The Devil of Jedburgh

by Claire Robyns

  I’m too selfish to be a nun.

  Breghan absorbed that admission, then snapped her eyes open. She could scarce believe it. Was she truly choosing Arran Kerr?

  There was a light knock on the door. Before Breghan could answer, the door opened and her mother rushed in.

  “Breghan, darling, we were so worried.” Lillian came to sit on the edge of the bed and scooped her daughter into her arms. “Your father believed you’d run off but I was convinced Angel had thrown you. Dear Lord, I had Thomas and Callum sweep the river for your body.” She pulled away to look Breghan in the eye and her voice went from adoring to stern. “How could you do this to us?”

  Breghan touched her mother’s arm. “I’m sorry, Mama, I never meant to give anyone a scare.”

  It felt like her hundredth apology today and Breghan had to swallow past a lump of resentment. She’d made some wrong decisions, yet if Arran Kerr and his men hadn’t accosted her, she would likely have made her way home before nightfall yesterday.

  “What in heavens were you thinking, child, to go off like that?”

  “I was thinking that I couldn’t be bartered to the Curse of Scotland.”

  “Arran Kerr is a good, honourable man, darling. Your father wouldn’t accept any less.” A small frown crossed Lillian’s brow. “We’ve spoken of this.”

  “I begged you to change Papa’s mind and you told me to trust in his judgement.” Breghan scooted off the bed and went to stand by the small window. The open field of long grass and the bend in the river just within view never failed to soothe her. “I—I feel as if I’ve done something to deserve this terrible punishment and no one will tell me what.”

  Her parents’ faith in Arran Kerr was all very well, but neither of them had to live with the man!

  “Ah, Breghan…”

  “No.” Breghan spun about and put a hand up to stop her mother’s approach. “You refused to even question his decision to marry me off to the red-eyed beast of my nightmares.”

  “I would not give him cause to procrastinate forever.”

  “Procrastinate? He can’t wait to be rid of me.”

  “If your father had his way, you’d grow old without ever leaving Castle Donague.”

  “That’s not what he told me a few minutes ago.”

  “Your father’s angry right now. You’ve publicly challenged both his authority and honour.”

  “And what was he angry about when he first decided to marry me off?” Breghan demanded.

  “That wasn’t your father,” Lillian said softly. “’Twas me.”

  “You gave me to the Kerr?”

  “Of course not.” Lillian took her hand and led her back to the bed. Once they were sitting on the edge, she turned to face Breghan. “Your father loves you so much, darling, he would have that no man is good enough or powerful enough to keep his daughter safe. You’re nineteen years of age, Breghan, you should have had your own home and family by now. Your father pretended to heed my concerns, then went on to turn down every offer for your hand.”

  Breghan blinked in surprise. She’d not known of any offers.

  “Until Arran Kerr,” Lillian continued, reaching up to smooth a tendril of hair from Breghan’s forehead. “So you see, he didn’t choose lightly. I confess myself relieved he chose at all.”

  Breghan wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t sure what to think. Hearing her mother speak of her father’s love lifted the ache from her heart. Yet nothing much had changed. Her father wouldn’t go back on his word and he’d promised her to Arran Kerr.

  With a pat on her shoulder, her mother stood and walked to the enormous wooden trunk by the wall. When she pulled open the lid and brought back the exquisite gown she’d been working on all week, Breghan winced.

  “There won’t be a wedding after all,” she blurted out. “Arran insists on a handfasting instead.”

  “So I heard.” Lillian unfolded the gown carefully and laid it across the bed. “And you’ll look beautiful for the hand-binding ceremony.”

  “It’s humiliating.”

  “It’s perfect.” Lillian looked at her with a smile. “You have a year to discover if you wish to share your life with this man. ’Tis an advantage marriage wouldn’t grant you. And think, a year of living as a married woman will gain you much freedom and independence. I warrant your father would be more inclined to respect your wishes if it comes to arranging another match.”

  “That’s if I survive the year.”

