The Warrior's Bride

by Amanda Scott

  She was sure that Andrew would rather have her at home, under his eye, than see her traipsing off with a husband he had not expected her to acquire. Moreover, he would not have the same commitment to punishing her that her new husband had.

  “It be an honor to make your acquaintance, m’lady,” Captain MacKell said to her. Turning to MacAulay, he added, “I ken that ye willna take all these people tae Ardincaple, m’lord. But Lady MacAulay did insist that we make all speed, sir.”

  Murie sensed MacAulay’s irritation at hearing that. It radiated from him.

  “If my father is dead, MacKell, I see no reason to hurry,” he said. “The weather has remained chilly enough for us to delay a day or two.”

  “It be nae place o’ mine tae be telling ye what to do, m’lord,” MacKell said diffidently. “Forbye, I do think I should tell that ye we dinna ken just how his lordship died. As ye ken fine, he were in good health, just fretting about this business wi’ Campbell o’ Lorne and Pharlain o’ Arrochar. We did hope ye’d be bringing us good news from your talk wi’ Pharlain.”

  Having no idea what MacKell was talking about, Murie glanced at MacAulay and saw a wry grimace touch his lips.

  “What is it, sir?” she asked.

  He gave her a rueful look. “My original purpose in visiting Arrochar was to persuade Pharlain that collecting a fee from every boat that enters or leaves the Loch of the Long Boats would be unwise.”

  “Good sakes, I should think so,” she said. “That would anger everyone!”

  “My father deemed it a matter of freedom for boats to come and go as they please. But the Campbells—Campbell of Lorne, at least—and Pharlain wanted him to charge fees for everyone except themselves and to share the profits with them.”

  “Well, if Pharlain wants that, I doubt that you could have changed his mind,” she said. “He never changes it when he is set on something. In troth, sir, he rarely cares a whit for what anyone else says.”

  “My father had not yet said nae to them,” he said musingly. “He said only that he would have to think about it.” When she raised her eyebrows at the thought that immediately occurred to her, he turned to MacKell and said, “Did you mean to imply that his lordship died mysteriously?”

  Muriella’s thought having been the same, she watched MacKell closely.

  He looked uncomfortable, as if he did not want to commit himself to an opinion. Then he said, “They found him in the woods near the Gare Loch shore just south o’ the castle, m’lord. His head were stove in.”

  “How far was his lordship from the castle?”

  “Nobbut a mile, mayhap a mile and a quarter. Ye’ll ken the place, sir. There be a shingle beach near where the shoreline hooks out into the loch and gives shelter from the north winds. We beach galleys there now and now.”

  “I do know the place,” he said. “ ’Tis gey rocky there. Might he have fallen?”

  “There was rocks and boulders nearby, aye. But ’less he got up again after he hit one and wandered off, none was close enough to him for them what found him to think it had done him injury—only if a strong chap clouted him with one.”

  “Woodland abuts that beach east of the shingle and southward,” MacAulay said. “The shingle is mostly underwater at high tide. A boat or someone hiding in the woods may have surprised him.”

  “Aye,” MacKell agreed. “The laird were lying near the woods but not in them. We saw nae blood, Master Rob. I’d say some’un gave him a wicked clout.”

  Neither man seemed to note MacKell’s slip.

  MacAulay glanced thoughtfully northeastward, toward Arrochar.

  Murie said, “It cannot have been Pharlain, sir. He was at home. That is, I think he was,” she added. “In troth, I saw him only at his laird’s court.”

  “Pharlain rarely bloodies his own fingers,” he said.

  That was true. She kept silent.

  “We’ll stop overnight at Tùr Meiloach, MacKell,” he said then. “If we set out immediately for Ardincaple, it will be dark before we reach Craggan.” To the Colquhoun captain, nearby, he added, “You’ll stay at Tùr Meiloach, too. Andrew Dubh will insist on it, as doubtless you ken fine.”

  “I do, my lord,” the man replied. “We won’t linger past dawn though, unless ye have further need of us.”

  “We’ll see,” MacAulay said. “If Pharlain sends boats out, we might be wiser to keep together until we reach Craggan. But we’ll decide that in the morning.”

