by Shana Ab
Her horse, she was told, after a moment of strained silence. Her mare had gone galloping home with the severed reins, and that had alarmed the guards enough to mount a party to search for her. They had found the slaughter at the beach instead. Fortunately, Keir was close enough to send for quick reinforcements.
And that was all she was told. Perhaps it was because she had been right, and the council wrong: the Vikings had indeed attacked again. The elders of her clan were old men firmly burrowed into their ways—to be proven wrong by a woman had to sting. Perhaps that was why they remained so short with her.
When she tried to bring it up again later, this time to Quinn and a few of the council, she was thrown stern looks and ordered back to her room, to rest. She looked too wan, she was much too thin, it was clear she needed to fortify herself for the upcoming wedding, especially since the Murdoch was speaking of moving up the date to next week.
“Why wait?” he had asked rhetorically to her and the whole clan at supper yesterday, sitting beside her. “We are here now. Naturally, I have brought my own priest for the service, and he has agreed it would be best to do it as soon as may be.”
“Why?” Lauren had asked, knowing how it sounded, unable to help herself.
“Why?” repeated the Murdoch, his blue eyes at last landing on her. He pinned her with his gaze, disapproval and censure gleaming behind his smile. “Why, mayhap because I want to be wed to the fairest lass in Scotland sooner rather than later, Lauren.”
And this had prompted cheers and laughter from the rest in the hall, the ringing chime of goblets being knocked together in toasts. It seemed that no one but Lauren caught the cold chill from the man she was to wed. No one but she noticed how his gaze was never steady, how even though his hands were large and rough, his voice remained falsely smooth.
She was being stupid. Her perception was affected by her true heart, that was all. After all, Payton Murdoch had come, just as all had hoped, and he had helped save Shot. That had to be proof enough that he was a worthy ally.
He had taken her hand then and squeezed it—hard. Very hard. Lauren had stared back at him, unflinching, unmoving, incensed but not showing it. Eventually he had relaxed his hold, freeing her. He did not look at her again.
“I was surprised to find Englishmen on your beach,” commented Murdoch to the air around him, in the driest tone imaginable.
No one responded immediately, although a myriad of dark looks were exchanged among the council members, and some of the men shook their heads.
“After all, you knew I was coming,” Murdoch continued, taking a small sip of his wine, his words almost careless. “It seems a bit … odd to me that you would turn to our enemy, even to hold off the Vikings.”
James wore a heavy frown.“We did not invite them to that beach. They arrived first. And there were many Vikings….”
Murdoch said nothing, examining his wine as if it held some intense fascination for him. Then he gave a light laugh, looking up.“Aye, and there are not so many Vikings now, are there?”
Laughter echoed around him, relief and forced heartiness.
Lauren glanced over to Hannah, her hands motionless over her plate, her look as cautious and worried as Lauren felt. But the uneasy moment had passed, and the meal once again wound on in pleasant tones.
Near the end of it, when she had risen to retire, the Murdoch had reclaimed her hand, pulling her closer to him with that same practiced smile as before.
“Do not question me in public again, Lauren,” he had said to her, his voice soft and composed.
She had pulled back to stare at him, wondering if he had actually said such a thing, and he only nodded and let go of her, turning away to Quinn, on his other side.
So she had left, quiet, and gone to her room to think about what her life was about to become: wife to a man of prejudice and conceit, who would not allow her to speak out against him, even in the mildest of ways. Wife to a man who had no qualms about using force to control her as it suited him—as witnessed by the throbbing pain in her left hand, the one the Murdoch had clenched. She didn't know how she was going to be able to bear a life of such restrictions.
To distract herself she lay down on her pallet and concentrated on the stars outside her window, becoming lost in their pinpointed brilliance, adrift in the midnight heavens, thin blue clouds….
Arion must still be alive. Of course, no one would mention it to her, and now she dared not even ask. But she had not heard anyone repeating gossip of his death, only of the battle, over and over, and of the glory of the Scots. Nothing of the Earl of Morgan.
Even Hannah had not known, had only shaken her head sadly when Lauren managed to isolate her from the crowd of wedding women and whispered her question to her. Hannah would have told her if he had died. Hannah would not lie to her.
But deeper than that, truer than gossip or rumor or even hope, Lauren knew Arion was not dead because she had not felt him die. It seemed ridiculous even to think such a thing, but she knew it with all of her being. He lived. He stayed on Shot, at Elguire. His was not one of the lights of heaven she was now surveying.
I love you, he had said to her, defending her with his life.
Lauren sent her reply out to dwell with the stars, silent forever:
And I you.
HLAUREN,” PAYTON MURDOCH SAID, not bothering to look up from the papers he was studying at the table. “Please close the door and sit.”
Lauren hesitated in the doorway to his chambers, uneasy despite the convention of the moment.
She had been told this morning that the Murdoch required her presence in his chamber this afternoon at noon precisely. Since that was the hour when everyone else would be eating, she had assumed he meant to share a private meal with her, perhaps go over the wedding, or her coming duties as his wife.
