The Reluctant Bride

by Temple Hogan

  “So you’ve bested me as well,” he said, sitting his horse like a dead man. He slanted in his saddle, drawing in great gulps of air. “I never thought you’d go with the man who killed your father.”

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded, placing her blade tip against his chest. He was too weakened to defend himself, but not too far gone to utter something akin to laughter.

  “Lundy told us how Logan killed your father when they were escaping. Gowain was wounded and Logan didn’t want him to slow them down, so he drove his dirk into his heart.”

  “You lie!” Cailla cried.

  Moncrieffe’s laughter rose around her and in that moment she drove her sword deep into his throat. He made a gurgling sound and fell from his horse, his hateful laughter stilled. But his words hung in the air, blasphemous, wounding, lying words, she told herself. Logan rode toward her. He’d recovered his horse and his men were retreating.

  “Lundy’s forces are too great to take the castle now, but we’ve learned much about his resources. We’ll have to gather more men before we try again,” he said, then seeing her face, he drew to a halt.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked?

  She made no answer, simply stared at him. He drew to a stop and gripped Balvenie’s reigns.

  “Snap out of it, Cailla,” he commanded. “Lundy’s forces are too great for us to take the castle now. We’re retreating. We’ll regroup and try again. Come on.” He turned away, then back to look into her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Did you kill my father?” she asked, her voice loud and shrill against the background noises of the fighting.

  “What?” He looked stunned.

  “William Moncrieffe said you killed my father because you didn’t want him to slow you down in your escape. Is that true?”

  “That’s not how it was,” he said.

  “Did you kill my father?” she screamed at him. She found her answer in his expression.

  “You bastard,” she cried and aimed her blade at his heart.

  He deflected it and knocked the blade from her hand. She was facing him unarmed, defenseless in the face of his betrayal. With a final straggled cry, she kicked her mount and galloped wildly toward the very castle they’d tried to take.

  “Cailla,” he shouted.

  She heard his mount’s hoof beats and urged her own to a greater sprint. Suddenly, men rode toward her, men wearing the Moncrieffe tartan. They had their weapons out and raised to strike her down. She hoped they would. Such blows could be no more painful than the one she’d already received. But when they saw she was a woman, they surrounded her, while other men rode out to meet Logan. He was alone, she thought dimly. They would kill him. Let them. Let it be done this way. She waited for Lundy’s men to rain blows down on her. She welcomed the thought, welcomed the end to this pain.

  Blackness closed over her and she reeled in her saddle. From behind came the sound of the MacPherson battle cry. Others had come to Logan’s aid. She knew no more. The ground came up to meet her. Men shouted. Rough hands caught her, pulling her across a saddle. Was it Logan? Had he rescued her after all? She prayed not. That part of her life was over.

  * * * *

  “Cailla,” Logan shouted as a group of men carried her into the castle.

  One of Lundy’s men swung his claymore and Logan was forced to dodge and take up the fight. With a few well-aimed strokes, he sent the man to his death, but others were there to take his place. More of Lundy’s men had left the castle and engaged in the battle. MacPhersons sounded their cry and rushed forward. The sun arched high above them and still the conflict raged.

  Though still outnumbered, the MacPherson clan seemed to have rallied and they fought bravely. Logan had no wish to waste men wantonly in a battle they couldn’t win. He was about to cry a retreat when he glanced at the hills and saw scores of men in MacPherson tartans racing to join the battle. Recruits had come. Their appearance seemed to give new heart to Logan’s clansmen. They turned on Lundy’s men with renewed fervor. Slowly the battle swung in their favor as the MacPhersons drove them back to the castle. From the ramparts, Lundy screamed at his men, exhorting them to fight harder.

  The air was black with smoke and the unholy screams of dying men. Cailla stood on the ramparts where she’d been left and watched Logan and his men fight bravely, though outnumbered. When reinforcements poured down the hillside, she felt like cheering then remembered she wished death on the MacPherson chief. She turned away from the fighting and stared at the sky whose innocence had been sullied by the battle below. She sensed someone beside her and turned to stare at Lundy MacAuley.

  “So you’re Logan’s wife,” he said, his gaze sliding over her from her eyes, her breasts and downward. “At first I thought he had lowered his requirements for a beautiful woman, but now I view you up close, I see he has not. You’re really quite desirable.”

  He leaned close as if he meant to kiss her and she turned her head away. A look of displeasure crossed his austere features and he gripped her hair, yanking it so she was forced to face him. Without warning, he settled his lips on hers in a punishing kiss that held no heat except that of revenge.

  “You’ll learn, my dear, that you’re better off to co-operate with me. You were once Logan’s, now you’re mine and I will enjoy my trophies as I will enjoy his death.”

  Cailla shrank away from him, her lips curling in disgust. “Is this the only way you can best him?” she demanded. “By taking that which you think he values?”

  “That which I know he values. I have his castle, his wife and next I will take his life. Hear me, woman, the children you bear will be mine. I will take everything that is his.” He shoved her so she fell back against the parapet and picked up his shield and claymore.

