The Warrior's Bride

by Amanda Scott

  “Perhaps,” she said, watching the path.

  Rob gripped her arm, stopped, and turned her to face him. When she did not try to pull free but stared at his chest with her lips pressed tightly together, he said, “Look at me.”

  She continued to stare at his chest for another long moment. When he said nothing but continued to hold her arm, she drew a breath at last and looked up.

  For once, he could not read her expression. His first thought was that she was being willful, but she seemed resigned, too, and wary.

  He said sternly, “After we get underway, I am going to ask you again about your visit here, lass. I want you to think carefully about what you will say then. I suspect that you came to see Annie for a reason other than what you have told me, and you must know by now that I won’t react well to lying or deceit.”

  Her expression did not change, nor did she speak.

  When she started to turn away, he caught her chin gently and held it so that she had to look at him again.

  “I mean what I say, Murie,” he said quietly. “Think about that, too.”

  Her gaze met his, and she licked her lips.

  His body stirred in response.

  “Kiss me,” she said. “Please, just kiss me.”

  With an uneasy sense that he was as wax in her hands but without a second thought, Rob complied. His hand still cupped her chin, so he bent just enough to touch his lips to hers. Then, releasing her arm, he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her more thoroughly, stroking her back as he did.

  When she slipped her tongue past his into his mouth, he pulled away but held her by the shoulders.

  “Would you bewitch me?” he asked.

  “Aye, I would,” she replied. But the wariness returned to her eyes.

  “Likely, you can do it if anyone can,” he admitted. “But do not forget that consequences follow every action. I do think that you’ve hitherto ignored such consequences, or dismissed them. That will change, especially if you ever put yourself in danger again as you did with Dougal. Do you understand me?”

  She nodded, and he released her. They returned to the tower in silence, because she did not speak and he wanted to let her think, hoping that her fertile imagination would suggest penalties more undesirable than any he could devise.

  Murie decided that Rob was merely making a point, as men often did, and turned her thoughts to what Annie had said about the charters. It was true that Tùr Meiloach had protected the family for years, and true that it seemed to do so in mysterious ways. It was also true that Rob was determined to leave at once and Andrew just as determined to speed them on their way. Even if she tried to search for the charters first, she would likely have too little time to find them.

  To her surprise and doubtless more to Rob’s, she made good speed with her preparations and—with Tibby’s help and Lina’s willingness to supervise the lads who loaded Murie’s spinning wheel—she was ready to leave within the hour.

  The sun was up by then, and the sky was clear. Bidding her family and their guests farewell, she and Rob set forth for Ardincaple on the MacAulay galley.

  The Colquhoun boat would escort them as far as Craggan Tower.

  For a time, Rob and the captains of both galleys kept watch for other boats. The loch was calm and despite lingering patches of morning mist, it was clear enough to see that they were the only galleys on the water.

  Sitting on a bench built into the stern bulkhead, Murie watched the passing shoreline and the water. With the rhythmic movement and sounds of the oars, her thoughts drifted idly until she saw Rob making his way along the gangway toward her.

  His grim expression set her nerves tingling again.

  Without thinking, she put a fingertip to her lips and nibbled the nail.

  “Don’t do that,” he said brusquely when he reached her.

  Cocking her head so that his body kept the sun from her eyes, she dropped the offending hand to her lap but said softly, “Or what?”

  His eyes glinted but whether with humor or annoyance she could not be sure.

  Sitting beside her, he said quietly, “You are my wife now, lass. Defying me is never a good idea.”

  “But what might you do?”

  “I doubt you would heed aught I’d say about that now,” he said. “But my father had his own laird’s court planned to take place anon. If you want to understand my notion of penalties, you are welcome to attend.”

  Surprised, she said, “My father never let any of us attend his until he realized that Dree’s ability to tell if men were lying or not could help him. Even then, neither Lina nor I attended them.”

