Connie C. Scharon - Highland Legends 02

by Phantom Bride

  She was the one who turned out to need protection and he hadn’t been there to prevent her ill use. Unable to come to their marriage bed impure, and unwilling to tell him one so close to him had raped her, Sarah had taken her own life.

  Memories scorched through him, burning, contorting, and tying his stomach in a knot. Why did Malcolm ask the impossible? The one thing he felt incapable of doing. He was still in love with Sarah. Devon would be better off with a man who could give her all of himself.

  Moreover, if he helped Malcolm and married Devon, Claire would be hell bent to destroy them both. He knew better than to trifle with the Duchess of Rothbury. Some believed she had contributed to her aging husband’s death. He had no illusions about Claire, but he didn’t believe her capable of murder. She’d taken lovers over the years; unable to be satisfied with her infirmed elderly husband, but Liam had refused to be one of them until her husband died. She was definitely no angel, but no murderess either. Still, he couldn’t see himself married to Claire. Maybe this was his way out.

  ***

  “‘Tis true, Milady," Moira told Devon. "Yer father approaches with a handsome stranger. Surely he has succeeded in findin' you a champion."

  "Don’t bate me with false hopes," Devon chided her servant.

  "But Milady…."

  "You don’t know who is with my father or what his intentions are. Leave me; I have no wish to discuss it. I'll wait to find the truth in all of this."

  "Well, you'll not ‘ave long," Moira assured her. "Already they greet Bryce in the great hall."

  Devon frowned and reached for her veil. "I must see this for myself," she muttered. Making her way to the balcony which overlooked the hall, Devon heard the name MacLean and nearly fainted. Had Jared MacLean come to save her?

  One glance told her it wasn't Jared, but perhaps some close kin. The man who stood beside her father had the same muscular build as the Laird of Dunbocan, and his features resembled Jared's, but the thick crop of raven hair was a shade darker. If anything, this man was more handsome. He looked up toward the balcony, then back at Bryce.

  "Devon is mine, my property, as surely as if she were my horse, or my whore," Bryce said.

  "The lady isn’t yet your wife and you degrade her with your comparisons," the stranger retorted. "I don’t think you'll do at all."

  "Do? What do you mean?"

  "Just what he said," Malcolm growled. "You're not fit to be her husband."

  "You old fool! The wedding date is set. Nothing can be done."

  Devon's movement on the balcony drew the stranger's attention away from the angry discussion. She could feel his gaze moving over her, studying her with interest. His eyes were dark—a deep, sepia brown that pierced her veil with their intensity.

  Taking a step backwards, she tried to hide herself in the shadows. It was no use. The man below had his attention fastened on her and his unrelenting gaze compelled her to step to the railing—to let him see the black-draped phantom she had become.

  Her father followed the stranger's gaze to the balcony.

  "Devon," he cried. "Come down here instead of eavesdropping. This matter concerns your future."

  "I can listen from here, Father."

  "Please come down, Lady Devon," the stranger said. "I would meet my future wife face to face."

  The stranger's bold claim wrapped around Devon like a rope thrown to a drowning man, his future wife—that was what he called her. Moira was right. Her father had not let her down. Devon gripped the railing to steady herself.

  "Devon, come down," Malcolm repeated. "I want to introduce you to Laird Jared's cousin, Liam MacLean."

  Her heart pounded against the wall of her chest wildly celebrating the possibility of escape from the hands of Bryce Forbes. Collecting her wits, she smoothed her black gown and made her way down the stairs.

  Bryce hurried to her side, roughly grabbing her arm, and pulling her to him. "She's mine! I've waited a year to possess her!"

  Liam placed a heavy hand on Bryce's shoulder. He towered over Bryce, his black eyes lit with a deadly threat. "Remove your hand from Lady Devon."

  Bryce swallowed hard and let go of Devon's arm. "She's mine!" Bryce screeched. "No man will take her from me!"

  Devon stood frozen between the two of them.

  "I challenge you to a joust for Lady Devon's hand in marriage," Liam said. "We'll decide this matter tomorrow on the field. It is in agreement with Robert's amendments to your petition."

