The Maiden Switch

by Allie Borne

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1-The ‘Meri’ Travelers

  Chapter 2-The Keep

  Chapter 3-The Interrogation

  Chapter 4-The Penance

  Chapter 5-Complications

  Chapter 6-The Competition

  Chapter 7- The Chase

  Chapter 8- An Unraveling Yarn

  Chapter 9- An Unexpected Turn of Events

  Chapter 10- Sacrifice and Compromise

  Chapter 11- Consensus

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  The Maiden Switch

  By Allie Borne

  The Maiden Switch

  AllieBorne e-book/ June 2012

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2012 by Allie Borne

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For

  my sister, who taught me to use my imagination

  and my father, who gave me the confidence to share it with others

  Chapter 1-The ‘Meri’ Travelers

  Scottish Highlands, 1533

  Merianne stilled, desperate to sense any signs of life from camp. Then, through the thick fog of silence she heard a muffled yelp and a strange, heavily accented brogue command, “Tell me, Miss Warren, where has she gone? Yer wee mouse? We know ye were traveling with a lady’s maid. Where is she, Lass?”

  What to do? Should she show herself and avoid causing Mary more pain? But where were the men? She heard them not…they must all have been tied up or, or worse! These were not likely the type of men to deal well with the likes of a “wee mouse.” Slowly, silently, Merianne pulled one foot behind the other. Deliberately, she turned and began stepping her way back along the path from which she had just come.

  “Search the woods, Nigel!” the course voice yelled and Meri became a deer. Quick as lightening, her feet lifted and fell, taking her down the creek’s edge, fleet and silent. Yet, even doe’s feet weren’t quick enough to avoid being spotted. One of the men was suddenly on her trail. She could hear him laugh, and then curse, breathing hard as his heavy footfalls closed the distance. Looking about desperately, Merianne saw a possible route of escape. Jumping into the creek, she splashed across and climbed out onto the opposite bank.

  Just as she was about to dart around the bend, a swift tug at the back of her tunic pulled her off balance. Falling into a squat, Merianne struggled to stand. A large, rough-skinned palm came up about her mouth and pulled her backwards. Falling, she hit her head on the hard packed dirt.

  Like a wild doe, Meri kicked, closing her eyes tight against her attacker she twisted about, struggling to get free. Huffing, the course man grabbed her arm, twisting and tearing her gown viciously. Terror welled in Meri as she gained her hands and knees. She pushed up, throwing an elbow into the face of her attacker.

  “Aaaaah!” he yelled, seizing her about the waist, he flung her down again, following with an angry back hand across her cheek.

  Merianne’s head snapped to the side, throwing her body at an awkward angle. “What have you done?!” yelled a man from behind. Have you gone and killed the chit?!”

  Ian looked down at the tiny woman, “She ran,” he shrugged. “Thought I’d teach 'er a lesson afore I brought her to the Laird. Too late now, I suppose.”

  “Well, let’s get gone before the Murray Clan find out what we’re about.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The dull throbbing eased a bit and Merianne Warren dared to open her eyes. Her vision slowly cleared to reveal her father's old library and her heart swelled. There was the large, Dutch tiled fire place. There was the rich oriental rug she had sprawled across as a child, playing war with her cousin's tin soldiers. The light tilted past the heavy brocade curtains in blue and white forty-five degree angles, so that she knew it was four o'clock and her father would be at his studies. She tried to rush around the heavy oak desk to greet her Papa, but her arms and legs would not cooperate. Slowly, as through cold honey, she moved herself to face her father's desk.

  There he sat, his grey, tufted curls encircling each ear. She could see the pink of his scalp through the thin wisps on top and she ached to lean forward and kiss just that spot. Before she could act on her impulse, however, a knock came from the thick mahogany door and a young, fiery haired girl skipped in.

  Merianne's father turned his head to the left and smiled indulgently at his only heir. "Well, if it isn't the Birthday girl herself, come to remind her Papa of his promise to take her to her pony!" he laughed, pulling his spectacles from his face and tossing them carelessly on the desk before he patted his silk-clad knee in invitation.

  Seven-year-old Merianne needed no further encouragement. She raced headlong for her father's lap and climbed up to clasp his cheeks with her tiny hands. "Tell me you are not teasing, Papa. Tell me you have finally got me the pony I have always dreamed of!

  “Thomas has had his pony since he was five and I cannot bear to watch him ride while I sit affront your horse for one more moment!"

  Sighing in weariness from this long suffering argument, Baronet Samuel shifted his daughter onto his right knee and stared down at her somberly. "You are growing up to be a very bright and beautiful young lady. You are also willful and impetuous. I have not until this day purchased you a pony because I could not trust that you would not ride off on one of your ill-begotten schemes."

  Merianne dropped her auburn head in a less-than convincing show of contrition. "I promise to be ladylike in my comportment, Papa. Miss Stevens always says I could be a right fine lady, if I only tried hard enough."

  Baronet Samuel chuckled and patted her curls affectionately. "And I know that someday you will wish to try hard enough. For now, let us go and get a look at this pony. He must not go another moment without a name."