  “You spent last night in Arran Kerr’s camp.” Lillian stopped fussing over the gown and came to kneel in front of Breghan. “Surely you learnt something of his nature to quieten your concerns?”

  “’Tis said he killed his own mother.”

  “You’re afraid of the unknown, of leaving your home and making a new life with a man you don’t know. I raised you better than to use rumours as a shield to hide your true fear.”

  “That’s simply…” Ridiculous.

  Or maybe not.

  In the short time she’d known Arran Kerr, she’d teased him, stood up to him, argued with him, insulted him and tried to slap him. While she thought herself afraid of both the man and legend, her actions spoke otherwise. ’Twas as if her mind had built a stone wall of each and every rumour, but her body and soul knew it for the straw façade it was.

  “So,” Breghan asked, “you don’t believe there’s any truth in the stories?”

  “This land of ours is harsh.” Lillian stood and dusted off her gown. “No man is a saint.”

  Rather than ponder her mother’s vague response, Breghan contemplated the sudden improvement on her future. “You truly believe Papa will allow me to choose my own husband once the year is done?”

  “I dare say he’ll consider your opinion in the matter, darling. If you return, you’ll be a woman and no longer a child.”

  “Oh!” The implication of her mother’s word felt like a punch to Breghan’s gut. Although Arran might be appalled at the thought of bedding her, he was a man and she’d be his wife in every sense of the word. From what she knew of him, he’d simply close his eyes and block his mind while he pressed on with that tasteless duty. “If I bear his child, I’ll never be free.”

  “There are ways…” Lillian stooped to look her daughter in the eye. “If you wish, there are ways to prevent that.”

  “Hah. You think I can keep Arran Kerr out of my bed if he chooses otherwise?”

  Lillian shook her head and smiled. “I speak of herbs to prevent a man’s seed from taking root. Magellan makes a powder for me that is quite effective.”

  “You have thirteen children,” Breghan protested.

  “Aye, and no more after the Lord blessed me with a daughter.” Lillian straightened. “I’m sending up a tub of hot water for your bath. I’ll return later to help you dress.”

  As soon as the door closed behind her mother, Breghan fell back on the bed. What offers had her father turned down?

  Alexander Gordon, she decided. That night in the apple orchard, two summers ago, when he’d composed a melody for her upon his lute, still brought warmth to her heart. He’d been so earnest, gazing into her eyes with tender longing as he’d declared himself incapable of capturing her beauty with mere words. Perhaps he’d been seeking her approval when he’d taken her hand in his and spoken of how being a third son was a blessing, for he had a townhouse in Edinburgh and no duties to keep him away from court. Enticing her, perhaps, with those vivid descriptions of elegant dances and royal banquets and not a moment to spare for boredom.

  Then he’d kissed her. Briefly touched his lips to hers and it had been altogether pleasant. Now she had a second kiss to compare it with, Breghan knew his kiss hadn’t left the lasting impression Arran’s had.

  That wasn’t to say Alexander hadn’t left her with a lasting impression. He’d given her a glimpse of what it felt like to be cherished and adored. He’d given her a fledgling dream of being swept away to the charmed sophistication of court life on the arm of a doting hu
sband.

  The more Breghan thought on it, the more she was convinced that Alexander had offered for her.

  An offer she’d likely have accepted.

  If she’d been given the chance.

  Chapter Five

  Arran felt less than chivalrous as he watched Breghan walk toward him later that afternoon. What the hell was he doing? He should be halfway back to Ferniehirst by now, not preparing to be handfasted to a lass he had no future with.

  She hadn’t yet noticed him standing in the shadows, her head lowered as she followed the conversations of the five ladies huddled to her side and behind. Her hair was pulled away from her face, the front strands braided with yellow heather into a ringlet around her head while the rest flowed down to her waist. She looked so young, so pure and delicately beautiful—the opposite of the wife he’d expected to find waiting for him at Castle Donague. He already knew that, knew Breghan was simply a sweet diversion to be enjoyed until he’d sated his appetite. He could surrender to the temptations of his handfasted bride, so long as he took care. But now Arran reconsidered even that.