  With a sharp intake of breath, Devon tried to calm her racing heart. Her body was quivering and she wondered if Liam could see it, sense her fear.

  Bryce's face turned red with rage. She watched him struggle for some response to give her champion. "You seek to steal what is rightfully mine!"

  "Would you dismiss the only document which gives you claim to Devon?" Liam seemed perfectly calm; mildly amused by Bryce's chagrin, but his eyes were cold and threatening daring the smaller man to dispute his challenge.

  Bryce's face puffed out like a bullfrog. "Robert decreed my right to take Devon for my wife. Why do you interfere?"

  "I fancy ‘tis past time for me to marry."

  Bryce glared at Liam, speechless in his fury. Liam smiled back at him and Devon grinned beneath her veil. She'd never seen Bryce so totally out of control. Would Liam MacLean be able to back up his words with the actions that could free her from her prison? Something else he said came back to her. He wanted to meet her face to face—what would happen when her veil no longer stood between them?

  "Now leave us." She heard the deep timbre of Liam's voice ordering Bryce from their presence. "I want to speak with Lady Devon alone." Alone! The last thing she wanted was to be alone with this powerful stranger. "I'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow for the joust," Liam finished.

  Thus dismissed, Bryce Forbes exited the hall his fists clenched at his sides.

  Malcolm stood beaming at her. "I've found you a champion," he said. Devon barely heard him. All she was conscious of was the power of Liam's dark eyes focused once again on her.

  He smiled into the thick veil that covered Devon's face, offering her his arm. She had to take it—had to touch him, had to go along with this until he rid her of Bryce Forbes… and then what? Her jaw tensed when she reached her hand up to take hold of his muscular forearm—an arm that could protect her, or strike her. She forced the thought away.

  The warmth of his skin beneath her fingers startled her with a tingling sensation that almost made her pull away. His hand closed over hers, strong and gentle. Devon's eyes flickered closed for an instant and then she forced them open and drew in her breath.

  Smiling at her, Liam led her over beside her father and released his hold on her. Taking two quick steps, she increased the distance between them unnerved by the appalling effect of his touch.

  "Lady Devon, I'm pleased to meet you," Liam said softly. "I'm here to offer my services, if you'll have me."

  Devon stared at the handsome warrior before her unable to form an intelligent response. Why would this man be willing to save her? She was a stranger to him. Devon's hands knotted her dress.

  "Devon," her father's voice intruded on her thoughts. "Liam has offered to help you. He awaits your answer."

  "I thank you for your kind offer, Sir," she said.

  "You find me an acceptable substitution for your husband's brother then?" Liam asked. Devon nodded in the affirmative. "Good."

  Liam gazed at the veiled figure before him wondering what on earth he was getting himself into with this strange proposal. All he could see were her small delicate hands. One of them had touched him quaking and afraid—afraid of what? He didn't know, but her fear was so strong it rippled through the air. Sensing it made him feel more protective.

  Her dress rustled when she walked and the sweet fragrance of lavender emanated from her slim form. The firm swells of her breasts pressed against the black gown, but the terrible black netting that obscured her face encumbered the view from the shoulders up
. The whole thing was bizarre. He saw her flinch under the weight of his perusal and gave her a reassuring smile.

  "I'll go and see to your dinner," Devon announced, flying from the room as if the hounds of hell nipped at her heels.

  Liam watched her departure and then turned to Malcolm. "What have you gotten me into Malcolm? What secrets lie beneath the shield she uses to hide from the world?"

  Malcolm looked Liam in the eye. "You’re very perceptive. I wouldn’t like to have you for an enemy. Come, I'll show you Dunsmore Heath."

  Liam followed Malcolm with the image of his bride-to-be set starkly in his mind. Her sweet scent and the way she moved gave promise of a delicate beauty beneath the wall of blackness. He hungered for a glance at her face. It had been a long time since any woman but Claire had captured his attention. Claire simply wouldn’t allow it. Was he doing the right thing? Claire was beautiful, wealthy, and witty, and she definitely wanted him, but he didn’t love Claire, not in the way he had loved his sweet Sarah.

  Devon was barely more than a ghost draped in black silk and netting, but he would save her from Bryce Forbes. He owed Malcolm that much.

