Highland Destiny [Murray Brothers Book 1]

by Hannah Howell

  "I almost succeeded,” she protested, her pride stung, then she sighed. “'Tis probably best that I didnae."

  "Despite your vow to your dying mother and the fact that Beaton deserved to die, aye, ‘tis probably for the best. Heartless filth though he was, that mon's death wasnae worth your immortal soul. For a time I wasnae sure which ye would find harder to forgive, that I had robbed ye of your vengeance or that I had killed your father.” He fought the urge to heartily return her brief kiss, knowing that they needed to talk before they let passion rule them again. “I then began to hope that ye faulted me for neither."

  "None of it troubled me.” She snuggled up against him, savoring the feel of his strong arms wrapped around her. “I had come to see the hard, cold truth about my mother. Margaret cared naught for me. From the moment I was born she had but one use for me—to avenge her lost honor. Aye, she would have also liked me to become a whore, so that she wouldnae have had to work so hard, but mostly she wished me to kill Beaton for her. I think I have always kenned the truth, but I pushed it from my mind for it was a painful one. E'en when I could no longer turn away from the truth, I struggled against thinking on it much for I didnae wish to let loose all the ugly feelings it stirred within me."

  Balfour held her a little tighter, knowing there was nothing he could say or do to ease that pain. “'Tis they, Margaret and Beaton, who lost the most, Maldie. They denied themselves the joy of a child, one who would have loved them weel and done any parent proud.” He smiled when he saw her blush, even the tips of her ears turning a faint red. “I fear we cannae choose our kinsmen. ‘Tis sad that ye were cursed with such a heartless pair, but ye rose from that mire clean and bonny, in soul as weel as in body."

  "I think ye had better cease speaking so kindly,” she said, her voice unsteady as she struggled to control a surge of emotion. “'Tis odd, but I feel near to weeping."

  He laughed and kissed her cheek. “I have no skill with flattery and pretty words and ye have no skill at accepting them. We make a fine pair.” He slipped his hand beneath her chin and turned her face up toward his. “Now, ‘tis past time I tell ye why I hunted ye down. Aye, especially since I begin to think of forgoing talk again."

  "Why are ye here?” she asked, her heart beating so hard it pounded painfully in her ears. The soft look in his dark eyes held such promise she was almost afraid to look into them.

  "For you. I have come for you.” He touched his fingers to her lips when she frowned and started to speak. “Nay, let me say it all. Then all ye will need to say is aye or nay. There will be no confusion. I want ye to come back to Donncoill with me. Since ye left ‘tis as if all the life has fled the place. I need ye there. I need ye at my side. I want ye to be my wife, to be the lady of Donncoill."

  It took all of Maldie's will to stop herself from loudly crying out an immediate yes. He had said so much, yet not enough. He needed her, he wanted her, and he would marry her. She knew most women would think her mad to even hesitate, but she needed more. He was speaking of marriage, of being bound by law and God for life. She needed him to love her.

  For a moment she wondered if she could make him say it before she had to, then decided that that could take a long time. Men were so reluctant to bare their souls to a woman that, even if Balfour did love her, she could be wedded, bedded, and the mother of three of his children ere he finally made mention of the fact. Although she dreaded baring her soul, she knew it was the only way. And, she mused as she steadied herself, he deserved the full truth. If they were to be married, it was also the best way to begin. She prayed that she was not taking too great a gamble with her heart. Once she had exposed all she felt for him, it would be that much easier for him to devastate her even if he did not want or mean to.

  "I want to marry you,” she began and, when he started to hug her, she placed a hand on his chest and firmly kept a small distance between them. “Howbeit, I may yet say no. Ye speak of need and want, and we both ken that our passion is weel matched. What ye cannae know, for I have worked hard to hide it from ye, is that I love you, Balfour Murray.” She could tell little from the wide-eyed look upon his face and the sudden tautness in his body, so she doggedly continued, “I may love ye more than is wise or sane and have done so since the beginning. Mayhap it will make little sense to ye, but I cannae wed ye, cannae bind myself to ye for a lifetime, if ye dinnae feel the same.” She cried out from surprise and some discomfort when he crushed her to his chest.

