Tyler, Lynn - For Her Honor [For Her] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Lynn Tyler

  Catriona sniffled back tears and hugged Jocelyn tightly. “Godspeed,” she answered.

  Heart hammering in her chest, Jocelyn followed her sister down the hall and lurked in the corner as Catriona took her father’s arm and led him to the table, chatting gaily about the upcoming nuptials. Her soul wept for what she was about to do. The thought of never seeing her sister or her father again weighed heavily on her mind. She wavered once again. Perhaps she should stay here and do what her father asked. Maybe she should allow a man to see to her protection and her comfort for once. But then she remembered who she was betrothed to, and she hardened her heart. She could not live with a man so cruel, much less bed one every night.

  Once her father was sufficiently distracted with his supper and her chattering sister, she slipped out the door and crept to the humble stable her father kept.

  Looking around carefully to ensure she was really alone, Jocelyn stumbled across the ground and pushed a heavy bale of moldering straw aside to reveal her precious stash.

  She strapped the badly balanced practice sword she had nicked from one of her brothers-in-law to her back. The weapon was not ideal, but it was better than the crude dagger she kept fastened to her thigh. At least she wouldn’t have to yank up her kilt to defend herself. Finally, the satchel she had packed when her father had started making noise about arranging her marriage was tied to her back. It contained two old gowns, an extra hairbrush, and the tiny miniature portrait of her mother her father had given Jocelyn upon her mother’s death.

  Jocelyn saddled her mare and swung her leg over the horse’s back. Keeping a close eye on the door of the cottage, she walked the horse to the forest line, keeping as close to the waning light of sunset as possible so that only her silhouette was visible. Her father might not recognize her in the disguise she wore, but he would certainly recognize her horse. He would be worried about her, of that she had no doubt. Though they argued often, they were really very close. She would send a message to him once she was safely ensconced in the nunnery.

  Jocelyn traveled north through the woods, farther up the mountain. As she guided her mare steadily upward, she pondered the cleverness of her current strategy. She was crossing into MacGillivray land, the very clan she wanted to avoid. However, dressed as a lad, no one would think she was their laird’s runaway betrothed. But the nunnery was on the other side of MacGillivray territory, and it would take twice as long to get there if she took the long way round. Besides, her father would never think to look for her on MacGillivray lands. He would search the southern and eastern ways.

  She smiled a little as a bolt of triumph shot through her. She had succeeded and now was on her way, choosing her own destiny. Still, it was dangerous to travel at night, and these unseen threats weighed heavily on her mind. The horse could trip over exposed roots or animal holes, breaking a leg or coming up lame. She could get lost in the woods and stumble into enemy lands. Horse thieves often came out at night to attack those stupid enough to ride alone. Wolves and other predators hunted through the night.

  The wind picked up, and she shivered in the cooling night breeze. It might be early summer, but the nights were almost always cool in the Highlands. And, of course, she hadn’t packed very much. Jocelyn always kept an extra plaid, one water skin, her knife, and her short sword in her saddlebag. She had thought to strap her quiver of arrows and bow over the saddle, for which she was grateful when she realized she hadn’t stopped to pack any food. She would hunt in the morning, and hopefully, she would be lucky enough to catch a rabbit to break her fast.

  A snapping twig caught her attention. She scanned the area quickly and jumped when two eerie eyes stared back at her. A wolf stepped into view, and her horse shied nervously. Her heart pounding, she wondered if it was true that animals could scent fear because she was certainly more terrified than she had ever been in her life. The wolf eyed her lazily before ambling away. She thanked God it had obviously already eaten its fill recently.

  As her heart rate returned to normal, Jocelyn questioned the intelligence of her decision to leave for the nunnery at night. Perhaps she hadn’t planned this as well as she thought she had. But it was too late to go back now. Her pride was the only thing she had left, and to turn around now would strip her of even that. Besides, her flight for freedom would have already been discovered. The consequences of her escape would be too high to pay. With any luck, her betrothed would have arrived at her father’s cottage by now, and the lot of them would be searching in the opposite direction.

  As an extra precaution, she slung her quiver of arrows over her shoulder and hooked her bow over her elbow. At least if she used the bow and arrows she had a fighting chance against a hungry predator.

  Urging the now skittish horse forward, Jocelyn made her way deeper into MacGillivray lands, the night getting blacker and blacker with every passing moment.

  Her head began to bob from exhaustion. She had been up at first light this morning, and it was very nearly the dead of night. The stars and moon did very little to penetrate the thick trees, and she guided her horse cautiously, praying she would not walk the mare into a hole with each step the horse took.

  Yawning, Jocelyn stretched and forced her drooping eyes open. Just a little longer and she would bed down until dawn. She wanted to get as much distance between her and her father before light. The closer she was to the nunnery in the morning, the better.

  Another twig snapped, and she looked around warily, ready to face another mountain lion. When nothing jumped out at her and she didn’t see anything, she relaxed a little in her saddle, which proved to be her mistake.

