by Allie Borne
A murmuring of questions and comments ensued. Bryan glared at Merianne. She seemed all too willing to give her child away to these devils and he could not, for the life of him fathom why. “We would expect that ye would visit the keep in the interim, so that our people could see ye and know thy intentions,” Thomas demanded.
“Absolutely no’,” Bryan fairly roared. Hands grasped sword hilts.
Merianne came closer to her husband. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she turned to the Cumyn clan and explained, “I have just recently come to accept my Scottish heritage. The fact that this heritage is linked with a clan that is my husband’s enemy is upsetting to us both. You must understand. You ask my husband to offer up his legacy and his spouse. Were you in his place, would you agree?”
The men relaxed and focused on the problem at hand. A short, squat man stood and introduced himself. “My name is Reagan Cumyn. My wife is English born. She is the daughter of a scholar and has noble blood. Perhaps, your wife might want to visit her, as they share a common background. Many well borne ladies visit one another in this way.”
“Aye,” Merianne smiled, intrigued by the idea. “what a grand way to end this frivolous feud. I can visit thy wife and she can visit me. The women can get to know one another. When I have children, they can come with me on these visits. We will develop a rapport in this way. Your people will see the connection.”
Bryan Murray began to see the benefits to this plan. He needed to end this feud. Were he blessed with multiple sons, they would both have grand estates and power within their region. It truly might work out well for all involved. His brother stood to inherit Sir Robert’s lands. Their family would only grow in power. He could risk a little to gain a lot. He need only trust his wife.
“Would ye guarantee my wife’s fair treatment and safe return?” Bryan asked.
“O’ course,” Reagan agreed. “She will be akin to a savior for our clan. We would sooner turn the swords upon ourselves then harm our chances at redemption.”
“Ye can teach thy son everything ye know about running a prosperous estate and leading a clan. We will teach him about the Cumyn traditions. He will wear the Cumyn plaid,” Thomas suggested.
“When he is with ye, he may. While under my roof, he will wear the plaid of his father. I will no’ have my son feeling an outsider in his own home,” Redland remarked.
“Agreed,” Thomas cajoled. “Our laird will be raised to respect both clans. He will be a great laird, with supports surrounding his lands and his people. We will be a region united once again.
Rachel came in, hands shaking, with Miriam behind. They offered cups of ale for all the table and a cheer went up. “To our future!” Thomas called out.
“I will drink to that!” Bryan offered, raising his glass. The men drank their fill and eagerly agreed to stay for dinner. The festive feeling of the meal bubbled over into the kitchens and stable yard alike. Everyone seemed vastly relieved that their neighbors were their allies once more.
Bryan looked over to smile at his wife and he noticed that she had grown deathly pale. Rather than draw attention to her frailty, Bryan stood, announcing. “I am grateful to commune once more with the Cumyn clan. Today, however, my kin was brought home. I wish to depart with thy company fer now, so that I might mourn my cousin’s death. Feel free to spend the night, if ye so wish. My wife and I will see thee off in the morning.”
“Nonsense,” Thomas retorted. “Thy home is in mourning. We will no’ impose.” Rising, the remaining Cumyn’s followed suit. “Thy wife is clearly tired. We will shew ourselves out.”
“I would never be such an ungracious hostess,” Merianne smiled gallantly. “My husband and I will see thee off.”
The group walked towards the stables, where, to Merianne’s immense relief, the men’s horses were saddled and waiting. They made their quick good byes, Reagan offering, “My wife will send thee an invitation anon. We look forward to thy visit.”
Merianne smiled and waved as the men galloped off.
“I think we should hold that competition after all,” Lord Redland mused as he escorted his wife back into the keep. Merianne, looked up at Redland, concern etched across her features. She stumbled on the first step.
Bryan reached down and swept her into his arms. For once, Merianne did not object. The idea of climbing the stairs up to their room was daunting. “This is humiliating,” she murmured into his shirt.
“Not nearly as demoralizing as falling down the entire flight of stairs, I would imagine,” Bryan retorted matter-of-factly. “Now, when do ye suppose we might be expecting thy companion? Will our friends stay with thy uncle or will they be returning post haste?”