  "Ah, my bonny wee lass, ye are such a fool. Or, mayhap we both are. Aye, ye will have love, possibly more than ye want at times."

  "Ye love me?” she whispered, wriggling in his arms until his hold loosened enough for her to look at him. Her heart was pounding so hard and fast she felt a little nauseated.

  "Aye, I love you. I, too, think I fell in love the moment I set eyes upon you.” He eagerly returned her kiss, gently pulling her down onto the ground. “Then your answer is yes? Ye will marry me?"

  "Aye.” She started to kiss him again, then frowned as a familiar sound cut sharply through the air. “Was that a hunting horn?” she asked as she sat up and looked around.

  Balfour laughed, sat up, and reached for their clothes. “Aye, ‘twas a hunting horn. ‘Tis your uncle, Colin, telling us that we have been alone long enough and,” he tossed her her gown, “if we dinnae appear before him verra soon, the hunt will indeed be on.” He smiled at her when she frowned in doubt. “Trust me, lass. If we arenae dressed and walking back to that keep verra soon, we will be encircled by your grinning kinsmen."

  Maldie grimaced as she got dressed. She was no longer alone in the world, able to do as she wished without answering to anyone. It delighted her, made her feel wanted and cared for for the first time in her life but, as Balfour paused for one brief kiss before walking her back to her uncle's keep, she began to see that a big family could also be a big problem.

  "I think the days until we are wed are going to be long ones,” she murmured.

  Watching as nearly a dozen widely grinning Kirkcaldys appeared as if from nowhere and began to escort them back to the keep, Balfour nodded in heartfelt agreement. “Verra long indeed."

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  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Maldie grit her teeth and tried to sit still as Jennie fought to comb the tangles from her hair. She cursed herself for forgetting to braid it last night, for her restless sleep had left it in a sadly gnarled mess. It was going to take a lot of work to make it look good for her wedding, or, at least as good as her thick, unruly hair could ever look.

  Her wedding, she thought, and sighed. She found it odd that her stomach could churn with fears and nerves while her heart soared with happiness. It had been exactly one month since Balfour had told her that he loved her and asked her to be his wife. Aside from the time they had been apart and she had thought him lost to her forever, Maldie was sure that this had been the longest month of her life. Balfour and she had seen less and less of each other, as the days had slipped by and more and more Kirkcaldys had arrived for the wedding. It had quickly become clear that her uncle was determined to keep them apart until their wedding night. They had not even been able to steal a kiss in days. Worse, she had not been able to woo those three sweet words out of Balfour again, and she was beginning to wonder if she had actually heard him say that he loved her or had just dreamed it.

  There was a sharp rap at the door and, even as she turned to bid the person enter, her uncle strode in. She frowned at him as he sat on her bed. He really was a fine figure of a man, tall and strong, his kind, good-humored nature clear to see in his handsome face. Maldie was continually amazed that her mother could believe such a man would turn her and her bairn out into the cold. That Margaret would deprive her child of knowing such a good man was something else Maldie struggled to forgive her mother for. She even appreciated the similarity in their looks, the same wild black hair and green eyes, for it gave her a sense of belonging. Colin's constant guard over her and Balfour, however,
was not endearing him to her at the moment.

  "I havenae hidden him under the bed,” she drawled.

  Colin laughed. “I ken it. I just saw the lad pacing his room."

  "Pacing? That implies that he is troubled. Do ye think he has changed his mind?” she asked, cursing the uncertainty that made her even ask such a question. She knew it was unreasonable, but she blamed her uncle for that, as his efforts to keep her and Balfour apart had ensured that all of her fears were not soothed by sweet words of love from her betrothed.

  "Foolish child,” Colin scolded, but his smile was filled with gentle understanding. “Nay, he but suffers as all men do when they take a bride. Dinnae tell me that ye arenae uneasy, for I willnae believe ye."

  She smiled faintly and shrugged. “I am, yet I dinnae understand it. This is what I want."