  “Well, you may attend any that I convene,” he said. “You may also leave at any time if the proceedings discomfit you. Doubtless, my mother will attend them.”

  “You say that as if you wished she would not.”

  “She has a knack for putting me in the wrong,” he said. “You will see that soon enough, though. I do not mean to encourage you to prejudge her.”

  “I would want to decide such things for myself, in any event,” she said.

  He nodded, and for a time they sat quietly side by side. Then, abruptly, he said, “Let me see your hands.”

  She almost shoved both of them behind her instead. At her hesitation, he reached out and took her left hand in his. Holding it firmly, palm down, he studied her nails, or what remained of them.

  After an uncomfortable silence, he said, “Why do you bite them?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I do it without thinking. Even Mam has given up scolding me for it. I hope you don’t mean to start.”

  His gaze caught hers and seemed to pull her into its cool green depths. “I don’t scold,” he said, his deep voice as seductively vibrant as ever.

  “Good,” she said, a little dazed.

  Gently stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, he added softly, “You have such beautifully shaped hands and such slim, elegant fingers. And you make such graceful, expressive gestures when you tell your tales. I just wondered…”

  “Wondered what?” she murmured when he paused, her mind still echoing the intoxicating words beautifully shaped, elegant, graceful, and express—

  “… why you succumb to such an ugly habit.”

  He said it in the same deep-voiced way that always seemed to pulsate through her skin to her very bones. So soothing was that tone that the words themselves took a moment to register.

  When they did, it was as if he had slapped her.

  “I’ll admit,” he went on before she could think of anything sensible to say, “I did not notice last year that you suffered from such a bad habit. I did notice your so graceful hands and fingers at a distance, though, when you told your tale describing the rescue of your sister and Lizzie Galbraith from Dumbarton Castle.”

  “You did? I thought you hated the whole thing, just as Mag and Ian did. Moreover, you have said that you won’t let me become a seanachie.”

  “I did not say I would refuse to let you tell your stories. You are right, though, in saying I that dislike that tale and the fact of your having told it,” he added bluntly. “It was a dangerous one to tell, and I’ll wager that MacPharlain expressed his feelings about it to you, as well. Did he not?”

  Grimacing, she said, “He hated it, aye. He said I could blame it and myself for my visit to Arrochar, but I don’t care what his reason was. Nor did I expect him to enjoy hearing himself called a villain, although he seems bent on being one.”

  Rob looked as if he might say something but stopped himself. Then he said, “I meant only that since your hands are important to your storytelling and fascinating to watch, you should not torment them so. Just imagine what it is like for others to see them up close and realize how little you care about them.”

  She bit her lower lip. “You think my hands are beautiful?”

  “I do.”

  “I did try to stop biting my nails at Arrochar. I thought of you then, whenever I realized what I was doing. It worked
for a time, but…”

  “Try harder then,” he said when she shrugged. With a new glint in his eyes, he added, “I’ll be happy to remind you, but you may not like the way I do it.”

  “Will you tell me now what you would do?”

  “I’m imaginative, too, lass. Alhough I don’t know exactly what the circumstances might be, I can easily imagine reminding you—no matter where we are or who else is present—that you must not indulge in such a childish habit.”

  The image he presented was staggering in its clarity.

  “Even Mam would not humiliate me in front of others,” she said.

  “I am not your mam, Muriella. I’m your husband and therefore hope you will pay closer heed when I make a request. For example, I expect you to tell me the truth now about why you went to visit Annie Wylie.”

  She did not hesitate. “I knew she would be alone at that hour, and I wanted to find out if she knew aught about my father’s missing charters.”

  “And?”

  Looking down at her hands, she said quietly, “She said she did not know.”

  “I doubt that is all that she said.”

  “Well, I doubt that you will believe the rest of what she said might be true,” she said, frustrated. “Hence, I would liefer not tell you.”

  “I want you to tell me.”