  She wore a finely woven gown of deep gold that hugged her slender body. As she drew closer, he noted the exquisite embroidery inlaid with tiny pearls that trimmed the tapered sleeves and square neckline. Without a doubt, this was meant to be her wedding gown.

  There was an echo of gasps as he stepped from the alcove at the top of the spiral stairway.

  “Ladies,” he greeted, smiling at each one in turn. He’d met Breghan’s aunt, Mary, earlier when she’d arrived from the convent and he knew the short redhead was Callum’s wife, Eliza. When his smile landed on Lillian, he said, “Might I speak with Breghan?”

  Lillian’s gaze flitted to her daughter. “We’ll wait below.”

  She herded the other ladies in front of her, leaving Arran to face Breghan’s cautious stare.

  Now that he had her alone, he wasn’t sure what to say. His gaze dipped involuntarily to the gentle swell at her bodice, then shot straight back up as he felt the stirring of desire. “You—you look beautiful.”

  She arched a brow at him. “You needn’t feel obliged to feed me compliments. I’m well aware of how disappointed you were to find out I’m your intended.”

  Arran considered lying, then responded with a shrug instead. Added to the disappointment, there was this increasing sense of disgruntlement that had plagued him throughout the day. Only yesterday, the prospect of taking a wife who might bear him children had been deeply satisfying. He needed naught else.

  Now, however, he’d begun to question what else he might be missing. The teasing lilt to Bree’s voice as she’d challenged him last night with, The Kerrs fight left-handed because the devil rides heavy on their right shoulder. The heat of her palm on his shoulder and the huskiness in the way she murmured, Sinful, when he’d asked her what the devil felt like.

  Yes, he had servants to tend his needs, but none as lovely and graceful as Bree.

  His men filled Ferniehirst with raucous company all times of the day and night, and yet Arran had started imaging witty conversations that led to flirty innuendos that led to playful bed sport at the end of each day.

  Suddenly he wanted it all.

  And he knew he could have none.

  If ever he found another woman he’d risk taking to wife, he’d have to take whatever was offered and be glad for it.

  He’d remained silent too long and Breghan had turned from him to descend the stairs.

  Arran caught her wrist before she reached the second step, then he slid both hands around her waist and brought her back to him. “We’re not done.”

  She pushed out of his arms, glaring up at him. “I meant to thank you for choosing a handfasting over marriage. At least this way I know for certain we will be done after a year.”

  “Hush, I come to make a truce.”

  “A truce implies both sides have the power to negotiate.” She stepped to the side and Arran grabbed her wrist in case she thought to rush off again. She didn’t struggle, merely gave a pointed look at the hand restraining her. “I’m already defeated by mere fact of my being a woman. The only thing left now is for you to claim your victory.”

  “Jesu, Bree, I’m trying to apologise.”

  “For what?”

  “For—for—” Why couldn’t she just accept his apology? How was he supposed to express the unease that had folded over him as the day grew long? He didn’t know what he was sorry for and he didn’t know how he was going to put it right.

  Arran threw his hands up, inadvertently tugging her close. Only for a moment, a single heartbeat before his hand opened and she spun away. Long enough to smell the sweet heather on her hair and be left with the sensation of soft curves. The words he hadn’t been able to find tumbled out. “I didna choose this handfasting for revenge or punishment, Bree. I simply wished to have more time with you.”

  “That’s a lie.” She backed up until she hit the opposite wall. “Last night, you said that even were you free, you’d never marry me.”

  “I will never marry you,” Arran confirmed. “’Tis why I have no right to keep you for a year.”

  “You no longer want to be handfasted to me?”

  Arran put aside temptation and reevaluated his position. He wanted sons. He wanted heirs for Ferniehirst. Surely somewhere, in all of Scotland, was a woman to be found who’d meet his requirements. ’Twas a dream he wasn’t ready to relinquish. Breghan could never be more than a brief detour and he’d be a bastard to force her hand. “I’m giving you the choice.”