  Liam could almost smell the blood as he remembered the incident. Their fight all but lost some of the Scots stayed back to cover the retreat of their countrymen. He and Malcolm had been among them. When Robert the Bruce ordered the final group to retreat, Liam was down and pinned under his horse. Malcolm rode back and killed the English Lord ready to bash in Liam’s head. He freed Liam from beneath his dead mount and the two of them spent all night threading their way through bands on English marauders. Stabbed in the chest and with a broken leg, Liam told Malcolm to leave him, but Malcolm never abandoned him. They spent weeks hiding in the hills as Malcolm nursed Liam back to health. Then he had returned to find poor Sarah.

  Her image forever etched in his mind. The spirited, young girl he fell in love with had turned into a black-draped wisp of a woman who steadfastly refused to see him. Pale and over emotional, she walked the halls of Dunbocan Castle under his Cousin Jared’s protection. Jared prevented Liam from seeing her except from afar. Tormented by the change in her, he watched as she wasted away, and then she drank poison and killed herself.

  Liam had never known such pain. In a way, he blamed himself for not forcing her to see him, to tell him what had changed her so. Hurt by Sarah’s treatment of him, he turned away when she needed him most. Like it or not, he would not turn away from Devon and leave her in this household where she cowered in fear.

  Chapter Two

  Liam paced his chamber clutching the note Devon had sent him. She had failed to appear during dinner and then sent him this strange invitation. He stared again at the parchment. “I must see you before the tournament. Meet me in the courtyard at midnight chimes. Devon.” Why did she want to meet him now? Why this clandestine meeting at midnight?

  A light rap at the door interrupted his musings. Pulling the door open, Liam came face to face with a petite, servant girl carrying a tray containing a bottle of wine and a single goblet. She was striking in appearance with jet-black hair and huge, dark eyes that stared up at him like a frightened doe.

  "Milord, I'm Elspeth. Milord Bryce has asked me to give you comfort this evenin' as an apology for his rude behavior," she said softly. "He says I'm to tell you that he begs yer forgiveness for his bawdy tongue and wishes to make amends by….” She drew in her breath sharply. “I’m here for yer pleasure.” With a tremulous smile, she held out the tray. “He sends this as well.”

  "You are his whore?"

  "Aye, Milord. Bryce has taught me how to please a man."

  Liam’s stomach turned at the thought. "I have no desire for your services. Go back to your master."

  "You dinna find me pleasin'?"

  "I find you very pleasing, but I won’t molest you as some crude payment for an affront committed by Bryce Forbes."

  "Milord, Bryce will be angry if I dinna do what he told me," she murmured, dropping her gaze to the floor.

  "Do you fear his wrath?" When she didn't respond, Liam gently grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. "Do you fear him?"

  She pulled away, her eyes filling with tears. "Aye, Milord. He'll beat me if I fail to please you."

  Liam took her arm and led her into his chamber. "There is more to this than an offer of soft company. What did Bryce want you to do?"

  "Milord, dinna ask me," she whispered.

  "Elspeth, I won’t let any harm come to you, but you must tell me Bryce's scheme. What treachery did he have planned?"

  Elspeth swallowed hard. "'Tis not my place to tell stories, please dinna make me, Milord."

  “Sit," Liam ordered.

  Elspeth sank into the chair across from Liam, placing her tray of wine on a small side table. She looked very uncomfortable, tugging nervously at her skirt every few minutes.

  Liam stretched out his long legs, crossing his arms over his chest. "I want to know more about Bryce Forbes.”

  “I dinna know what he plans, Milord.”

  Giving her an engaging smile, Liam leaned forward. The closer he got, the more she pressed back against her chair. “If I am to save this household from his clutches, I must know his plan. Help me free you from his grasp, lass. I’m your best hope for deliverance.”

  Elspeth glanced hesitantly around the chamber, and then tearfully nodded her agreement. "I was to get you drunk so you'd be in poor condition for the joust tomorrow."

  “Thank you, Elspeth,” he said softly. Liam stood and offered her his hand. "It is time for you to leave. I'll give you a small reward for your help." He reached in his pocket and withdrew a gold coin, pressing it into her palm.

