Devon thought he’d be pleased when she went to him with news of the baby. God knows nothing else she’d done pleased him. From the first night Frazer took her to his bed, he berated her for being so bad at her wifely duties. Unfortunately, that didn’t deter him from continually trying to teach her what he wanted, and soundly punishing her when she found it impossible to satisfy him.
When Frazer knew of the child she carried, he continually pointed out how much her waist had thickened, how fat and ugly she had become. Then Devon finally had all she could take and dared to unleash her fury. In punishment, he grabbed her arm roughly and tossed her down the stairs. She lost her child. It was a miracle she lived, but her hate for him made her survive. The night he planned to take her back to his bed, he died in the fire. Had she killed him? She surely hated him enough, but her memory of the night was sketchy at best. All she had were the scars from the fire and deep-seated fear she had committed murder.
The faithful servant came over and snaked her arm around Devon's slender waist. "I'm so sorry. Both of my feet fill my mouth every time I open it. I didna mean to remind you of the babe."
Stiffening Devon pulled away. "What if Liam wants children? For all I know it may be impossible for me to carry another child, and if I could, I don’t know if my fragile mind could bear it. The memories are too fresh."
"Many women lose children and go on to have others," Moira told her, but Devon found no comfort in her words. She stood by the window and stared out at the blackened shell in the courtyard below. She didn’t want to do what was necessary to conceive another child. The thought of sharing Liam’s bed made her shudder. He was so large… so capable of hurting her.
“I must go,” she whispered. “Wish me luck.” Accepting a quick hug from Moira, she left her chamber.
As Devon hurried across the courtyard, a tall figure stepped out of the shadows. Startled, she jumped in fright until she recognized the man before her.
"Garyth, you scared me," she gasped.
"Lady Devon, why are you about on such a cold night? 'Tis dangerous for you to wander around alone. Is there some problem I might help you with?" Garyth asked, moving his hand to stroke her arm.
She jerked away from his touch and pulled the thick, black cape snugly around her. "There is no problem," she assured him. "And I'll be perfectly safe. I'm meeting someone."
He gave her a questioning look his long, blond hair blowing in the rising wind. "Lady Devon, I'm glad to have this opportunity to meet with you privately. There's something I must discuss with you."
In the distance, Devon could hear the chimes of the clock tower striking midnight. "Please, I have no time now. I'm late already."
"Then I'll accompany you to your meeting," he suggested. "It isn’t safe for you to be out here unattended."
"That's out of the question," she cried above the howling wind. "I must go alone."
He grabbed her arms and spun her to face him. "Is that it? Another man, a secret lover! All this time I tried in vain to gain your permission to be your champion! What a fool I've been!" he ranted. "I'll see what's beneath the veil now! Is your face still the same perfection I've loved for years?"
"Let go!" Devon sobbed, struggling to keep him from lifting her covering.
"I loved you before Frazer Forbes ever knew you, but I was your friend and companion. If only you had accepted my marriage proposal, our lives could have been so different."
Jerking away Devon lost her balance and collapsed in a heap on the cold cobblestones. Garyth was so intent on getting her veil off he failed to catch her as she slipped through his hands to the ground. He leaned down to help her to her feet, but she rolled away from him.
Suddenly Garyth didn't seem to be pursuing her anymore. Devon glanced back over her shoulder as she struggled to her feet in the voluminous cape and gown.
A larger figure now held Garyth firmly by the throat. "Devon, are you injured?" Liam's voice called out of the darkness.
"Nay, Milord," she said shakily. "Please let Garyth go, 'twas a disagreement between long-time friends. I fell, he didn’t push me down."
"Are you sure?"
"Please Liam, I'll explain everything."
Liam released his captive. "I'll speak to you later," he warned.
"Aye Milord," Garyth muttered. "You should have told me whom you came to meet," he said to Devon.
"You gave me no chance in your eagerness to see me safely back inside," she retorted.
