by Lynsay Sands
Murine stared at what Saidh was doing with the bread and carrot and thought to herself that this was the most pitiful thing she had ever seen. Had she not already been bedded by Dougall, she would most likely be horrified and dismayed at this display. Good Lord.
"But it's much nicer than this looks," Saidh assured her, continuing to thrust the carrot into the bread. She was missing the slit entirely, and mashing the bread with each push. "He'll kiss ye and such first, and ye'll get all excited and feel like punching him hard in the face." She jammed the carrot into the bread this time as if the carrot was her fist and the loaf his face. "But then ye'll feel like a little explosion has gone off in yer body and 'twill be so nice."
Much to Murine's relief, Saidh stopped beating up the bread with the carrot then and gave a little sigh. Whether it signified her relief that she had finished the explanations she'd felt she should give, or Saidh was thinking of how nice the release felt, Murine wasn't sure. She was still caught on the part about wanting to punch him hard in the face. Murine had never experienced quite that desire with Dougall yet. Mayhap he wasn't doing it right.
"Understand?" Saidh asked, eyeing her hopefully.
"Er . . . uh huh." Murine nodded quickly.
"Oh, thank God," Saidh muttered, tossing her props on the table and then dropping into the seat across from Murine's. She then eyed her barely touched goblet of wine and asked, "Are ye going to drink that?"
"Nay," Murine said with amusement, offering it to her. The whole ordeal had obviously distressed Saidh much more than her, she decided and thought it might be a good thing if Saidh had all sons and no daughters with Greer. The woman would never survive a house full of daughters.
"As I told Saidh, I knew Beathan Carmichael, and I find it hard to believe he'd leave Murine's care and future in the hands o' Montrose Danvries. He had little respect for his wife's son."
Murine glanced up from the chicken she was eating at that comment from Saidh's husband. The wedding had gone off without a hitch. The MacDonnell priest had been happy to preside over the wedding, and there had been no sudden arrival of Montrose to put an end to things. She was married and safe from his machinations, or at least she would be once they'd officially consummated their marriage.
That being the case, Murine had been happy to settle down to the wedding feast and enjoy the meal, and without the usual bride's fear of the night to come. She already knew what to expect, and not because of Saidh's odd visual presentation.
Murine was seated beside Saidh with their husbands on either side of them, Dougall next to Murine and Greer next to Saidh. Dougall's brothers had then taken up seats on either side of the men and the conversation had been light and filled with congratulations and well wishes as the food was carried out. Murine had let it drift around her as she ate, but now lifted her head at that comment from Greer.
"I was thinking the same thing," Dougall responded solemnly.
"Well, it bothered me enough that I've had an ear out on the matter and I've learned a couple o' interesting things," Greer informed him.
Dougall stiffened with interest. "What ha'e ye learned?"
"Murine's cousin, Connor, is the second son o' the Barclay and her father's sister," Greer announced, and then added, "The Barclay died a couple years back, leaving all to the eldest son."
Dougall shrugged, appearing disappointed. "That's no unusual. 'Tis common for the eldest to inherit the title and land. Aulay got Buchanan and became laird when our father died."
"Aye, but I bet yer father left something to each o' ye other boys," Greer said solemnly.
"Aye, we each got a parcel o' land and some coin," Conran said from Dougall's other side.
"Well, Barclay left Connor no' even a farthing. It seems he was sure his wife was unfaithful and Connor was no' his son."
Dougall raised his eyebrows at that and looked thoughtful.
"I also learned that less than a year after the father's death, the brother banished Connor from Barclay. The rumor is there were some unexplained deaths and accidents around the new laird that nearly took his life. He apparently suspected his brother but could no' prove anything."
"So he banished him," Dougall murmured.
"Aye." Greer nodded and then cautioned, "'Tis just rumor though, I have a man looking into it, but it's no' been verified yet."
Dougall nodded his understanding, and picked up a chicken leg. Murine turned her own attention back to her food as he bit into the drumstick.