She had not relished the idea. But this morning when she opened the jewelry box to slip on his ring, she allowed her fingers to brush over the golden brooch of her family badge. It gave her honor. Then, behind it, she found the outline of the sliver of amber cloth, hidden away to all but she. This gave her courage.
Ye t she saw now that she had been mistaken after all; there was no meal laid out for them, no food to be seen anywhere, in fact, only her fiancé sitting at the table, papers surrounding him, and a lone goblet of something beside him. His brown hair was swept back into a neat queue, not a strand out of place.
Murdoch looked up at her, inquiry and irritation. “Are you deaf, lass? I said, sit.”
She repressed a retort and shut the door, moving into the room, finding a chair that was not too near his. She sat and he watched her now, holding on to his peeved expression. It reminded her suddenly of a horse she had known once, colicky and surly.
Lauren bowed her head, pursing her lips to combat the smile.
“In the future, I expect you to obey me instantly,” said Murdoch.
She lifted her head, astonished.
“I am telling you now to be fair,” he went on, leaning back in his chair. “I do not wish there to be any misunderstandings between us.”
“Obey you?” she echoed, and to her horror the smile came back, and with it a laugh trapped in her throat.
“Aye,” he said curtly.“When I say sit, you sit. If I tell you to stand, you stand. It is a very simple law between a man and his wife. I expect you to follow it.”
“What law is this?” she managed to ask.
“Naught but the law of God and man. The husband rules his wife with a firm hand. The wife submits.”
“But—” She stopped, biting back her protest, and saw him watch her keenly.
“You will submit to me,” he said, in the same soft tone as he had used when he had crushed her hand. “Do you understand, Lauren?”
She took a heavy breath, unable to think of what to reply to such absurdity. She had never before known a man to take the word of the church so literally. Yes, men spoke of it, priests sermonized about it, of a woman's weakness, how she mus
t follow the will of her husband, her father, even her grown sons—but she had never known anyone to insist upon it so ardently—
“I asked if you understood me, Lauren.” Murdoch stood up suddenly, crossing to her. Before she could move he had yanked her up out of the chair with quick force, using one hand to hold her arm—the wounded one— and the other to pinch her chin to keep her still in front of him.
She stared up at him, furious, not daring to move away.
“In the future,” said Murdoch, using the same bland tone as before,“never, ever make me repeat a command to you.”
He kissed her then, showing her what was beneath his blandness, the thing she had glimpsed last night: anger and contempt, heated displeasure. It was more of a punishment than a kiss, and he let her drop away from him only when she couldn't breathe, when her lips were hurting, and the place on her cheeks where his fingers had pressed felt sorely bruised.
Murdoch returned to his chair. He took a sip from his goblet, then placed it carefully back onto the table.
“Sit down,” he ordered.
Lauren sat.
Murdoch noted it with just a faint nod of approval. “We have much more to discuss, sweet wife.”
HE POUND HANNAH IN HER chamber, embroidering something long and elaborate that spread over her lap in folds of pink and green and gold.
“Oh, you've caught me,” announced Hannah, with half a laugh. Lauren paused and looked around the room, startled, but then Hannah indicated the cloth in front of her.
“It's for you,” she said, smiling. “Or rather, for your children.”
Lauren walked slowly closer, and now she could see that what Hannah sewed was a blanket, soft and pretty, with squares of color on it that made up pictures: sheep and birds, castles and oceans, starfish and dolphins.
“I wanted to finish it in time to send along with you to the mainland,” Hannah said to her. “A small gift. For the future.”
Lauren tore her gaze from the blanket, from what it meant. “Hannah, I need you to do something for me. It's very important.”
“What is it, dearest?”
“Take this note.” Lauren held it out to her, the wax seal of it facing upward.
Hannah studied it for a moment, then reached out and took it gingerly, her fingers barely touching the folded paper.
“I know you can get it to him,” Lauren said.
“No, Lauren—”
“Listen to me!” She had to stop and swallow, fighting back the babbling fear that wanted to speak for her. “It's … it's only a good-bye. I didn't get the chance to say good-bye to him. That's all.”
“Are you feeling well? Yo u look flushed—and are those bruises on your face—?”
“From the battle,” Lauren interrupted, intent on her purpose.“It's nothing. But, Hannah, will you see that he gets it? I need it delivered today, if you can. I need to know he has it today.”
“I really don't think this is wise.” Hannah shook her head. “I know it's difficult, but sometimes it's best just to leave things as they fall.”
“Did you get to bid farewell to Fuller Morgan, all those years ago?” Lauren demanded.
Hannah looked down at the blanket on her lap, obviously troubled.“This is really nothing like that.”
“You did, though. I know you did. And though you say that you never missed him until now, think what it would have meant to just walk away from him without that final meeting, and your farewell. Think of what it would have been like for you … for him.”
Hannah was frowning, her hands on her lap, the note between them. She said nothing, staring down at it.
“It's just my good-bye,” Lauren said, and she could not disguise the plea in her words. She knelt before her friend, grasping her hands. “I beg you, Hannah, do me this one last thing.”