“I would expect that they would not stay more than a night or two. My uncle is generous but easily distracted. They will be welcome to stay as long as they wish but neglected by their host.”
Bryan nodded. “I would expect they will wish to return and exonerate ye from wrong doing. I must admit I am in a hurry for them to do just that.”
“Do ye think I need exonerating?” Merianne asked, growing rigid in her husband’s arms.
“I do no’ require any confirmation that ye are Merianne and that ye are committed to the Murray clan. After today, however, there might be some tongues wagging that you were sympathetic to the Cumyn clan all along.”
Merianne sighed. “I have come to realize that raging against wagging tongues will do naught but get me covered in spittle. I could not care less what people’s tongues say. Tis what they do that concerns me. Will your people treat me with respect, Bryan? Can they be trusted with my person or not?”
At Bryan’s silence, Merianne shuttered. “Am I not safe in my own home?”
“Ye are Sassenach, Merianne, an outsider. Ye must understand that it will take time for the Murrays to warm up to ye. They need to feel that ye have their best interests at heart. The fact that ye will be raising the Cumyn Laird will no’ sit well with them at first. Give them time to see that this can work out for everyone involved. Many here have Cumyn kin. They will warm to the idea of renewing those ties, when they come to see the truce as legitimate.”
“And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, I will continue to be the one who aids you with your toilette. I ken no’ who I can and can no’ trust.”
Merianne groaned. “I cannot be seen like this! People will be saying I am mad, as well as a traitor.”
“Mary will be home soon. She will see to your fashionable coiffure. Until then, a braid or a bun will have to do.”
“Oh, of course! You can braid hair! Will you braid mine tonight? It has gotten in a terrible snarl.”
“Aye, Merianne, I will be yer long suffering servant. In return, ye must promise to satisfy my every need as well.”
Merianne paled at the very thought of love making. She was loathe to refuse her husband anything, but her shoulder burned as if someone were sticking a hot poker in it. Bryan noted her expression and was immediately contrite.
“Did I hurt ye over much the last time?” Nuzzling her neck, Bryan fumbled with the key and managed to unlock the chamber door. Shoving the door open, then kicking it shut again, Bryan slid the key back in the door and locked it before turning to set Merianne on the bed. All the jostling had really been too much.
Merianne felt near tears. Standing, she walked to the window to look out. She couldn’t bear for Bryan to see her so weak. “I did. I hurt ye and now ye are scared,” Bryan berated himself, pacing back and forth.
“I am an animal. I am sorry. I want to say it won’t happen again but I am hesitant to make a promise that I don’t know if I can keep. Sometimes I feel as if I do not lay with you I will burst. I will try to be more restrained-”
“Nay! No, no, no, that is not it,” Merianne cut Bryan off with a swish of her hand. My shoulder hurts, that is all. All of that jostling around just now made me want to cry. I cannot imagine what love making might do to it.”
“So...ye are not afraid of me?”
“I am afraid of my shoulder.”
Bryan grinned and walked to the side board where he had left a decanter of whisky. “Allow me to give ye something to dull the pain a bit.”
Meri accepted the tumbler and downed its contents in one gulp. Mouth burning, she shivered from the vile taste coating her tongue. Bryan poured her a chaser of water and, once her stomach settled into a warm contentment, she smiled.
“What if I were to tell ye I have some ideas of how we might...get on while yer shoulder is healing?”
“Not tonight, Bryan. I was too weary to climb the stairs, how might I survive bed play?”
Bryan nodded, ashamed by his need for her when she was clearly so unwell. “O’ course, we will wait as long as it takes...Shall I help ye into yer night clothes?”
Merianne smiled and nodded, grateful for his understanding.
Gingerly, he helped her from her dress and slid her soft night rail over her head. Bryan brushed her hair and braided it. With each touch, each kiss of his knuckles against her skin, Bryan burned. Merianne had made little moans of pleasure as he had tenderly lifted and brushed each section of hair. She had no idea what this constant touching and closeness was doing to him.