  “He will best you as he always has,” she said, sneering at him.

  His eyes narrowed. “Tell me, Lady MacLaren, daughter of Gowain MacLaren, why would you champion a man who killed your father?” His words were like a blow across her face.

  She gasped and turned away from him.

  “Ah, I see the words hurt you, as they should.”

  “Why should I believe you?” she asked weakly because she remembered too well the stricken look on Logan’s face when she faced him with the accusation.

  Lundy snickered. “Because it’s true. He killed your father who begged him to do it. I know because Scotty MacPherson told me when we captured him. He told how Gowain pleaded with Logan to take him out of his misery and how he pledged him to take you to wife.”

  “Scotty told you that?” Cailla asked in disbelief, remembering the stout MacPherson clansman.

  “With a little persuasion, of course,” Lundy said. “I was about to kill him, then thought better of it and allowed him to escape with false information about my forces. Logan led his men right into a trap. Like as not he’s already been killed out there and if he hasn’t then I will kill him myself.” Taking hold of Cailla’s shoulder, he shoved her to the wall and pointed to the battleground below.

  “Watch closely, m’lady,” he ordered. “This day you will become a widow and my bride.”

  So saying, he grabbed his claymore and stomped away toward the stairs. Silently, Cailla watched as he mounted a horse and rode out to battle. From where she stood, she could see Logan alongside his men, his claymore flashing red with blood. She knew the exact moment he sighted Lundy. He rode with deliberate intent toward his adversary.

  “So, it’s to be our last confrontation, brother,” he called. “What have you done with my wife?”

  “Your wife is on yonder wall watching for your death to avenge her father.”

  “She has nothing to avenge,” Logan said, “but I have. You will release my wife and ride out of my castle and I will let you live. Otherwise, this is the last day the sun will rise on you.”

  “You were always good at boasts, Logan,” Lundy called. “But you’ve never been half the man I am.”

  With that he set spurs t
o his mount and galloped toward Logan. The men rode past each other, their claymores ringing loudly. Men around them paused to watch the battle between their chiefs.

  Each man stayed in his saddle, riding on past, then wheeled their horses and aimed at each other again. This time as they met, Logan leaped off his horse at Lundy, bearing him to the ground. They scrambled to their feet and met with shields and claymores at the ready. Steal rang against steal as they exchanged blows, then Logan’s blade slid past Lundy’s shield and plunged deep into his chest. Lundy fell to the ground and Logan stood over him, his blade ready for the killing blow. For a long moment, he held it at Lundy’s neck, then slowly relaxed his stance and backed away. He turned to Cluny, as if seeking sight of someone. Cailla knew it was her.

  Suddenly, a movement behind him made Cailla’s heart clench in dread. Lundy had gotten to his feet and ran toward Logan, his blade aimed high to plunge into his back. Logan seemed to guess what was happening. He turned trying to bring his blade up, but there was no time. He side-stepped and his blade drove upward into Lundy’s torso. The wily man screamed until blood ran from his mouth and he collapse back on the ground.

  “Logan!” Cailla screamed and left the parapet, running down the steps and across the courtyard and onto the battlefield where she ran into his arms.

  He caught her against him, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe, smothering her face with kisses.

  “I should have told you sooner,” he said. “But I thought I had time. Yes, I killed your father, but not as you might think. He was mortally ill and in great pain. He begged me.”

  “I know, I know,” she whispered, returning his kisses. “Lundy told me. He’d tortured Scotty to get the information from him. William told me wrong and I believed him. I gave you no chance to explain. Forgive me for doubting you.” She lay against his heaving chest while all around them Lundy’s forces lay down their arms.

  “They’re surrendering,” she said in wonder.

  “Aye, with Lundy dead, they have no one to serve.” He looked at Cailla. “With Lundy and William dead, there is no one else to claim your castle.”

  “Thank God, it’s over,” she whispered. “None of it, Tioram or Cluny, would have mattered if I’d lost you.” She clasped him tightly.

  His large hand settled on her hair. “Come, wife. Let me show you your home.”

  Together they walked toward Cluny Castle and she entered the home where she would be mistress and raise her babies—Logan’s sons.

  * * * *

  Cailla looked in the mirror, checking that everything was just perfect. Aggie had dressed her flaming hair high on her head with cascading curls about her ears and nape. Her pale green, silk gown with gold embellishments and a wide lace band collar that fell over her bodice was perfect. A pink taffeta underskirt rustled with every movement she made. She wanted to be especially comely this day, her wedding day.

  “Oh, Cailla, you are so beautiful. I wish your mother could have seen you today,” Aggie whispered. She’d been sent for the moment Castle Cluny had been won and seemed to be settling into her new home admirably.

  “I’m sure she’s watching,” Lady Jean said, coming to grip Cailla’s shoulders in a gentle hug. “Aggie’s right. You are the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.” She kissed Cailla lightly on the cheek. “I’m blessed to have you wed to my son.”

