to press closer with obvious interest. Ponies nickered, the biting Highland wind whistled through the inner courtyard, and men and women gawked and whispered behind their hands.
"Do I look to ye, Your Grace, like a woman who would allow any mon to take advantage of me?" Elen continued her diatri
be. "I simply do not want him. Nae in my keep, nae in my bed." She glared at Munro. "Nae in all of the Highlands, had I my choice at this moment."
Munro cringed inwardly. He appreciated Elen's stubborn streak—God's breath, he loved her for it—but did she realize what she was saying? Doing? To defy the king could mean the confiscation of her lands, imprisonment, even death. Did Elen not realize Robert had the upper hand here? He was the king, and one way or another, she was bound for the altar.
Robert the Bruce lifted an eyebrow in response to Elen—thankfully still amused. "I have made my decision, fair maid. Will ye walk to the kirk with me?" He offered his arm to escort her.
Her chin shot out obstinately. "I willnae step foot outside these walls with that mon." She pointed at Munro accusingly. "He has tricked me." She turned to him. "Ye knew, didn't ye? Ye knew that was why he came. Nae to return my land, but to make me wed ye. Bastard!" she spit.
"Elen," Munro said quietly, realizing from the pressing crowd that she was causing quite a commotion. She was not the first Highland lady to be forced into marriage, but she was most assuredly the loudest protester. He reached out to her to calm her.
Elen slapped his hand away. "Nae touch me, or I will take off that arm at the shoulder," she growled.
The king threw up his hands. "So, shall we go, ladies and gentlemen, and witness this happy union?" He started back through the gatehouse, headed for the stone kirk that lay just to the east of the castle.
There were ripples of laughter.
"Ye will have to go without me, Your Grace," Elen called, her face red with anger.
"Bring her." With a single motion of the king's finger, two burly men descended on Elen, took her by her armpits and lifted her up off her feet.
"Nay," she shouted, swinging both fists.
Munro cringed as she caught one burly Lowlander soundly in the jaw.
"Munro," the king called.
Munro looked to the king, then back at Elen. He wanted to come to her rescue, to suggest she should not be handled so roughly, but in truth it was she who was handling the king's men roughly.
"Munro," Robert called more sharply as he crossed the drawbridge into the open. "Leave her to my men and walk with me."
"Munro Forrest," Elen screamed, "ye willnae do this to me. Do ye hear me? I willnae have ye!"
Munro caught up to the king, glancing over his shoulder at Elen as the men half carried, half dragged her behind them over the drawbridge.
"Your Grace," Munro said, his words meant for the king's ears only. "If she honestly doesnae wish—"
"I have made my decision," Robert said firmly. "She is of good stock and her holdings are vast. To leave a maiden such as she unwed could be dangerous for her and for Scotland. If I marry her to ye, I know ye willnae only protect her, but her lands as well." He met Munro's gaze and waited.
Munro did not know what to say. The king's argument was wise. Munro had no choice at this point but to go through with the marriage.
The king squeezed Munro's forearm. "Worry not. She is Murdoch's issue through and through. The Burnards are all pragmatists. She will get over her anger and realize the good sense of the union. Ye will merely have to convince her of the more private reasons a woman should be wed to ye." He winked. "She probably nae realizes half the women in Edinburgh, wed or unwed, once pined for your attentions."
"Munro Forrest," Elen shouted. "Stop this! Stop this at once or I will have your bullocks between—"
Munro turned away, uncertain as to whether he was horrified, embarrassed, or amused.
Robert burst into hearty guffaws as her words were lost on the wind that tore across the barren meadow between the castle walls and the stone kirk, which was nestled in a copse of barren trees.
"Munro!" Rosalyn came running up behind him, barely giving her sister more than a passing glance. Cerdic trailed behind her, attempting to fasten her mantle more securely on her shoulders. "What is happening?" she asked excitedly. "Oh," she breathed, catching sight of the king. "Your Grace." She curtsied. "'Tis truly an honor to have ye step your royal foot upon Dunblane ground."
The king and Munro halted just outside the church.
"Your Grace." Cerdic, without bonnet or mantle, bowed.
"Rosalyn of Dunblane... of Rancoff as of late," Munro introduced. "My brother's bride. And ye know Cerdic."
"Good to see ye." Robert nodded cordially to Cerdic. "As to what is about," he told Rosalyn, "your sister is about to be wed."
Rosalyn's eyes widened. "Wed? Wed to whom? Have ye brought her a husband?" She glanced around at the men draped in woolen plaids and skins.