Settled in bed, Merianne fell fast asleep. Bryan nearly screamed in frustration. How could she enjoy the sleep of the innocent while he was wracked with unspent lust? Perhaps a quick walk would cool his ardor.
Making his way across the court yard, Bryan stopped and turned toward the stables. He would give Silkey and Cinnamon good rub downs. Bryan entered the stable quietly, so as not to startle the stable hands from their slumber. He gathered his supplies and made his way to Cinnamon’s stall first.
If they were lucky, they would have a new foal by next spring. He wondered if it would be a mare or a stud. Either way, the foal would be an excellent wedding gift for Andrew. It was high time the man picked a wife.
By the way he followed Mary with his eyes, Bryan predicted that he might be married before the foal were even born. Perhaps the horse could be for his own son, then. Merianne might already be breeding. The thought thrilled and tormented Bryan. He wanted a son, yet the idea of losing Merianne in child bed terrified him.
Many women died that way. He had lost his own mother. Half of all the men he knew had lost their mother before they were grown. If only it were not such a sin to prevent her from getting pregnant, he would. Let Andrew have the heirs. Bryan would gladly settle for being an uncle over a father, if it meant being able to grow old with his wife.
As he brushed the mare’s glossy brown coat, Bryan heard a scuffling noise coming from the back of the stable. Thinking that he had awoken a stable boy, Bryan stepped out into the aisle to avoid startling the lad.
No one came to investigate, yet the noise, some sort of thumping, was coming from the back of the stable. Bryan made his way closer, listening. He was only a few yards away when he realized he was hearing the sounds of frantic love making coming from one of the back stalls.
Quickly, Bryan walked back down the aisle, eager to return his curry comb and get back to his walk. This was no way to clear his head! Before he could escape, a feminine giggle and the sound of a shutting stable door alerted him to the girl’s approach.
Bryan tried to blend into the woodwork, pressing himself closer to the tack wall, but no such luck. “Oh, my Laird! I did no’ see thee there,” Rachel blushed and giggled. “I was jest leaving.”
Bryan nodded and allowed her to precede him out of the stable. Once she had gone, Bryan continued to stroll about the grounds. He feared losing control where Merianne was concerned. The smell of her skin, the feel of it, reminded him of honey suckle. As a small child, Bryan had loved to climb beneath the honeysuckle plants. He would eat the nectar and pull apart the leaves. The space beneath the plants was like his own private paradise.
That was how Merianne made him feel, safe and happy. She was the plant and the sunlight dappling through its leaves. She was that feeling of rightness he had not experienced since that time. This juvenile lust would not threaten to destroy his serenity. He would care for her and make certain that she flourished.
She was his sanctuary. With that thought in mind, Bryan made his way back up to their chamber. He would hold her and that would be enough. It would have to be enough.
~ ~ ~
Andrew sat up suddenly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Looking down, he realized that he had fallen asleep with his arm about Mary. The budding smile died instantly when he realized what had woken him. Arthur was hollering and carrying on while Aiden, it seemed was hastily packing up camp.
Scrambling from his bed roll, Andrew crawled from the tent, lifting his plaid back up across his shoulder. “What goes here?” Andrew called.
“While ye cuddled up to yer Miss Luke, ye lazy sod, the murderous tramp slipped from our fingers,” Arthur roared in frustration.
“Did I no’ tell ye that Mary and I intended to hold watch tonight? If ye could no’ stay awake, ye should have roused me,” Sir Andrew challenged.
Arthur’s face boiled with embarrassment and hostility. “Admit it, old man,” Sir Andrew continued, “ye are as mad at yourself as ye are with any of us. That woman has defeated us both twice now. She is making us look like a bunch of feeble old women and ye can no’ stand it. Forsooth, we continue to dismiss her as a threat because she is a woman.”
“How did she break from the rope?”
“It seems she must have had another dagger stashed somewhere within the reach of her arms, fer she sawed through the ropes.”
Mary approached the group, her hair freshly braided. “What has happened?” she asked. Alarm written across her face.