  "Aye, and what he wants or he would ne'er have chased ye down.” Colin shook his head. “'Tis just the way it is. Ye have more than most couples who are oftimes set before a priest barely kenning each other's names. Makes no difference. Ye are swearing vows afore God and kinsmen. ‘Tis a grave matter and no one should do it easily.” He stood up and walked over to Maldie as Jennie helped her into her gown. “Ye go and help the women, lass,” he told the maid. “I can help my niece now.” He began to lace up Maldie's gown the moment Jennie left the room, pausing to touch the heart-shaped birthmark on her back. “'Tis a bonny sign God set upon your skin."

  "'Tis Beaton's mark,” she muttered. “My mother often pointed to it as a sign of the cursed blood I carry in my veins."

  He turned her around to face him. “Your mother was a fool, God bless her soul. A bitter fool. Did ye not stay with an old couple, Beatons by blood, who were good and kind and held no love for their laird? Who were, in truth, all the things Beaton was not?"

  "Weel, aye, but..."

  "Nay but. The laird of Dubhlinn was a bastard with no heart and no honor. That doesnae mean that all Beatons carry the same taint upon their soul. Isnae the boy Eric also a Beaton?"

  "Aye, ‘twas the fact that he, too, carries this mark that told him that sad truth, but ye ken all of this."

  "I have met the lad and he is a fine boy who will become a good, honorable mon. The Beatons of Dubhlinn will be weel blessed if he can gain the right to be their laird. Are ye nay proud to be a Kirkcaldy?"

  "Of course."

  "Weel, as I have said before, our clan hasnae been free of sinners. We have had a traitor or two, murderers, thieves, and men who wouldnae ken what honor was if it grew legs, walked up to them, and spit in their eyes. Trust me, the Murrays, too, have had and will have a bad seed from time to time. Ye cannae fault a clan for wishing to keep such things a dark secret, but, if ye shake the tree of any family, some rotten fruit will fall out. Ye have grown into a fine lass despite your parents. Be proud of that."

  Tears choked her throat and a deep blush seared her cheeks as she stared up at her uncle, deeply touched by the honest affection she could see softening his eyes. “Thank ye, Uncle,” she managed to whisper.

  "Ye havenae been told your worth verra often, have ye, lass,” he said, shaking his head.

  "It doesnae matter."

  "Oh, aye, it does. A child needs to be told his worth from time to time if he is to grow up hale and strong, in spirit and in body. ‘Tis that lack of deserved praise that makes ye so quick to fear that your big brown mon is about to change his mind about marrying you."

  "My big brown mon?” she muttered, biting back a smile.

  "Aye, I have ne'er seen so much brown on a mon. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin. I hope he doesnae wear something brown to stand afore the priest, or we might mistake him for a log."

  "Uncle,” Maldie cried, laughing as she lightly swatted him on the arm. “Be kind. He is a bonny mon."

  He slipped his arm around her shoulders and started to lead her out of the room. “That he is, lass, and he has chosen himself a bonny bride. One of the bonniest in all of Scotland.” He winked at her. “And ye shall have bonny brown bairns.” He laughed when she blushed. “We had best step quickly now or your laddie will think ye have changed your mind or fled to the hills."

  "She should be here by now,” Balfour muttered as he paced before the small altar set up at the far end of the great hall.

  Nigel rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Her uncle has gone to fetch her. He kens all that passed between ye and Maldie while she was here. ‘Tis certain he willnae let ye or her flee this marriage."

  "I wouldnae make any wager on that. She but smiles at the mon and he will probably allow her to lead him to the verra gates of hell.” He smiled faintly when Nigel laughed, then grew serious again. “Whene'er I see her uncle look at her I wonder yet again how that fool of a mother of hers could keep her hidden from such a family. I have seen more of them than I have wished to in the last month and ne'er seen any of them show coldness or condemnation toward the lass because of her bastardry. How could a woman ken her own kinsmen so little, judge them so wrongly, that she would prefer to become a whore and try to make her child one rather than seek her family's aid?"

  "Pride. Overwhelming pride from what little I have heard said of the woman,” Nigel answered. “It seems she found her sad life preferable to returning home shamed and carrying a bairn. She hadnae made herself weel loved amonst her kinsmen either, so mayhap that decided her. If ye have always acted as if ye are so much better than all around you, ye certainly dinnae want to let them see that ye are not. Let it lie, brother. ‘Tisnae something ye or anyone else will e'er understand. Maldie survived her mother's pride and idiocy and survived it verra weel, too. Now, turn your attention to your marriage for here comes your bride."