"I'm sorry for my intrusion on your privacy. Good night." Garyth turned and strode off.
Liam reached her in two easy strides, grabbing hold of her wrap. He was so large—so close, but all he did was adjust her cape to keep out the cold wind that swept through the deserted courtyard. He started to put his arm around her shoulders, but she gently pulled away.
"Come with me. There is some shelter from the wind in the tower.”
He followed close behind her, so close she could feel his presence as he loomed next to her. When they turned the corner, the air buffeting them stopped its relentless attack. They stood in the charred remains of the stairwell to the north tower. Steps still wound upward to the watchtower.
Devon stopped and leaned heavily against the stone wall behind her. Liam came up to stand in front of her. "Isn't there a more comfortable place to meet?" he asked.
"I would think a warrior of your experience wouldn’t be so afraid of the elements."
His laugh echoed up through the burned out tower sending a wash of pure fright over her. "I think only of your comfort, not my own," he told her, relaxing his stance. "Dinna be afraid of me, Devon. I will not harm you."
Shivering Devon drew her cloak tight about her.
"If I canna talk you into a more comfortable spot, you'd better speak with me before you freeze," he suggested.
Devon squirmed. This wasn't at all how she had envisioned it. "There are things that need to be settled before the tournament," she began.
"Would it be possible for you to raise your veil while we talk?" Liam interrupted.
"Mayhaps when I have finished my tale you'll understand why I prefer to remain covered."
"When the tournament is done you’ll be my bride," he said confidently. "You canna hide from me forever." His hand moved to lift the black netting from her head. She jerked away.
"My father didna tell you, did he?"
"Tell me what?" Liam dropped his hand to his side and propped the other on the wall behind her so that his back protected her from the occasional gust of wind that whipped around the corner.
"I drape myself in a veil to hide my scars from the fire that took my husband’s life," she said in a breathless whisper.
Scarred! Damn Malcolm for his omissions! Liam heard the pain in her voice and his heart went out to her. To have had such beauty and have it destroyed must be a shattering blow to a young woman.
Now she virtually cowered in front of him as if he would punish her for being less than perfect. Every woman in this place seemed crushed by the evil power of Bryce Forbes. His mind flew back to Sarah and he prayed for guidance.
Devon could not comprehend why she saw no immediate reaction on Liam’s face. "I'm sorry my father didna tell you. I'll understand perfectly if you choose to leave now that you know."
"Leave you for Bryce? If I go, that will surely be your fate and I sense that isna what you desire.”
“Are you so sure you’ll defeat him?”
“I have never lost a tournament, Devon. Now tell me, do you want to marry Bryce?"
"Nay Milord, you know that I do not! I dinna wish to marry at all." Realizing what she had said, she sought to correct it somehow. "I'm very grateful for your rescue—it is just that… I'm scarred."
"If we are to be wed, I want to see your face scarred or not," he said softly.
"Nay Milord," she gasped. "Please, I canna bear for anyone to look upon me. That's why I wear my veil. I'm sorry for my father's deception. If you stay and win my hand, we can work out an arrangem
ent."
"What kind of arrangement?"
"You can inherit all my father's lands and wealth. We'll have a marriage in name only. You wilna have to gaze upon my ruined flesh, but I'll see you are provided with ample women to fill your needs. You may start with Elspeth. I know she pleases you."
Liam fought to control his rising anger. "I did not take Elspeth to my bed no matter how things might appear."
Realizing his tone was brasher than he had intended, he took a deep breath before he continued. "Devon, I am quite wealthy in my own right. I didna come here to get your father's fortune. I came to get a wife and build a family, to find my future."
His hand reached over and caressed her face through the heavy veil. "Scars that come from accidents cannot be passed down to children. I want to give you my children so you can find happiness again yourself. I want legitimate heirs, not a string of whores and bastard whelps."
"You're still willing to go ahead, despite my father's deceptions?" Her voice was thin and brittle, unreadable in its tone.