“The Impostor has escaped. I am beginning to think she really is a witch,” Andrew responded.
“How? Did I hear you say she had another knife?”
“Aye, she must have,” Arthur returned. Mary spun about and headed back toward the tent. Hunting through her sewing box, she found that her scissors and cutting knife were missing.
“Corpus Bones!” she cursed, backing from the tent with a marked lack of aplomb.
Both men watched her as she approached, shame faced. “She took my scissors and cutting knife from my sewing kit. I should never have left her alone last night.”
“That was my fault, Mary. Do no’ blame thyself. I called you from your tent.”
Mary shrugged as if that fact were inconsequential. “I knew my duty and I failed. I will never forgive myself if someone gets hurt for my mistake.”
“No one but that witch is going to get hurt,” Arthur ground out. “Hurry and pack up the camp, Aiden and I are going to track us down a weasel.”
Mary sighed as the two mounted and headed into the woods in the direction of ‘the weasel’s’ trail. “I suppose I should scrub these dishes.”
“Will ye roll the bedding first, so that I can break down the tents?” Andrew asked, resigned. Normally, he would be fuming that he had been left behind with woman’s work, but he trusted no one else to protect his Mary.
As she crawled into her own tent and began straightening up, Andrew crawled in after her, with the pretext of dragging out The Impostor’s trunk.
“Mary, I have been thinking,” he began.
“Hmmm?” she coaxed, while shoving all of her toiletry items in her own bag.
“We have been alone together a great deal lately. I do no’ wish to burnish thy reputation. I think that we should get married.”
Mary stopped and looked up at Andrew, shocked. “Andrew, I do not think that you should offer to wed me, just because you feel obligated to protect my reputation. I am certain that if you asked Arthur and Aiden, they would say nothing about last night.”
Andrew stared at Mary, uncertain what to say. He had been certain that she would see the logic in his statement and agree. She was not being reasonable.
“But t’would be dishonest. We ‘ave stayed together overnight thrice now. I think we should get married.”
“Sir Andrew, you know as well as I that we were together but naught happened. I am not a fallen woman and I do not appreciate the implication that I am.”
“Verra well,” Andrew responded, leaning over to grab Mary around the waist, he pulled her into his arms. Squealing and wiggling, Mary tried to free herself.
“You are a brute!” she berated, smacking him on his iron clad arms.
Andrew ignored the protests, leaning in, instead, for a kiss. Pressing his lips against hers, he noted the moment she softened. Andrew deepened the kiss, running his tongue along the inside of her lip, feathering soft kisses from the corner of her mouth to her temple.
Andrew ran his tongue along the nape of her neck and Mary shivered. Returning to her mouth, Andrew continued to kiss and nuzzle until she softened to pudding in his hands. Andrew reached his hand beneath her dress and ran his fingers nimbly along the inside of her thigh. Mary moaned in ecstasy. Andrew reached the apex of her thighs and stopped.
Slowly, Mary came to her senses and stiffened. She sat up and pushed her skirts down about her ankles where they belonged.
“Are ye now understanding how close we are to crossing the line?” Andrew asked huskily.
Mary shrugged and turned from him, continuing to straighten her covers. “Mary, I could have lain with ye jest now and ye would ‘ave been a fallen woman. Do ye not understand? We need to get married.”
Mary did not respond. Instead, she began rolling her blankets, keeping her back turned reproachfully.
“Why will ye no’ even consider it?!” Andrew scolded, grabbing her by the shoulder and turning her about.
Angry tears of frustration filled Mary’s eyes. “Tis clear, Sir Andrew, that you know much too much about a woman’s body and too little about a woman’s heart.”
“What are you saying?” Sir Andrew bit the inside of his mouth, “Do you not care for me?”
“Ha!” she retorted, nearing her breaking point. “Do you not realize that you have just asked me to be your wife, not because you adore me or respect me or want to spend your life with me, not because you want me to be the mother of your children or because you can’t part with my company. Nay, your proposal was based on the fact that I am practically a fallen woman, will be at any moment. I have nay reputation, and you will likely wish to lie with me. Does that about cover it?”