  “My father will kill me.” Her eyes rounded on him. “He’ll think I’ve finally pushed you too far and that you’ll no longer have me.”

  “When McAllen hears my intentions were never honourable, he’ll blame me.” Arran held out his hand. “Come, you have naught to fear.”

  “No, wait.” Breghan didn’t take his hand. “I need some time to…to think.”

  Arran let his hand fall to his side as he watched her brow wrinkle. Breghan could pretend to contemplate her options, but they both knew she’d take this chance to be free of him and the arrangement she found so humiliating.

  Meanwhile, Arran was warming to his decision. Yes, a part of him was irrevocably drawn to Breghan. She intrigued him, heated his blood, stirred his wants and needs. A woman like her could be infectious.

  And infections were oft incurable and fatal.

  He barely knew Breghan and already he’d begun to doubt the foundation of how he planned to live his life.

  What havoc would an entire year wreak?

  What had started out as a noble gesture to release Breghan from his selfish whim was fast becoming a necessity.

  “This is truly my decision?” she asked at last.

  Arran nodded. The sooner he put her out of his mind, the sooner he could renew his search for a more suitable wife. The sooner he could stop worrying about how much or little Breghan might influence his views on what he wanted in that wife.

  Breghan pushed away from the wall. “I need to speak with my father.”

  “He’s in the hall with the priest.” Arran led the way and was met by the huddle of women gathered at the foot of the stairs. He walked through the thick of them to reach Lillian. “Your daughter and I have come to an understanding. Would you stay here with Breghan while I bring McAllen out?”

  “An understanding?” Lillian turned her head to look up at him. “I’m afraid I—Breghan?” she called in high voice as her gaze swept past him.

  Arran spun about in time to see a blur of gold disappearing through the archway. “Never mind,” he muttered, hurrying after Breghan.

  The long tables in the great hall were packed tightly with McAllen men-at-arms and every family from the village. Excited whispers hummed over the general shuffle of bodies, booted feet and children growing bored. Word had spread of Breghan’s temporary disappearance and everyone had an opinion. Arran had heard them all through the course of day. Popular consensus, at least amongs
t the women, was that Breghan would do better to throw herself off the North tower than submit to the Roxburgh Beast.

  It took a moment for the crowd to realise something was happening, and by then Breghan had almost reached her father with Arran a good few paces behind. His jaw clenched as the whispering ceased. He didn’t take kindly to be seen running after his bride, no matter that she’d never be his bride or anything else. He’d spent the day deliberating Breghan’s finer qualities and completely forgotten her tendency to rash behaviour.

  “Papa, please, ’tis important,” she was saying as Arran came up behind.

  Arran gave the white-haired priest an apologetic grimace and turned to McAllen, whose black brows were drawn into a scowling line. “Perhaps we could discuss this somewhere else?”

  McAllen’s gaze did a quick sweep of the hall, then he beckoned them toward the charter room with a gruff, “This will not take long,” to the priest.

  Breghan followed her father inside the small chamber and Arran nearly got the door slammed on him. He shoved his foot in the doorway.

  “I wish to speak to my father alone,” Breghan said.

  “I wish to speak to him together.” Arran grabbed the edge of the door and easily pushed it all the way open.

  “Do you always have to force your will?” She glared at him, standing firmly in the doorway to block his passage. “I have a matter of some delicacy to—”

  “Breghan,” McAllen barked. “Let the man inside. He might have the patience of a saint to put up with this, but I have not.”

  “You promised this was my choice,” Breghan hissed.

  Arran lifted her at the waist. “I also promised to explain,” he said softly as he set her aside. “I canna shield you from blame if I’m not here.”

  “But—” She jumped as he kicked the door closed behind him.

  Feet braced far apart, arms folded, Arran looked past her to where McAllen stood. It didn’t take long for Breghan to accept he wasn’t going anywhere.