  Balfour looked toward Maldie and sharply caught his breath. She wore the soft green gown he had had made for her. It fit her slender body perfectly and the rich color flattered her. Her thick hair tumbled over her shoulders, its soft waves decorated with green ribbons. There was a light flush upon her cheeks, and he thought that she had never looked so beautiful. Wondering yet again how he had won the heart of such a woman, he walked over to take her hand from her uncle's grasp.

  "'Tis your last chance to consider the step ye take, Maldie,” he said. “Once the vows are said, there is no escape from this brown knight."

  Maldie smiled, remembering her uncle naming Balfour her big brown man. That made Balfour sound almost common and, as he stood there in his fine white shirt, draped in the plaid of his clan, he looked far from common. She wondered what madness had siezed her which made her think she could make such a fine laird content, then hastily shook aside that pinch of doubt. He said he loved her and she loved him. She would have a lifetime at his side. There would be plenty of time to learn all that could make him happy.

  "'Tis your last chance as weel,” she said, tightening her hold on his hand. “Howbeit, if ye try to flee, do remember that I can run verra fast."

  He laughed and brushed a kiss over her lips before turning toward the young priest from the village. As they knelt before the priest, Maldie glanced around at the crowd in the great hall. Kirkcaldys were all mixed in with Murrays, and Maldie knew more then her marriage to Balfour would keep the two clans allied. Eric stood by her uncle and he grinned at her. She quickly grinned back, then found her gaze captured by Nigel. The smile he sent her was a sad one and she felt his loneliness. There was nothing she could do for him, however, and praying that he would overcome the ill-fated love he had for her, she turned her full attention back to the priest. Balfour was about to make vows to her before God and his clan, and she did not want to miss one tiny word of it.

  Balfour was still laughing at Colin's nonsense when he turned and found Nigel at his side. A quick glance at Colin revealed that man discreetly slipping away, leaving him and his brother alone in the crowd of celebrants. The man had clearly guessed that all was not well between the brothers, and Balfour mused that Colin could be an uncomfortably perceptive man at times. There was a
still, solemn look upon Nigel's face that made Balfour uneasy. He had hoped that Nigel would conquer his feelings for Maldie or, at best, learn to live with them, but he began to think that had been little more than a foolish dream. Balfour knew that, if he stood in Nigel's place, he would find the situation a pure torment.

  "Congratulations, brother, and many good wishes.” Nigel smiled crookedly. “And I do mean that."

  "Thank ye, but that is not all ye wished to say, is it?” Balfour said quietly, tensing, yet not sure why he dreaded Nigel's next words.

  "I am leaving."

  "I havenae asked that of you."

  "I ken it. I need to leave. I am truly happy for you, hold no anger toward ye or Maldie. Neither of ye has caused this trouble. ‘Tis all my own doing. ‘Tis clear to anyone with eyes in their head that ye love her and she loves you. I thought I could accept that, live with it, and get o'er it. I dinnae think I can do that if I must watch the two of ye together each and every day."

  Balfour briefly clasped his brother by the shoulder. “The last thing I wanted to do was drive ye from your home."

  "Ye arenae driving me out,” he said firmly. “I swear it. I am taking myself away for a wee while. ‘Twill be easier to cure myself of these unasked for and unwanted feelings if the one who stirs them isnae before my eyes. I dared not even kiss the bride. And, in truth, I fear what jealousy may drive me to do. I willnae allow this to come between us, to hurt ye or her. Both of ye have been more tolerant and understanding than I deserve, and I dinnae want to destroy that."

  "Where will ye go?"

  "To France. The French are willing to pay a Scotsmon to fight the English.” He smiled at the dark frown that crossed Balfour's face. “And ye can set that thought aside, brother. I dinnae go to war seeking death. I may be in love with my brother's wife and, aye, ‘tis torment, but I fear I love myself as weel. I go to kill the English and, mayhap, this cursed feeling that causes us both trouble. That is all."