"There's more," Saidh announced when Greer turned his attention back to his own food. "Edith wrote me. She'd just returned from court with her family and says yer cousin Connor was there when she first arrived. She said a friend o' yer father's was there. Laird MacIntyre, I think it was."
"Aye, Laird MacIntyre and me father were dear friends," Murine verified with a smile at the thought of the man. He'd been a large part of her life while growing up.
"Well, Edith wrote that Laird MacIntyre cornered Connor at court and confronted him in front of everyone about his getting the castle and title while ye were shuttled off to yer brother's in England. He said, 'Beatie would ne'er do that to wee Murine.' He did no' believe it fer a minute, and was demanding to see the will to make sure it was no' a forgery or something."
"Ye ne'er told me that!" Greer exclaimed suddenly.
Saidh turned to offer him an apology. "I ken, I'm sorry. But that was the letter the messenger brought just as me brothers and Murine rode in. I did no' get the chance to read it until after I finished helping her dress." She shrugged apologetically. "And then I did no' get the chance to tell ye what with the wedding and everything."
"Oh." Greer squeezed her hand and bent to press a kiss to her forehead. Then he straightened and asked. "Did Connor produce the will?"
Saidh shook her head. "He said he would hardly bring it to court. It was at Carmichael, and MacIntyre was welcome to visit him there if he wanted to look at it," Saidh answered and then turned to Murine and said, "Ye've no' seen the will, ha'e ye?"
She shook her head.
"Were ye no' there for the reading after he died?" Dougall asked with a frown.
"Nay," Murine said quietly. "I was at Sinclair when father died. Montrose showed up there, broke the news of father's death, and took me directly to England. I have no' been to Carmichael since I left for Sinclair. But," she added as everyone fell silent. "I doubt the will is forged. Connor was the beneficiary and he had never been to Carmichael ere he got the news he'd inherited the castle and title," she pointed out
"But Danvries was," Greer said quietly. "I was told he arrived just before yer father died."
Murine nodded. "I gather he went to Carmichael in the hopes that Mother would give him more coin. She'd given him some in the past when he'd gambled too deep," she explained.
"But yer mother was dead by then," Saidh pointed out.
"Aye, but he didn't know that," Murine said, then grimaced and explained. "So much happened in such a short time. First me brothers died, then Mother was ill, and then Father got sick as well." Murine paused and then admitted with embarrassment, "In truth, I did no' even think to write Montrose to let him know. I don't think Father did either." Feeling guilty that she could forget to write her half brother and let him know that their mother was dead, she tried to explain. "Montrose was not really a part of our life. He lived in England and showed up at Carmichael perhaps a handful of times over the last ten years, and then it was usually to beg a favor or money from Mother."
"And she gave it to him?" Aulay asked curiously.
Murine nodded.
"What did yer father think o' that?" Dougall asked quietly.
Murine smiled crookedly. "He hated it. The only fights they ever had were about it. He used to berate her fer giving it to him, saying Montrose should learn to stand on his own two feet."
"Which makes it even stranger that yer father would leave ye in his care," Dougall pointed out grimly.
"Aye," Greer agreed.
It was A
ulay who said, "I'm thinkin' MacIntyre had it right and ye might want to see this will, lass. Something does no' smell right here."
Murine frowned, but before she could protest, Greer asked, "Ye say Connor was never at Carmichael, but Danvries showed up just ere yer father died?" When Murine nodded, he glanced to Saidh and back before saying, "Saidh told me that the death of yer father came as something o' a shock? That he had been recuperating when ye left fer Sinclair?"
"Aye," she murmured. "He was well on the mend. I would no' ha'e left had that no' been the case."
"Murine told us that on the journey to Buchanan," Alick announced. "What of it?"
Greer opened his mouth, then closed it and bent to whisper something in Saidh's ear. Her eyebrows rose, but then she stood and glanced at Murine as she announced, "I'm thinking it's time to get ye ready for the bedding."
Murine blinked up at her in surprise and then felt a blush heat her face as the men all began to cheer in agreement. Sticking out her tongue at the lot of them, she got to her feet and caught Saidh's arm to drag her away from the table as quickly as possible.