"Aye."
"But a man like you must have many beautiful women begging for your attention. Why settle for a monster?"
"You're not a monster! You must stop thinking of yourself that way." He stared at her through the blackness unable to make out more than a dark silhouette.
"I canna do what you suggest. I'm not the woman you want."
"I've know pain in my life too. I fell in love with a woman and through no fault of her own; her fate has affected every aspect of my life. Sarah is dead now. She has been for years."
"I'm sorry for your loss, but surely you canna need the additional burden of a wife who must hide her face from the world."
"I've decided to make a new start. I'm asking you to help me forget the past by building a new life with me."
Devon let out her breath in a rush. She shivered as she gazed at the man before her. He seemed different from any other man she'd known. He was talking calmly to her, confiding things about himself instead of giving orders. If only she could trust him with the truth, but he would hate her if he knew.
What would it be like to lean upon his broad shoulders and accept his comfort? For that matter, why did she think he would give it? She didn't think it, she knew it as surely as she knew what he told her was true. There was too much pain in his face when he spoke to allow a lie.
"If you'll have me in spite of what I've told you, I'll try to be a good wife," Devon murmured.
His arms closed around her drawing her to the heat of his body. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to enjoy his comforting touch, snuggling to the warmth encasing her. Then the old fear rose up again, but she fought down the panic and allowed him to hold her a little while longer. She breathed a sigh of relief as he slowly released her.
Devon barely spoke when Liam saw her back to her chamber. He left her there and now sat alone by the fire. He poured himself a hefty draught of Bryce’s wine as he stared into the flames envisioning the beautiful face he’d seen in the portrait, but in his mind’s eye Devon’s image was marred by various morbid disfigurements. Downing the contents of his glass, he poured yet another. He could not leave her for Bryce no matter what her condition. In Bryce’s hands, she’d be dead within a month, perhaps sharing Sarah’s sad fate. Liam couldn’t let that happen again, not while he had the power to prevent it.
Chapter Three
Morning arrived to find Liam still groggy from the night before. He was confused; he only had a glass and a half of the wicked brew. On a man his size it shouldn't have had such an adverse effect. He shook his head in disgust realizing there was more to the wine than he thought. He cursed Bryce Forbes for his deceptions. Had Elspeth gotten him deep into his cups last night, he'd scarcely be able to move today.
Easing from the bed, Liam massaged his temples with his fingers. The fire in the hearth had burned out, but he didn't bother to tend it.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the glass. His eyes were bloodshot and his sallow complexion gave evidence of the drugged wine.
When he tried to walk, beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead and his face lost all its remaining color. Liam rushed to find the chamber pot. He grasped the bowl and vomited until there was nothing left to bring up. Setting the pot down, he slumped on the edge of the bed his gut burning with the urge to throttle Bryce Forbes. There was no way he'd let Bryce have Devon. The bastard would pay for his treachery.
Liam's stomach settled now that it was empty. He rose and splashed the cold water from the washbasin over his face and neck. The frigid liquid swept away the terrible grogginess engulfing him. He dressed cursing Bryce with every breath.
Leaving his chamber, he walked through the silent hallway. It was still early when he made his way out of the castle. The crisp, chill air helped clear his senses. He went toward the stables.
Liam scouted around finding the area where they kept the lances and stepped inside.
"Who goes there?" a voice called out in the darkness.
"I might ask you the same question," Liam said, peering into the black corner where the voice originated.
"Archie, Milord, loyal manservant to Laird Malcolm and Lady Devon."
"And what are you doing here, Archie?"
"I'm guardin' the lances."
"Well, I'm Liam MacLean of the clan MacLean, and I came to inspect the lances before the joust."
A wizened, old man walked out of the shadows bumping right into Liam's chest. Liam caught hold of his shoulders and moved him back a step.
The man reached forward and up, groping Liam's neck, then feeling his way up to Liam's face.