Munro grinned proudly, unable to help himself. He could see getting Elen to the altar was not going to be as pleasant as he would have liked, but all he could think about was the future—their future together. He loved her, and he was certain he could make her happy, given the chance. Thoughts of children and a legacy drifted in his head. True love rarely came to a man more than once in a lifetime, and he intended to take advantage of the opportunity, even if it did involve a wee bit of unpleasantness. "Me," Munro told Rosalyn. "Your sister will wed me."
"Ye?" She turned on Cerdic. "I suppose ye knew of this," she accused shrilly, slapping him across the chest with her gloved hand.
"I knew naught."
"My brother and Rosalyn are only recently wed," Munro explained.
"So I have heard." The king cut a knowing glance in Munro's direction. "Onward."
Munro opened the kirk's door and allowed the king to step inside. Men with torches had run ahead to light the candles. "God's brittle bones, 'tis as cold in here as out," the Bruce muttered, dipping his hand in the hollow-carved well in the wall that held the holy water. He crossed himself and hurried up the aisle toward the simple altar. "Harold!"
A man in a priest's frock pushed past Munro. "Here, Your Grace."
"Let us be done with this quickly," Robert said. "We wish the shortened version of the wedding mass." He pressed his gloved hand to his stomach. "I am hungry, and I can smell the roasting venison in Dunblane's hall from here."
"Aye, Your Grace." The thin man hurried forward to the altar to make his preparations.
"Munro," Elen shouted, as she, aided by her "escorts," burst through the door behind him. "Nae do this, or ye will regret the day your whoring mother gave birth—"
One of the men carrying her clamped a beefy hand over her mouth.
"Elen, not in a kirk," Munro whispered.
She bit down hard and the man yanked his hand away, grunting in pain.
"That will be enough, lassie." He grumbled and drew back his hand as if to strike her.
Munro crossed the narrow aisle in the blink of an eye to grab the man's arm. "Strike her and I will lay ye flat," he growled, looking the man straight in the eye.
"She bit me," he protested.
"I nae care if she plucked your bullocks from their resting place and crammed them down your throat," he whispered loud enough for only the man to hear. "Ye willnae strike what is mine, and that woman is mine." Munro turned to Elen, suddenly warm in the frigid church. "That is quite enough, m'lady." He looked at the two men. "She is within the kirk walls. Release her."
They glanced at each other and slowly let go of her. She swung both arms, nearly knocking them off their feet as she broke free of them.
"Do ye nae hear me, Munro Forrest? I willnae marry ye."
"Lower your voice," he ordered. He understood why she was upset. He would not have been pleased to be forced into a marriage like this either, but for heaven's sake, they were in love. This union would be a good one. It was time she used her good sense and made the best of the situation. "Show respect for the church and for your king," he told her in a half whisper.
She shot him a look that could have melted a lesser man, but when she spoke again her voice was softer, though no less edgy. "I willnae be forced to wed ye." She gestured. "'Twould nae even be legal, nae without proper documentation."
Munro frowned. "El
en, Robert is the king. He can well do what he wishes. Documentation can be provided later." He took a breath, lowering his head to keep their conversation private. "Now listen, and listen well. Ye've no choice in this matter. Neither of us has at this point." He nodded to Robert, who stood in the front of the church, facing the altar. Rosalyn was talking nonstop, batting her lashes and running her hand up and down the king's forearm. "Our king has ordered us wed, and wed we will be. His wishes cannot be defied. Ye know it, and ye know it well."
He held her gaze, ignoring those who filtered around them to take seats on the church benches. "Now, ye can either walk to the altar with me, Elen of Dunblane, and behave in a way that would honor your father, or I can carry ye kicking and screaming. Either way, I will wed ye."
"Ye do this to me and I will hate ye for it," she breathed.
For a moment, Munro again thought about asking Robert to reconsider, to give Elen a few days to think the matter over. But he knew Robert and he knew it was too late. Robert the Bruce had commanded her wed, and wed she would be—if not to him, then to another man in his retinue. The thought of another man holding Elen in his arms strengthened Munro's resolve.
"Our king grows impatient," he murmured. "Come, let us be done with the matter and we will discuss it later in the privacy of our own chamber."
Elen grabbed Munro's arm and started down the aisle toward the priest. "Discuss, my arse," she muttered. "Ye'll never step foot in a private chamber with me again."
* * *
The wedding mass was short, so short that before Elen knew what was happening, she was married to the man standing beside her, holding her hand tightly enough to prevent her from getting away. Everyone clapped, men she didn't know kissed her, and she was led in a daze through the falling snow back toward the keep. On the way across the meadow, Munro took her arm to help her through a snowdrift as she tried to maneuver in the golden gown.
She glanced at the place where he had laid his hand upon her. "I would not do that just now," she hissed beneath her breath.
Munro pulled away his hand, but grinned smugly. "Be stubborn. Fall in the snow," he said, then left her to walk with the king.
Highland Lady Page 19