  “That looks to be some nice horseflesh, lad,” a rough voice said from behind her. Suddenly she was surrounded by a band of men, each bearing a sword and each pointing it directly at her. “That is far too much horse for a young lad like yourself,” said the same man. “Why do you not get off and give the mare to us?”

  Clearing her throat, Jocelyn lowered her voice to what she hoped would sound like a man’s voice. “You will have to take her from me,” she said confidently, her eyes widening at her own words. What in the hell was she thinking? While she was an expert with her sword, even she could not hope to take on five men at once. She crossed herself as she drew out her sword. She would go down swinging at least.

  The men merely laughed and slashed at her. Her horse reared, throwing her, and raced back down the mountain toward home. She was left lying flat on her back, staring up at the would-be horse thieves. Perhaps now that the horse had flown, they would leave her alone. “You cost us a horse, lad,” one of the men growled, “so we will take the cost of said horse from your flesh. Slowly.”

  There was only one thing left to do. Grabbing her sword, Jocelyn threw back her head and screamed bloody murder. Her battle cry energized her, and she jumped to her feet, swinging her sword. If she was going to die this night, she was going to make damn sure she was taking one of them with her.

  Her palms were slick with nervous sweat, but she didn’t let that stop her from jabbing at one of the men in hopes of throwing him off balance. He danced out of the way, though just barely. He looked down at his shirt in dismay. She had managed to slice through the material, leaving a hole about the size of a fist in the wake of her sword.

  The men froze around her as if contemplating their next move. Dare she hope she had convinced them to move off elsewhere?

  “You have ruined my shirt,” he growled. “We are really going to let you have it now, lad.”

  Dimly she heard the racket of horse hooves clattering behind her but focused her attention on the men before her. She deftly ducked her head under the man’s sword and feinted to the right, thrusting her sword at another thief, just missing his arm.

  She growled in frustration when her badly balanced sword wobbled in her palm. She steadied the steel and jumped aside just as one of the thieves lunged at her. She swung her sword with both hands and sliced into one of their legs. It was a shallow cut, but it bled freely
. She didn’t have time to relish the triumph of drawing first blood.

  The largest of the men charged her, and she barely managed to step out of the way. She could feel the fatigue weighing down her arms and knew she wouldn’t be able to continue for very much longer. She only prayed they would kill her before they found out she was a female.

  Her pride wouldn’t let her give up, and Jocelyn danced around in a circle until she had her back to a copse of trees. A group of mounted men had arrived behind the thieves and seemed to spring into action. She had no idea when they had arrived, but she fervently hoped they weren’t allies of the highwaymen.

  Jocelyn sighed with relief as they began to fight on her behalf. Hardly able to lift her sword, she watched with resignation as one of the thieves broke away from the main fight and approached her. It was the man whose shirt she had ruined, and he had a violent look sparkling in his eye. This could be her last moment on Earth, and she had never even experienced the pleasure a man could give to her body.

  Over the thief’s shoulder she saw a large man bearing down on them. Something in the look on his face gave her the strength to raise her sword once more. Jocelyn managed to block the direct blow to her head, but the sword slid off hers and sliced through her shoulder.

  She watched her savior jam his sword into her would-be killer’s back and saw the tip of the blade emerge from his chest. There was really only a little bit of blood until he pulled the sword out. The gaping hole spurted red blood with every pump of his heart until he took his last breath just seconds later.

  Jocelyn gazed at her rescuer in awe as he turned around and thrust his sword into the belly of another thief, splitting him from the lower belly strait up to his chest. His intestines fell out in a red, slimy ribbon and pooled at her feet.

  She fought the urge to vomit and shuffled backward to avoid the dead man’s organs. She looked up and saw a giant of a man approaching her. It was dark, and the only thing she could make out about him was the swing of his long hair. Her body ultimately gave up, and she dimly felt her knees buckling under her. For the first time in her life, Jocelyn saw her vision blur and knew she was going to pass out. Her last thought was one of disgust that her body would fail her so badly. Before she could sit down, her legs finally gave out, and she fell into a heap at the base of a tree.

  Chapter 2

  Robbie MacGillivray and his small contingent of men cautiously picked their way down the mountain. He was aggravated with what seemed to be the whole world. Someone was raiding and firing his crops. Someone, presumably the same person, was stealing his cattle. But probably even more irritating than that was that Jamie had been late.

  He scowled at his brother’s back as a branch swung back and narrowly missed his face. If the younger man hadn’t been off tupping one of the village wenches, they would have been able to leave on time. They would have already reached the modest stone cottage where Jocelyn MacKenna lived with her father, and he would be snug in a warm bed with his new wife. Instead he was spending what was supposed to have been his wedding night on the back of a horse.

  Jamie was Jamie, he supposed and admitted the real reason he was irritated. Jealousy. And damn, he hated being jealous of his youngest brother. But there it was. Jamie was in a different lass’s bed every time Robbie turned around when Robbie himself hadn’t been with a lass in years.