"Aye, that's who ye be," he confirmed. "Laird Malcolm told me ya was a tall one." Archie dropped his hands to his sides and leaned forward in a bow that sent his head smacking into Liam's chest. "Sorry, Milord," he stammered. Backing up he bowed again, this time missing Liam. When he straightened, he grinned. "Got it right that time."
"Mayhaps I should light a torch so you can see better," Liam offered.
"Won't do no good, Milord. I'm blind as a newborn pup."
Leaning forward, Liam waved his hand in front of Archie's eyes. There was no movement.
"Did Laird Malcolm send you to guard the lances?" Liam asked.
"Nay, Milord. I done it on me own."
"I see."
"A might better than me, I expect.”
Liam burst out laughing and the old man joined in with a wheezing cackle. "Archie, how can you guard the lances if you're blind?"
"My ears are so keen, Milord. I can hear a mouse break wind." Archie slapped his hand on his leg and danced a little jig, then stopped abruptly. "I'm sorry Milord, but I have lost me bearings. If you would point me in the direction of the lances, I'd be glad to fetch 'em for ye."
Liam grinned and patted Archie's shoulder, directing him to the wooden rack that held the Coronel lances.
Archie ran his hand along the smooth wood all the way to the blunt end. "'Tis a shame ya canna use one with a sharp point. Bryce Forbes'd be better six feet under."
"He's as bad as he seems then?"
"You have to save the little miss. The lass canna survive as his wife."
Taking the lances from the rack, he showed Liam each one and then replaced it. "They seem in order," Liam said.
Archie let out a tremulous sigh. "Milord, if I may be so bold, there's somethin' I must know."
"Speak freely."
"Are you the one to save Lady Devon or are ya just another man who lusts after her father's wealth?" Archie asked.
"I'm here for the lady, not the fortune."
The old man's expression turned joyful. "A true champion for Lady Devon," he said. "Praise the Lord!"
"I want this to be a fair fight."
"I ain't movin' till the tournament starts. If there's any treachery, 'twill be a last minute switch. Watch for that."
A grin spread across Liam's face. "Knowing you're on guard I'll feel safe about my weaponry."
&nbs
p; "Milord," Archie called out when Liam turned to go. "Dinna let 'im best ye."
Liam glanced back at the elderly servant. "I've never lost a joust and I dinna intend to start now."
Archie slapped his leg with glee and laughed heartily. "I canna wait."
As Liam walked back toward the castle people from miles around were coming through the gates. Malcolm had dispatched a crier to all the nearby towns and villages to announce the tournament. The throng was gathering at the field which would serve as the arena for the day's events.
Nature had smiled on them by providing the perfect day. The wind that swept across the moors was not so raw and the sun broke through the clouds intermittently punctuating the gray sky.
***
When Malcolm saw Devon's outfit his eyes flashed in anger. "God's teeth! You cannot wrap yourself in that black rag any longer. The year is up and I'll see you dressed appropriately for the day’s events."
"Never," Devon railed. "I asked you to seek my freedom from Robert's decree, not to bring me a new husband."
Her father's jaw grew taut. The same defiant pose that left little room for compromise. "Bryce's men delayed me on the trail. If I had stuck with the original plan, I would have returned to find you married to Bryce."
Devon felt her father's eyes moving over her. There was sympathy there—pity? She bit her lip glad he couldn't see her face. "Tell me what happened to cast our plans awry."
"Five men attacked me on the trail. Five mind you, and Liam flew to my defense before he recognized me. The man saved my life and then agreed to help us. Would you spit in his face with your unwillingness to make this work?"
Devon paced across the room then turned and came back. "I love you, Father," she told him. "Dinna ask me to do more than I can. If Liam wins the joust, I want you to approach him about the marriage. Beg him to seek his evening pleasures elsewhere until I can get to know him better. All I ask for is time."
Connie C. Scharon - Highland Legends 02 Page 3