  Murie rolled her eyes but capitulated. “She said that when Father needs his charters, they will appear.”

  “I see,” he said.

  “I told you that you would not believe it.”

  “I do believe that those were her words,” he said. “You would be wiser, lass, not to keep things from me, even if you doubt that I will believe them. And, prithee, do not forget that I mean what I say.”

  She nodded with a mental sigh. Clearly, Rob was not going to be as easy to charm out of his ill moods as Andrew Dubh usually was.

  The rest of their journey passed without incident, albeit providing some fine and familiar scenery. With so much time to think and easily imagining certain difficulties ahead, Rob’s impatience mounted as the hours passed.

  He did talk more with his bride while they took their midday meal together from a basket that Andrew’s kitchen had provided. Pointing out landmarks, they exchanged details of trips they had each taken on the loch. It was mostly small talk, and Rob was unaccustomed to sitting for long. He needed to move about.

  Also, he had a feeling that the less they talked about more private matters on the boat, the less chance there was that any of what they said would reach his mother’s ears. She would be disappointed enough in his marriage without giving her more cause.

  He doubted that Muriella would repeat aught that he had told her about his mother, but he no longer knew all of his father’s oarsmen. And voices traveled unexpected distances on the water.

  He smiled at that thought, recalling that he did have the reputation of a man whose minions obeyed orders and were reluctant to defy him. Doubtless that word had spread to any new oarsmen or servitors at Ardincaple. They would be wary.

  By the time they reached the MacAulays’ wharf, the sun had neared the hills on the western horizon. The small clachan near the wharf provided stabling for the garrons they would ride to the castle, as well as for horses that Rob kept there.

  The helmsman blew his horn to announce their arrival, although men were already hurrying to the wharf to greet them.

  “Is that Ardincaple Castle yonder?” Muriella asked, pointing to the square, battlemented, four-story tower on a crest beyond the highest part of the coastline.

  “Aye,” he said quietly, feeling a renewed sense of belonging, along with the still unreal sense that he was master here now. From where they were, the one tower was all they could see, but it formed only the northwest angle of the stronghold.

  “How do we get there?” Muriella asked.

  “We ride up from the clachan,” he said. “Would you prefer a garron, or are you accustomed to riding Lowland horses?”

  “I can ride any well-mannered mount,” she said. “My father taught all of us to ride well. I’d prefer to ride the same sort of horse you ride, though, so we’ll be able to talk without one of us looming over the other.”

  “Then we’ll take two of my horses,” he said. “They are well trained and accustomed to caparisons and other draping, so your skirts won’t trouble them.”

  After giving orders to MacKell for the galley and to lads on the wharf to fetch horses for him and his lady, and garrons for their baggage, Rob escorted Muriella ashore. There, he introduced her to people from the clachan, who all expressed their sympathy and dismay for the so unexpected death of his father.

  Realizing that he was just delaying the ride home, Rob steeled himself and declared it time that he and his lady were on their way. Thanking his well-wishers again, he helped Murie mount the bay gelding they had chosen for her.

  To his sudden sardonic amusement, he realized then that the villagers meant to escort them to the castle gates, if not farther. He devoutly hoped they did not expect to witness the meeting of his wife and his lady mother.

  Murie easily interpreted the sparkle in Rob’s eyes as amusement and wondered what had stirred it. Since she could not ask him in front of so many witnesses, she took comfort from her certainty about the emotion. His feelings were rarely as easy for her to read as her father’s were, or Mag’s or Ian’s.

  But either her skill was increasing or Rob was revealing more to her.

  To be sure, her sisters had complained that they had initially had difficulty sensing their husbands’ emotions, too. Lina had experienced less trouble with Ian than Dree had had with Mag, despite the fact that Dree had always possessed the strongest ability of the three to sense other people’s feelings.

  As Murie and Rob rode slowly up the steep track to the castle, the people from the clachan fell in behind them. The gillie leading the two garrons with her belongings followed, and Murie easily sensed the tense expectation they all shared.