  "Oh Milord, I dinna want yer money."

  "If Bryce sees this, he'll be convinced I was pleased with your services. Take it and save it for the day you escape him."

  "Thank you, Milord," she whispered.

  Opening the door, he looked both ways. "Go now, while no one is about."

  "You're a kind man, Milord," she said gratefully. Reaching out to squeeze Liam's hand, she left his room.

  He watched her disappear down the hallway. When he turned to close his door, he got a brief glimpse of his black-draped bride-to-be ducking out of sight in the hall beyond. Muttering a curse under his breath, he started down the hall after her. To his dismay, she seemed to vanish into thin air.

  Liam searched for her in vain for a few minutes, and then found himself beside a set of double doors that seemed to be an entry to a chamber of some magnitude, yet he couldn't remember Malcolm showing the room to him. Reaching out he turned the doorknobs. It was pitch-black inside. Finding a candelabrum on the table by the door, he lit it and entered the room.

  Glancing around his heartbeat quickened. He had stumbled upon the family portrait gallery. Could he satisfy his curiosity tonight by finding Devon's portrait? He hadn't realized how desperately he had wanted to see her face until he felt the rush of excitement flow through him.

  The first portraits were ancient ancestors and their mates, their clothing giving clue to their place in time. It seemed to take forever to find his way into more present day likenesses, but suddenly there was a young version of Malcolm with a beautiful, red-haired bride.

  Liam wondered if Devon favored her lovely mother. The next painting depicted Malcolm and his wife with a young girl of five or six. The child had flowing auburn hair and warm brown eyes. Liam's heart filled with warmth as he studied her. Exuberance emanated from the canvas. Without knowing the child, you knew she was a joyful handful.

  Liam stopped and sucked in his breath when he came to the next vision of loveliness. My God! Was this the face she hid beneath that terrible netting?

  A sea of fiery, auburn tresses danced around her fragile face. Her porcelain skin was so perfect he wanted to stroke the canvas that he might feel the smoothness. Her bright eyes burned with an amber glow giving the portrait a warmth and vitality beyond any he had ever seen. Her delicate features beckoned him close
r, inviting him to feast his eyes. She was perfection!

  His whole body burned at the thought she could be his. A creamy swell of soft breast rose above her emerald velvet gown to tempt him further, but he had trouble concentrating on anything except her face.

  Liam didn't know how long he stood there drinking in her beauty. Time stood still for him as he gazed at her. He needed to temper the lust he felt now with tenderness. She was already skittish, trembling, and uncertain when he was around. He wouldn't have been disappointed if she had been far less perfect. In fact, her beauty was so rare; she was like a delicate flower, in danger of wilting if mistreated.

  Is that what she was doing now, wilting away from the pain of her existence? He shuddered to think what could have happened to her to change the shimmering, radiant girl in the portrait into the black-draped figure that haunted Dunsmore Heath.

  He heard the clock tower strike and began counting the chimes. It was midnight and she waited. Zounds! He had wanted to be early.

  ***

  "This is madness, Milady," Moira complained. "Sneakin' about in the night is for thieves and murderers, not fine ladies like yerself." Devon paled and the plump servant countered her rebuke. "My careless tongue has gotten me in trouble again. I didna mean to hurt ye, lass." She wrapped her arm around Devon's shoulders. "Why did ya not have him meet you in yer own chamber?”

  "I wanted privacy, but not so much he would attempt to… to do anything to me if he was displeased with what I have to say," Devon said, stepping away from Moira.

  "He wilna agree to yer ridiculous terms," Moira said, crossing her arms firmly over her chest.

  "He will, if he's here for the lands and the money," Devon said confidently. "And since he doesn’t know me at all, he has no other reason to be here."

  Moira groaned. "I know yer opinion of men is colored with distrust, but all men are not like Frazer and Bryce Forbes. Laird Liam seems a fine man to me. It could be he seeks to marry and ‘ave a family and the riches are secondary to him."

  Devon clutched her flat stomach in remembrance. Frazer had killed her child, pushed her down the stairs so the babe came early, and died. For all she knew he might have ruined any chance she had of future children, and from that day forward, she had hated him more than she thought it was possible to hate anyone.