  “As ye wish, m’lord.”

  Murie turned away then, to talk to Mae and Annabel. The men had apparently finished their discussion, and she had much to think about before engaging MacAulay in further talk.

  Rob watched her turn away, thinking how small and solemn she looked and wondering what sort of marriage they would have. Neither of them wanted it. If the truth were known, he suspected that Muriella wanted it less than he did.

  Not only had she made it clear that she did not want to marry anyone; she also had what she considered good reason for her decision. Few women had served as keepers of clan history and folklore. Those who had done so possessed fine memories, just as men who served as seanachies had to have.

  From what he had heard, Muriella’s memory was nearly flawless.

  Her understanding of what she recalled was, he thought, another matter. If that also had been flawless, she would have understood that an unchallenged declaration of marriage was legal and binding on both parties involved.

  He could not alter that. Nor could she. His thoughts shifted to his father with a strong sense that someone had erred. Lord MacAulay could not be dead or he would feel more than the bleak emptiness he felt now, as if everything in him had shut down. He loved his father and did not want him to be dead. Nor did he want the burdens that would… that had descended on him if MacAulay had died.

  He reminded himself that events were what they were, that he had no good reason to disbelieve MacKell. The man had served them loyally all his working life.

  Swallowing hard, Rob stared blindly at the water. After a time, he began to see the way the sun made shining paths where the water rippled. So intently had he focused his attention that a gentle touch on his elbow startled him.

  He turned abruptly to find Muriella looking anxiously at him.

  “What is it, lass?”

  “I was going to ask you that, sir. I can see that you are unhappy. Since you will not let me thank you, will you at least let me tell you how sorry I am that your father has died and apologize to you for flinging us into this muddle?”

  “I did not mean for you to think I’d rejected your thanks,” he said gruffly.

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “Only that I think it gey unlikely that you will remain thankful. I ken fine that I’m not the sort of chap that women seek to marry.”

  She stared at him, her lovely eyes wide. “Good sakes, why not? You are big and strong and heir to a barony. Even I know that, and I have never heard that such attributes rendered a man unfit to marry.”

  When he did not reply, her eyes grew even wider. She said almost curtly, “Faith, sir, I should be smacked for saying that about the barony when you’ve only just learned that your lord father has died.”

  “No one will smack you, certainly not for that,” he said. “I cannot seem to make myself accept it, so your words sounded perfectly sensible to me.”

  She met his gaze, and to his surprise, her eyes began to twinkle. “I cannot recall anyone ever before uttering those exact words to me,” she said. “About sounding perfectly sensible, I mean.”

  A bubble of laughter began to rise in him, surprising him even more than her twinkle had. He swallowed the bubble but felt better and said honestly, “It sounded sensible to me, lass. You need not apologize for what happened, either. If you feel that you must, I’ll willingly forgive you, and we need think no more about it.”

  “Then I think we may deal well together, sir… that is, if you have no objection to my becoming a seanachie.”
/>   The last trace of Rob’s near-amusement vanished in a trice. “That,” he said firmly, “is another matter.”

  “But—”

  “Muriella, you seem to forget that by marrying me you have become a MacAulay. As my lady, you cannot become a Clan Farlan seanachie.”

  “But seanachies are seanachies, not just tale-spinners for their clans alone. And I will always be a MacFarlan, just as Mam is still a Comyn.”

  “And a Campbell,” he reminded her. “I doubt that she will be expressing pride in her Campbell roots if that clan refuses to support his grace. Will she?”

  Her eyes flashed furiously then, but she wisely held her tongue.

  Murie wanted to stamp her foot and shout at him, but she did not. She had long since learned to curb her temper where her father and her good-brothers were concerned. And, after all, husbands had similar rights.

  Recalling that a husband wielded more rights over his wife than a father wielded over married daughters, she wondered what demon had possessed her to say that she and Robert MacAulay would deal well together. Clearly, if he meant to deny her deepest wish, they would not get along at all.