  The two chatted merrily as they made their way out the door and the grown version of Merianne stood, perplexed. Was this a dream? Had she died and become a ghost? She tried to lift her hand to look at it but was unable to accomplish the task. Instead, the light in the room dimmed and a chamber maid entered to set down a tray of golden scones and build up the fire. How was it that she could feel the draft from the open door and smell the melting butter, mixed with stirred up ash, but she could not move about and speak?

  Just then, her father appeared, a nine-year old Merianne in tow. "Shall we play a bout of chess, Poppet? It has been a long while since I have had the opportunity to beat you."

  "Only because I have beaten you the last three times hence, and do not pretend you let me win! I saw the wrinkle in your brow as you tried to pull out a victory." Merianne laughed. She had grown taller but was still petite. Her milky skin was soft and smooth, marred only by a smattering of red freckles across her nose from too many hours spent riding and playing outdoors with Cousin Thomas.

  The grown Merianne smiled at her younger visage but some old memory churned in the back of her mind, causing bile to rise in her throat.

  The father and daughter continued to chat amicably, making moves with increasing slowness as the game progressed. Finally, Merianne's father cleared his throat.

  "You are growing up quickly, My Dear. Soon it will be time for you to begin visiting relatives in Brighton and London. I want you to learn your way around a drawing room."

  Merianne rolled her eyes and continued to focus on the chess board. "You know I care nothing for
that sort of thing, Papa. I am happy staying in the country with you."

  "But someday you must grow up and marry. Your husband will-"

  "I do not wish to marry and move away from you, Papa." Merianne raised her eyes in stubborn defiance. “All the men besides you and Thomas, and Uncle Daniel are horrid, simply horrid. They talk to me like I am some sort of nitwit and when I speak up and show I have a brain in my head they act disgusted, like there is something wrong with me. I want to stay here with you."

  "Merianne, I will not always be around and this house is entailed to Thomas. Do you think he would want you hanging about here when he has a wife and children of his own? He has already begun leaving you behind on his adventures."

  Merianne looked up at her father, tears glistening in her eyes. "What would you have me do, Papa? Pretend to be someone that I am not? I cannot! I am stubborn and willful and impetuous, just as you say and no one will love me for that!" Pulling at her auburn hair viscously, she continued her emotional tirade. "I have this ugly red hair and freckles, and I am too short and I use big words that the boys don't understand! Who will have me, father, but an ugly old man?

  “I heard Miss Stevens talking it over with the cook. She said that you were in correspondence with an old Oxford friend and might be arranging for me to wed…Tell me you would not marry me off to some old man, father. Tell me she was lying!"

  Baronet Samuel sighed and looked over at his daughter sternly. "Of course I would not wed you to a man old enough to be your father! And I will not have you speak this way to me again! Have some restraint, Merianne Warren, or I will restrain you myself!"

  Merianne lifted her chin defiantly but remained mute. The fully grown Merianne ached for her. It was so hard to be an awkward child. It was so hard to love her only parent so deeply, knowing she would someday have to leave him for a man she could not possibly love as much, a man that she knew could not possibly love her.

  "Merianne," her father continued, "I have betrothed you to the son of my closest friend from University. He is just now only fourteen years old, so you need not worry about marriage until you are the ripe old age of twenty-one."

  "What is wrong with him that his father would wish to arrange a marriage so young?" Merianne wisely questioned.

  "Nothing. He is handsome and strong and intelligent. He is, as we speak, studying at the Sorbonne, The University of Paris. In fact, he is to inherit his father's title someday, becoming the Baron, Lord Redland."

  "I am not familiar with that title. Does he live very far from here?"

  After a short pause, Baronet Samuel responded in an overly chipper voice,"Just a bit north, is all, you will love living there, Poppet, I promise you that."

  Merianne's face paled and she clenched at her stomach. "Papa…how far north?"

  "He is a Scottish laird, Merianne. The very type of man who will appreciate your wit and your temperament. You will love it there. I have met the young man and I have no doubt you will be well suited to one another."

  Merianne stood resolutely, "Please do not do this, Papa. Please to not send me off to the ends of the earth to shrivel up and die in the hands of those…those barbarians!"

  As Sir Samuel resolutely returned his daughter's infuriated gaze, she realized his resolve and crumpled. Storming out of the room she stomped up the stairs to her green canopied bed and threw herself across its width. Sobbing, she did not notice the door open and her father enter. The grown Merianne longed to join the father and daughter on the bed as he gathered her younger self in his arms and rocked her. "All will be well, you will see," he crooned pulling the tear-saturated strands from her freckled face.

  Merianne was now twenty-one years old. She wished desperately that her father was still alive to hold her and comfort her as he had then. She wished he had trusted her enough to break the betrothal and let her stay with the family she loved.

  Drifting from her old bedroom, Merianne's vision again turned black. She surrendered to the unthinking, unfeeling void whilst her body lay beaten and exposed beside a rocky stream in the Scottish Highlands.

  ~ ~ ~

  “You could have called off the contract when the chit’s father died, Bryan. Are ye telling me ye actually plan on following through with this?” Arthur queried, aghast.