And Hannah looked up at her finally, sighing, releasing the note and the blanket to hug Lauren to her. Lauren closed her eyes, holding tight.
“Please, Hannah …”
“I will,” her friend said. “I'll see that he receives it, if it means you're more easily able to let go of him.”
“Today,” Lauren added.
“Aye, today.” Hannah sighed again.
“Thank you,” Lauren murmured, and felt the gratitude sink into her bones.“Thank you, thank you.”
WAS REMARKABLY EASY TO leave Keir.
Much easier than she had expected, or even hoped.
You will come to me when I summon you.
She left through the gate with a party of shepherds and their flock, hooded and cloaked, head always bowed. She carried one of the herding crooks and stayed on the outflanks of the mass of them, trying hard to remain unnoticed. Dogs ran around them all, barking and moving the sheep, and perhaps that was distraction enough for her to become just another shepherdess, out to graze her portion of the sheep. The chill of winter had not abated from the air, and she was not the only one covered from head to toe.
Once outside the castle walls, she followed the flock into the woods, lagging farther and farther behind, slowly separating herself from the group. Eventually, she ducked away behind a group of trees and waited, until the sound of hooves across leaves and the barking dogs faded in the distance.
You will do exactly as I tell you.
Her plan to leave had worked, but it meant that she had no horse to ride. She dropped the crook behind some bushes and began her long walk, still too tired and sore to run, though the urgency swimming through her kept her steps fleet.
You will stand until I allow you to be seated.
It really didn't look as if it would snow again. It had not since that fateful day at the beach, but neither had it warmed up very much. There were still tufts and drifts of snow on the ground, clinging to the brown autumn leaves. Lauren was careful to avoid them. Patches of snow would leave footprints, and footprints could be followed.
You will speak only when I grant you leave to.
Night was coming fast, a dwindling of light that left the woods shrouded and dark, hindering her progress. But she did not slow. She could not afford to. She didn't know how much time she had.
You will not meet the eyes of other men.
She had told them she was feeling ill, that she wanted to sleep, and please not to send her dinner to her room or disturb her in any way. She had tried to add just the right amount of command and exhaustion to her words, to make them believe her but not be so worried as to send someone up to check on her. Just in case they did, she had stuffed her pillows beneath her covers, a rough outline of a body. It was an old childhood trick, but it was all that she had.
You will not gossip with other women.
If they truly wanted to see her, her ruse would be over that quickly. She had to hurry. She had to walk faster. Twilight was almost gone; the night birds were beginning to stir.
You will yield your mind and your body to my will.
It seemed so much farther than she remembered. That had to be the anxiety in her, making her imagine the distance had grown. Was that voices behind her? No—no. Not yet. It could not be them just yet. Lauren folded her cloak closer to her, picking up her pace, close to a run.
You will bear me sons.
The silver branch of rowan was back at Keir, resting next to the ruby ring in her jewelry box. Should anyone check it, they might notice that her golden clan brooch was missing. But they would not see that she had taken the small strip of amber cloth as well.
Yo u will never complain, never make excuses, never fail me.
She had tied the amber cloth to her belt in a knotted bow, tucked away securely against her waist, out of sight to all but she.
You will listen and be guided only by me.
She was so cold, she was freezing. But she was also hot and flushed at the same time, a dizzying combination that ate away her reassurance, made her breath that much shorter as she ran. She was almost there, almost there, and then she would be truly free, it would be all over then….
Come here
to me now, wife.
The meadow was empty.
She stopped just outside of it, trying to breathe silently through her mouth, the air turning to frost before her. Lauren moved until she was well hidden behind a nest of pine trees, and the meadow was fully revealed in spotted checkers of black earth and white snow.
The rock oak stood alone, a cap of snow on top, otherwise untouched by all inclement weather.
Lauren wrapped her arms around herself and crouched down amid the trees, waiting.
RION STARED, UNSEEING, AT THE wood of the table beneath his hands.
He made a point to sit at Ryder's table, instead of lingering in his bed. He couldn't bear to stay in the bed. That was where she had slept.
His body was still weak, still pained and slow, reminding him with every breath of the viciousness of the battle he had been in, and the slow encroachment of age that seemed to make mending his wounds a greater struggle with each passing second.
He felt old. He felt hollow. He felt as close to the edge of that infinite void that circled him as he ever had in his life. He was alone, forever alone, and Ari understood, with sort of wearied acceptance, that this was to be his intractable fate.
The void would take him in. If he was lucky, he might not live too long in it. He might die—another battle, a sunken ship, a spoiled meal, perhaps—and then the relief he sought would be found.
And his Lauren, that dazzling flame, would go on in her life with another man, sharing the wealth of her spirit with her husband, giving him herself, and her children, and laughter and love—giving that bastard Scotsman every reason to live, while Arion had none.
Lauren.
She was light and beauty and a sort of transcendent hope to him. She was his perfect dream, the embodiment of an exact, precious essence his soul craved.
He was so empty without her.
Arion dropped his head into his hands, closing his eyes. He might as well dream of the wind as of Lauren MacRae. Any chance of holding either was mere illusion.