  Awareness stirred then of his connubial rights, and heat surged into her cheeks. Would Robert demand those rights straightaway? Surely not. But the more she thought about that, the more contrary her thoughts and feelings became.

  She did not speak to him again until they reached the wharf at Tùr Meiloach. Then it was only to thank him politely when he assisted her onto its planks. Because the wharf sat on the water, it shifted with the weight of persons stepping onto it from boats, so she was grateful for his strong arm. But she still did not want to talk to him. Nor, she realized belatedly, did she want to talk to her parents until after MacAulay told them what had happened at Arrochar.

  “I must have a bath,” she reminded him as they started up the path to the tower. “I’ll just go straight to my chamber—”

  “Nay, madam wife,” he said, putting a hand at the small of her back as if he did not trust her to keep her footing even on that familiar path. “Andrew may be a trifle displeased about what happened. Your mam, too. We’ll tell them together.”

  “But I don’t want to meet them in all my dirt! Surely—”

  “Muriella,” he said curtly, “what is sure, if you argue with my decisions, is that we will fratch. And when it comes to such things as this, you will lose.” He paused, still eyeing her sternly. Then, in a calm voice, he said, “I’ll do most of the talking, but we will talk with them together. Sakes, lass, they will both be more shocked by our marriage than by your appearance. But they will be glad to see you and cheered to hear that you’ll stay here until I get things sorted at Ardincaple.”

  She believed him. However, the first hint that things would not go as he’d planned came ten minutes later when they entered the great hall. Not only were her mother and father awaiting them but also Murie’s sisters and Mag, Mag’s little sister, Lizzie, and their aunt, the dour, purse-mouthed lady Margaret Galbraith.

  Murie gaped at them and felt unexpected relief to see her father hurrying across the hall, away from all the others, to meet them.

  Hugging Murie tightly for a long moment, he eased his hold at last and said, “Come along in now, lass. Let everyone see ye. Did they harm ye?” Then, without giving her time to draw breath, he added, “How did ye win her free, Rob?”

  “If we may, sir,” Rob said, “we would prefer to discuss that privately with you and the lady Aubrey before we talk with the others.”

  “Then they did harm ye,” Andrew said, peering into Murie’s eyes.

  “No, sir,” she said, hugging him again and rubbing her face against his broad chest as she had since early childhood. “Dougal was horrid, but no one hurt me.”

  “So those villains have some good sense,” Andrew said curtly. “But go to your mam now, Murie-lass. There can be nae need for ye—”

  “Muriella and your lady should come with us, sir,” Rob said firmly.

  Eyeing her volatile sire warily, knowing he hated interruptions, Murie held her breath. To her astonishment, she realized that she feared more that Andrew might roar at Rob than she worried about facing her parents.

  Andrew looked at Rob and cocked his head. “Ye’re gey sure o’ yourself. I think Muriella would be happier to stay with her sisters and the others,” he said. “You and I can better discuss what needs discussing without the women.”

  “Muriella will come with us, sir,” Rob said. “I also think that Lady Aubrey should participate in the discussion.”

  “Ye do, do ye?”

  “I do,” Rob replied unflinchingly.

  Looking from Rob to Muriella and back again, Andrew turned to a passing gillie and said, “Present me compliments to the lady Aubrey and ask her to join us in me wee chamber upstairs. Tell Sir Magnus and the others we’ll return anon.”

  “Aye, laird,” the gillie said and hurried to the dais.

  “We’ll take the main stairs,” Andrew said, gesturing back the way they had come. Glancing at Rob, he added, “Unless ye object to that, too.”

  “No, sir,” Rob replied.

  He followed Muriella and her father up the spiral stairway. He was glad that Mag and Andrena had returned. But, since Lina was with them, Rob assumed that Ian had been unable to leave Dumbarton and hoped that his absence did not mean the Campbells were already stirring trouble along the Firth of Clyde or at Ardincaple.

  They entered Andrew’s chamber, and Lady Aubrey joined them as Andrew was about to close the door. Motioning for her to take one of the back-stools, he shut the door and moved to the chair behind the table, facing Rob and Muriella.

  Watching him, Rob tried to gauge his mood.