  “My father wanted me to have a well-bred wife,” Lord Redland repeated. “He betrothed me to the daughter of his Oxford chara, one of my father's few true friends, and I respect his wishes. Besides, it is high time that the Murray Clan saw some new blood. A nice, mild-mannered woman is just what I have in mind. I haven’t the time or the patience to be having it out with any of these strong-willed Highland Lassies.

  “Has Eva finished the plaid for my bride? It is essential that it be ready for the wedding.”

  “Aye, aye, the plaid is finished, and to the specifications provided. Is it true the lass is as small as all that? How is she to survive bearing your brats if she is only as tall as a Shetland pony? Damn ridiculous, if you ask me.”

  “She’ll come to my chest, and that is plenty tall enough for a woman. I’ll not be having a bride that looks as if she could carry me over the threshold, Arthur. Now be still about it. My mind is made up.”

  “Then, I must tell you that word has been sent. They crossed Loch Tay yesterday morn. We are to expect them tomorrow night. Shall I see to preparing a feast?”

  “You shall. I plan on riding out to escort them to the keep. I’ll want my best cloak brushed and my clasp shined.”

  “You’re not going to wear yer French get-up, with the tights? Won’t ye shock the wee thing?”

  “I said I would marry a mild-mannered wife. She will not be led to expect me to act like an Englishman. I am a Scot. Soon, she too will be a Scot. She will adjust to me, not the other way 'round, Arthur.”

  After a long silence, Lord Redland dipped his head and conceded, “I will wear my tartan trews.”

  “Very well, then, Sir. Good night to ye’,” Arthur responded, dipping his head in acceptance and hiding a smile.

  “Good night, Arthur.”

  Bryan shut the door to his chamber and bolted it. The wooden planks of the door pressed into the hardened flesh of one fore arm as he leaned his weight against it. What have I done? Bryan thought as his forehead drooped to meet his arm. Long blonde strands of hair fell from his braid and brushed along one chiseled brow. These people will never trust an outsider. They will not embrace her as their own. She is sure to treat them with disregard, as do her ilk. Is my wish to protect my people with this alliance such that I will subject them to a less than capable mistress?

  Aye, he thought, resolutely. I will subject them to more of the same disrespect if it means securing my ties to London and the safety of this land. In this union the lady receives the Redland title and I get the insurance of keeping it.

  Crossing to the fire place, Bryan crouched to poke the fire and add a long, thin section of peat. He could not seem to get warm tonight, despite the fact that it was late April. Shivering, he climbed into his large, carved bed. Perhaps his body was not as certain as his mind about this marriage. Despite a prized wit, Bryan trusted his gut. It had kept him alive thus far. His gut told him something was not right. He would sleep with one eye open tonight.

  ~ ~ ~

  Something was scratching Meri’s fingertip. She didn’t want to wake up, she didn’t want to move. Her brain throbbed angrily within her skull. She’d just as well like to stay asleep, but that scratching had to stop. Moaning, Merianne rolled upon her side. Blinking against the black about her, she waited for the pounding at the base of her skull to subside before she tried to focus her eyes.

  The sun glared it’s bright beams upon her battered face. Squinting against the assault, Merianne directed her gaze towards the scratching sensation on her finger. Just below the surface of the creek, Meri’s hand dangled. Just beneath her finger tip, a Brown Trout bobbed, nibbling at the floating digit as if it were a dead piece of flesh.

  Ripping her arm from t
he water, Merianne sat up quickly, clutching the much abused hand against her chest. The sudden movement sent a fresh burst of pain through her temples. Blackness closed in on her vision and she again fainted where she lay.

  ~ ~ ~

  Through the mists she could again see herself, a ghostly observer to past experiences. Merianne struggled to swallow the lump in her throat as she watched the small band of travelers guide their mounts through the rocky terrain just north of Falkirk. She wanted to call out a warning but couldn't seem to find her voice. Instead, she simply watched yesterday's scene play out with a growing since of dread.

  Sighing, the Merianne in her vision arched her back and rubbed the aching indentation at its base. Pulling her mount to ride astride of Mary Luke's, she gave her most trusted attendant a knowing look. Slowly, the two made their way to the side of the traveling entourage for a private exchange.

  “Mary, do you think you could ask the Mister Sullivan if we might rest for a bit? The air here is thin and I am feeling fatigued.”

  “We have not been riding more than two hours, Miss, and ye’ know it. It is the fact that we’ve made it across the border that gives ye’ pause.” Mary turned to her companion and added, with a bit more pity, “‘Course, I’m sure the horses could do with a bit of a drink and I happen to know there is a stream up ahead…I will suggest it…

  “You know, Miss Meri,” she continued, “men in Scotland are nay much different than the men in England. They just speak with a lilt, is all.”

  “You are only acquainted with the lowland Scots, Mary,” Merianne scoffed. “We are going to live among the Highland heathens. You know as well as I that the men up here are simply uncivilized. If it was not for the fact that my father had elicited a promise from my uncle to maintain the marriage contract, I would have long ago persuaded Sir Daniel to extricate me from this foul match.”

  Leading the horses through a copse of trees, Mary and her mistress quickly dismounted and walked a bit down stream to find some privacy.