  “Thank you, mother,” Cailla answered, blinking back tears of happiness.

  A noise at the door had both women swinging around as Maggie burst through, dressed in her own finery. For her wedding to Jaimie, she’d chosen a deep rose taffeta that set off her vivid coloring.

  “Ah, Maggie, you look grand,” Cailla cried, going to hug her. When she drew back, she smiled at the young girl. “I can’t help thinking how glad I am that it’s Jaimie you love.”

  “You have no worry. Logan has always considered me a little sister and he never looks at any woman the way he looks at you.”

  Cailla smiled at her words.

  “I don’t need to ask if you two are happy. You’re radiant brides,” Jean said, her own face alight with happiness.

  “Are you ready?” Cailla asked Maggie who giggled and rushed to the door. Cailla followed more slowly, looking around the room she shared with Logan. She thought of the nights of love and pleasure they’d shared here and would for the rest of their lives together.

  Lady Jean paused, watching her thoughtfully.

  Cailla blinked away her tears of happiness and shrugged. “I was just thinking, when I come back to this room, I truly will be Lady MacPherson, wife of Logan.”

  “Have you no wish to return to Tioram?” Jean asked gently.

  Cailla nodded her head slowly. “Not without Logan at my side and this is his home. I’ll be like Ruth and goeth where he goes.”

  Jean hugged her tightly.

  Cailla drew back. “When Tioram is rebuilt, it will have a new chief and life will go on.”

  “Hurry,” Maggie called from the doorway. “There are so many guests downstairs and a pompous old cleric who squints his eyes. I hope he can read the words. Hurry, Cailla.”

  “I’m coming, little sister.” Cailla linked her hands with the two women who now filled her life and descended the stairs to the great hall where Logan waited.

  About the Author

  Temple Hogan is the author of over forty books, some hard cover, under the name of Peggy Hanchar and Peggy Roberts. She lives on an inland lake in Michigan with her husband, three cats and one naughty Shitz Tzu named Gizz. Her hobbies are cooking, gardening, acrylic painting and reading detective stories. She’s currently at work on her next book.

  Temple loves to talk to her readers and can be found at TempleHogan.blogspot.com.

  Also Available from Resplendence Publishing

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  Book Three in the Pirate's Booty Series

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  Charity, known to the world as Red Charlie ever since she was abducted by the same bloodthirsty pirate who killed her parents, relaxed her guard for one night and was ushered into a hasty marriage with a man who mesmerized her. But when the bridegroom mistakes her for a whore on their wedding night and expects her to perform sexual acts she knows nothing about, she runs away. But there’s no running away when Jackson captures her pirate ship and refuses to return it unless she spends two weeks as his wife, with all that entails.

  Charity sets out to teach Jackson a much needed lesson, but the tropical nights of lovemaking teach her a few things about men that she never expected to learn.

  The Centurion and the Queen by Minnette Meador

  Marius has been stationed on the island of 60AD Britannia for sixteen years, his demotion from the famous Praetorian Guard to Centurion brought about when he was suspected of involvement in the assassination of Caligula. He is intimately aware of his duty, even when it clashes against the natural compassion he tries to subdue, and he secretly wants nothing more than to get off this accursed island so he can return to his home. Once a celebrated Roman hero, Marius still clings to the old traditions as a fair but tough leader to his men. When Delia enters his life, she challenges everything he believes, effortlessly strips away years of Roman conditioning, and angers him to the point of betraying his training--and his oaths. He simply cannot resist her.

  Delia is sister to an indolent Celtic king, but that role has turned to nothing more than another surrender. All she can do now is help her people survive the gradual conquest by Rome and their suicidal pride as so many throw themselves against the unstoppable Roman machine. Fighting desperately to save as many as she can, Deli
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  They discover an impossible love, a surprising passion they both thought had died, and something they had never imagined, or thought they deserved. They are thrown into the clash between an Iceni queen with 50,000 angry Bretons and a clever Roman general with only 10,000 legionnaires. Marius and Delia have their lives, their beliefs, and their roles turned inside out as they find themselves fighting on opposing sides, in love, and unable to change the future. The revolution would spark their desire, but nearly destroy them both.

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  From the sea, two tormented souls are washed ashore—one a beautiful, mysterious lady, the other a man who'd once been the King's warrior and is now a lowly fisherman. As Rioghnach and Cormac learn to heal and trust in love again, they spend sun-seared days and starlit nights exploring the need that draws them together.

  Beast by Abigail Barnette

  Naughtily Ever After, Book Three

  Accused of treason by his own father, Prince Philipe of Chevudon finds his flight to safety cut short by an arrow to the shoulder. There is only one person to whom he can turn for help, the only woman he ever loved, the only person he ever truly betrayed…

  Following the destruction of her home and family in a fire that left her horribly disfigured, Johanna has lived a life of hardship and pain. When her lost love comes to her, wounded and on the run from his father’s guard, she cannot turn him away. But she cannot forgive him either.