  “Now,” Andrew said to him as they all sat. “What’s amiss?”

  “Nowt,” Rob said. “You asked me how I’d won her ladyship’s freedom. The truth is that she saved herself. Her method may displease you, though.”

  “I dinna care what she did if it brought her safe home to us.”

  “She will stay here for a short time, aye. Tell them, lass,” he said to Muriella.

  She gave him a beseeching look, but he turned to Andrew, wanting to see his face when she told him what she had done. Andrew’s eyebrows shot upward, but Rob noted, too, that his eyes began to twinkle.

  Lady Aubrey frowned at her daughter. “What have you done now, love?”

  With a sigh of resignation, Muriella said, “By my troth, Mam, I did not mean to create trouble. I thought we could easily fix it.”

  After a silence, during which Rob continued to watch Andrew and Lady Aubrey simply wait for Muriella to say more, she said with another little sigh, “Pharlain wanted me to marry Dougal, and at the laird’s court, the Brehon said that I must or I’d have to face whatever penalty Pharlain set for me. So I told them and… and a great many other people, that I could not marry Dougal because I was already married to… to him.” Without looking away from her mother, she made a small gesture toward Rob.

  “What were you thinking?” Lady Aubrey demanded. When Muriella flushed but kept silent, her mother began pelting her with questions, while Andrew grinned.

  Then, abruptly, he said to his wife and daughter, “Whisst now, the pair o’ ye. We’ll hear all the details anon. For the nonce, I’ve heard just one thing with which I disagree. Rob, lad, although I understand your desire to be rid of the lass until ye get used to the notion, a wife belongs with her husband.”

  “Under any other circumstance, I would agree with you, sir,” Rob said. “However, I expect you are unaware that… that my father died yesterday.”

  Andrew exclaimed, and Lady Aubrey expressed her sympathy with unexpected warmth, considering the news she had just had. Then Andrew seized control of the conversation again, saying, “ ’Tis but greater reason to take the lass with ye, lad. I’ll wager ye’ve spared little thought for how your lady mother will react—”

  “On the contrary, sir, I have given much thought to it, and I
see no reason to expose the lady Muriella to—”

  “Blethers,” Andrew said. “Ye’d be wiser to take her along. Not only did she create the very marriage your mam will decry, but Murie has a knack for easing difficult situations.” Looking at his daughter, he added, “All my lasses have that knack if they but exert themselves to use it. She’ll be a grand help to ye in calming your mam after her tragic loss and deep disappointment.”

  “You do not know my mother well, sir, but even if—”

  “Nae buts,” Andrew retorted. “Would ye shame my lass by leaving her behind at such a time? Forbye, ye did as much as she did. If she declared herself married to ye, all ye had to do was deny it. ’Tis plain ye did nowt o’ the sort.”

  Before Rob could think of a diplomatic reply to that, Andrew added, “I’ll have me hands full here, just finding me charters and preparing to leave. We must depart in ten days to be sure of reaching Inverness by mid-May, so ye’ll need to decide if ye’ll be going, too, lad. I’d advise ye to, if only so ye can swear your fealty to his grace as soon as may be. Heaven kens when he’ll get to these parts again.”

  That was something else that had not yet crossed Rob’s mind. “Will I have to take my charters with me, sir?”

  “Nay, nay,” Andrew said. “I’m certain that MacAulay presented his to Jamie at Paisley Abbey when Colquhoun, Douglas, Scott, and others did. Ye should ask your mam, though. She’ll know.”

  Rob nodded. Then, sensing Muriella’s stiffness beside him, he glanced at her. She was regarding Andrew with an odd, quizzical look on her face.

  “What is it, lass?” Rob asked quietly.

  Starting, she looked up at him, then back at her father. “I was just thinking,” she said slowly. “Father, how did our charters get to Tùr Meiloach in the first place? You cannot possibly have carried them with you the night that you and Mam fled.”

  “Never said I did,” Andrew replied. “They were already here, for I knew that I could trust Tùr Meiloach to keep them safe.” He looked at his lady, who returned his gaze with her usual composure.