  Glancing at Rob to find him watching her speculatively, she wondered if he was judging her horsemanship or her reaction to their audience.

  To converse over the thudding of the horses’ hooves on the hard track that wound up the cliffside would require talking loudly. The people walking behind them would hear, so Murie kept quiet and enjoyed the view as they rode higher.

  Southward, she saw part of the Firth of Clyde and land separating the Loch of the Long Boats from the Gare Loch. Before them loomed the square tower. In time, the path curved around a bend and a stone wall came into view on their right.

  “Good sakes,” she said. “Do you need a wall? I should think you could easily see trouble coming from your tower.”

  “Aye, sure, we can,” he said. “But, as you can see, the castle perches on the edge of a steep plateau that overlooks the flat lands between here and the firth. The slope here is not nearly as steep, though, so an army could gather here on any dark night. The same is true Lomondside. Without the wall, we would be vulnerable. We also have a moat,” he added with a smile. “You’ll see it shortly.”

  “A moat? How?”

  “You’ll see.”

  The wall curved upward with the trail and continued to loom over them. Murie judged it to be fifteen or twenty feet high. The track they followed had flattened, though, and Rob’s moat came into sight at the next bend. Murie realized that it guarded only the otherwise vulnerable, entrance side of the castle.

  The drawbridge was down and the gates open, so Rob’s people inside had seen and recognized the galley. She saw him nod to several men, but he did not speak until they had thudded across the plank bridge to the gateway.

  A man-at-arms stepped toward him then, and Rob drew rein.

  “Welcome home, laird,” the man said. “Will I let all these folks inside or keep them out? Her ladyship did send word that she canna receive them the noo.”

  Rob said, “We won’t deny them, Cully. You need only explain that, at present, the lady Euphemia is not receiv
ing. They will understand.”

  “The lady Euphemia, sir?”

  To Murie’s surprise, Rob’s eyes began to dance. He met the other man’s gaze and said, “Cully, this lady riding beside me is Lady MacAulay now. Sithee, I suspect that my lady mother will forbid us to refer to her as the dowager Lady MacAulay. I may be wrong about that, and I will ask her, but—”

  “Nay, nay, laird, I’ll do as ye say,” the man, Cully, said hastily. Turning to Muriella, he nodded politely and said earnestly, “ ’Tis grand tae meet ye, m’lady. It be time that our young master married. Welcome tae Ardincaple.”

  Grinning at him, delighting in her new title, Murie said, “I am pleased to meet you, Cully. Were you born here?”

  “Aye, m’lady,” the man said, smiling back at her.

  “We must go in now, Cully,” Rob said. “Come, my lady.”

  Still smiling, Murie nodded and urged her mount to follow his. They rode across the yard to a small stable where gillies waited to assist them and take charge of the horses. Dismounting unaided, eager to go inside, Murie saw that the castle extended well beyond the tall, battlemented tower and included several outbuildings besides the stable inside its wall. Another was a low, thatch-roofed building from which aromas wafted that told her it must be the bakery.

  Rob offered his arm and, without making further introductions, escorted her up a set of railed wooden steps to the main entrance and thence to the great hall.

  When they entered, a tall, rather plump woman, elegantly garbed and coifed, hurried toward them only to stop in her tracks and cast a baleful look at Murie.

  “Who is this that ye’ve brought here to us, Robert?” she demanded. “I should think that at this dreadful time for all of us, ye might have refrained from inviting guests to Ardincaple. Where be the rest of them, and how many?”

  Murie decided that she would never again call him “Robert.”

  “My lady wife is the only one I bring, madam,” Rob said coolly. “I expect you will agree that she has every right to be here, even at such a time.”

  “Your wife?”

  The woman’s outrage was plain in both tone and expression, but Murie also sensed deep grief and pain. It was to those feelings that she reacted.