Honestly, she hadn't been at all worried about the bedding, but that was because she'd only been thinking about the bedding itself, and not the bedding ceremony that preceded it. Now Murine was beginning to realize how embarrassing it might be. Good Lord, having so many male relatives might turn out to be much less enjoyable than she'd expected.
Dougall watched Saidh and Murine rush upstairs, waited until the bedchamber door closed behind them and then turned to peer at Greer. "Ye wanted Saidh to take Murine above stairs because ye did no' want me wife to ken that ye're thinking her half brother may ha'e killed her father."
"Aye," he admitted with regret, and then pointed out, "Ye have to admit, 'tis odd that Murine's father appeared to be recovering when she left for Sinclair, but then died abruptly just days later after Danvries got there."
"And then a will was produced that basically cut Murine off from everything but her dower," Aulay said thoughtfully.
"But Danvries did no' benefit from her father's death," Dougall pointed out. "Connor did. If Danvries was going to kill the man and switch out the will, would he no' have switched it fer one that profited him more?"
"Danvries got control of her dower," Greer pointed out.
It was Conran who snorted at that. "Her dower was Waverly Place, a manor house. A nice manor house," he conceded, "But nothing compared to Carmichael. And from the little we know of the man, Montrose is a greedy bugger. If he was going to kill her father and switch the man's will for another, he would have made sure the forged will left everything to him."
Dougall nodded, but his mind was turning over new possibilities and after a moment he said, "Mayhap it did in the end." When the others peered at him in question, he pointed out, "If he was in cahoots with Connor, he might ha'e got much more than the dower, just not in the will."
"That's more than possible," Greer agreed, nodding slowly. "And ye have to admit, if that's what happened, 'twas a damned clever scheme."
"Aye," Aulay agreed. "Danvries switches the will and helps Beathan to his grave, but is never suspected because Connor is the only one who appears to gain from the death. And Connor gains but is never suspected because he was nowhere near Carmichael Castle or Beathan ere the will was read."
Conran frowned, then turned to Dougall and said, "I'm thinkin' we need to take Murine to see this will."
The other men all nodded in agreement.
Chapter 14
Murine stretched sleepily and turned onto her side with a little yawn.
"Good morn, wife."
Blinking her eyes open at that husky voice, she peered at the man lying on his side facing her. Dougall. Her husband. Yesterday they'd been wedded, and last night she'd definitely been bedded . . . several times. The memory made her smile and acknowledge, if only to herself, that it had made the embarrassment of the bedding ceremony almost worthwhile. Almost. Good Lord, those Buchanan lads liked to tease. Murine didn't think she'd ever forget their hoots, hollers and the ribald comments as they'd lifted the linen to put Dougall in bed next to her and got a glimpse of her lying there naked. Murine had wanted the bed to open up and swallow her.
"What are ye thinking about?" Dougall asked softly, reaching out to run his fingers lightly across her cheek.
"About last night," Murine admitted with a crooked smile.
"Oh?" he asked with interest, easing a little closer in bed and letting his fingers trail down along her neck now. "And what were ye thinking about last night?"
"That it almost made it worth putting up with yer brothers' teasing during the bedding ceremony," she admitted.
"Almost?" Dougall asked with feigned offense. "Then I did something wrong. Mayhap I should try again."
"Mayhap ye should," she agreed just before his mouth covered hers. He'd barely begun to kiss her when pounding sounded at the door.
"We've come fer the sheets!" Aulay bellowed through the wooden door and pounded again.
Dougall groaned with disgust and rolled away to get to his feet, bellowing, "Hang on to yer swords. I'm coming."
Snatching up his tartan from the floor, he tossed it to her, suggesting, "Wrap that around yerself, love. They won't wait long." Then he bent to grab his shirt and began to tug it on as he walked to the door.
Murine stared after him briefly, held still by his calling her love, then quickly scrambled off the bed and wrapped the tartan around herself as she realized he was about to open the door.
"Ah, good, ye both survived the night," Aulay said with amusement, stepping into the room and to the side as Alick, Conran, Geordie and Niels moved toward the bed. His gaze slid over Dougall in naught but his shirt, which barely covered his more interesting bits, and one eyebrow quirked upward. "I'd ha'e expected ye to be up and dressed by now. The rest o' the castle is up enjoying breaking their fast."
"I felt like a bit o' a lie-in," Dougall said dryly.
Murine smiled faintly at the claim and then glanced to the small splotch of dried blood on the bottom linen the other men were removing from the bed. Dougall had cut his own hand to produce the blood and she wondered guiltily if it looked anything like the proof of innocence should. There had been no blood last night. Dougall had taken her innocence in the hunting lodge. Actually, she hadn't been sure there had been any blood at the lodge since they hadn't been in the bed when he took it, but Dougall had assured her he'd carried the proof of her innocence on his body. She'd taken him at his word, glad he would never doubt her innocence ere him. It was something she'd fretted over; what if her eagerness with him made him think she was more experienced than she was? What if he thought he was not the first man her brother had offered her to? And that mayhap someone else had taken her innocence? He'd reassured her that was not the case. He knew she was innocent.
Aulay and Dougall fell silent as their brothers carried the bloodied sheet past, and then Aulay said quietly, "Greer said to hang it from the rail along the landing so Montrose sees it first thing when he arrives." He waited for Dougall's grim nod, then glanced to Murine and said, "Saidh's been waiting fer ye to wake. She's got a selection o' dresses fer ye to borrow. I'll let her ken she can bring them along to ye now."
"Thank ye," Murine whispered with a frown as he turned to walk out of the room. The moment the door closed behind him, she turned to Dougall. "What did he mean? Montrose is no' coming here, is he? He left just ere we arrived. Why would he return so soon?"
Dougall grimaced, and crossed the room quickly to her side. Taking her arm, he urged her to sit on the side of the bed with him, and admitted, "Because he was invited."
"What?" she gasped with horror. "But why? He--"
"Aulay asked Greer to send a messenger after him with an invitation to our wedding," Dougall admitted and Murine goggled at him.
"Why would he do that?" she asked with horror. "If Montrose had got here before we were married, he would have--"
"The men didn't leave unti
l the ceremony was finished," Dougall said quickly.
Murine stared at him blankly, and then simply said, "What?"
Dougall sighed, and explained, "We planned it all after ye left the table last night. The wedding was well over then. We decided 'twas best to send the invitation so that he kens we're married and stops hunting ye. So, we sent a couple men after his party with the invitation."
"To a wedding that was already done," she said dryly.
"Aye. The men were to claim they left around mid morning to head out after him with the invitation, but one of their horses threw a shoe on the road, and they were delayed."
"Oh," Murine said weakly and then grimaced and asked, "Do ye really think he'll come here at all? I mean, if he kens he's too late to stop the wedding . . ." she said hopefully.
"He'll come," Dougall said dryly. "He'll want to be sure. He'll probably also bluster about and try to claim it should be annulled and such, saying I stole ye."
"Ye did no' steal me," she said with outrage.
"Aye, but he may claim I did in a bid to make me pay him coin to cover his gambling losses," Dougall pointed out quietly.
Murine scowled at the thought. "Well, don't give him any. Father was right, Mother should no' have given him a farthing. He never cared about her. He never cared about any of us," she said bitterly, thinking of how he'd tried to sell her for horses.
Dougall took in her expression, then pulled her into a quick embrace, his voice gruff as he said. "Aye, well now ye've a husband and six brothers and even a sister who do care, and each of us would give our life fer ye, lass. I swear it."
Murine smiled faintly, and squeezed him tight, whispering, "As I would fer all o' ye."
A short laugh slipped from Dougall, and he pulled back to eye her wryly. "Aye. Ye proved that when the lodge was afire." Brushing her hair back from her face, he added, "Me brothers were most impressed that ye stayed to try to help wake them and get me and Uncle Acair out and did no' just get yerself outside to safety when Rory ordered ye to."
"Well, I could hardly leave ye all to burn," she pointed out dryly.