  As laird he should have had the women falling at his feet and fighting to be in his bed. He could have forced the lasses into his arms, but he really couldn’t stand the thought of bedding a woman who feared him, either because of the gruesome scar that slashed his face or because of the rumors surrounding his first wife’s death.

  Finally though, the idea of fathering heirs had become too strong and too urgent to deny, and he turned to finding himself an acceptable marriage. Logic dictated he marry a lass with a large dowry, but he had never been one to listen to logic alone.

  And so he had contacted Alasdair MacKenna and offered for the hand of his second youngest daughter. Her reputation spoke of a wild, unhindered lass who did as she pleased and paid no man any heed. Lately the rumors had turned to her supposed infertility.

  Robbie thrust aside another branch and resumed scowling at his brother’s back. Adding to his bad mood, his brothers had done nothing but try to talk him out of marrying the MacKenna lass. They maintained he needed a sweet, biddable bride who would bend to his will and cower under his might. Well, they hadn’t said that exactly, he acknowledged to himself. But that would be exactly how a sweet, biddable bride would act.

  Growling a warning when his other brother, Will, pulled even with him, he stared into the woods ahead of him. He was sick to death of his brothers trying to talk him out of his marriage. “Easy, Robbie,” Will soothed. “I just wanted you to know we will support you should you come to your senses and reconsider your choice of bride.”

  With a sigh of exasperation, he forced himself to keep his hands on the reins and not around his brother’s neck. “I need legitimate heirs, William. You know that. Jocelyn MacKenna’s elder sisters have all born several bairns, all braw and healthy. The lass will bear me several sons.”

  “Not if she is sterile like they say,” Will muttered under his breath.

  Robbie rolled his eyes heavenward and prayed for patience. This was the same argument he had been hearing for days. “It is but a rumor, nothing more,” he said.

  Truth be told, he had been concerned when he had first heard tell of his potential bride’s inability to bear children. A quick but thorough investigation into her actions revealed the rumor to be false. Jocelyn’s chastity was quite well known among the men he had questioned. In fact, most men were afraid she would poison them with her knowledge of herbs and plants. One man even claimed to know the accuracy of her foot, going so far as to cup himself protectively as he told the story. Since she was very likely chaste, her supposed issue with sterility was just a rumor.

  Robbie wrenched himself from his thoughts as Will began speaking again. “Aye, well, since no man has ever been near her, she must have started the rumor herself. Now I ask you, what sort of lass would spread such lies about herself?”

  “I know the reason!” their younger brother, who had evidently been listening to their conversation, said over his shoulder. “It is so she will not have to marry our great, ugly oaf of a brother.”

  Robbie’s jaw tightened, and his already grim mood turned blacker still. He knew Jamie was just teasing him, but he also knew he was ugly. He had once been a handsome lad, the lasses falling all over themselves to find their way into his bed. But one tiny stumble in his first battle thirteen years ago, when he was but sixteen years old, had left him with a gruesome scar that ran from his temple, across his jaw and down his neck, trailing to an end along his collar bone. A last burst of energy had seen him drive his sword into the man’s belly before he surrendered to the blessed blackness.

  Robbie had awoken to the news the man was dead and his betrothed was disgusted by his wound. He hadn’t blamed his betrothed in the least. Not when nary a single one of the men could look him in the face without cringing. Not when the women would faint dead away or gag when he looked their way. Not when even his own mother couldn’t look at him without her eyes welling with tears.

  Still, he had tried to stay positive. The fact he had survived was a testament to his strength, a worthy trait in both a laird, to which he was heir, and husband, or so he thought. Robbie’s betrothed, Eileen, had sworn she loved another and had cried through their whole wedding ceremony while he forced his jaw to move enough to speak his vows. She had left to prepare for their wedding night while he had scowled into his ale.

  When he finally gathered the motivation to face his weeping bride, he’d had quite the shock when he found her hanging from a wooden beam in the ceiling. A chair had been kicked away from her feet and their wedding linens had served as her noose with a note claiming she could not stomach waking up to his scarred, disfigured face for the rest of her life. The note
also claimed she had fallen in love and given herself to another.

  Robbie still remembered feeling so utterly horrified that the young woman had taken her life rather than remain married to him. The only people who knew the truth behind his first wife’s death were his brothers, his now deceased father, and his father-in-law, who had been so appalled at what his own daughter had done he had never spoken of her again.

  Now, at twenty-nine years old, he had only had sex a handful of times and always in complete darkness. He couldn’t stand to see a lass flinch from his scar, though his brothers swore they looked away because of his reputation as a cold-hearted, quick-tempered bastard.

  The pervasive belief he had murdered his wife insulted him, but he had never bothered to correct anyone. The truth was just too humiliating. He’d rather take care of his own needs than turn to a frightened woman. The good Lord had given him hands, and he figured he could use them.

  So, in reality, the issue was not one of legitimate heirs but one of any heirs at all. And if Jocelyn MacKenna followed the path of her sisters, she would be pregnant before the month was out. If he ever got there to wed the lass.

  Besides, he was convinced that all his bride needed was a strong male to curtail her reckless behavior. And though he would never admit it to either of his brothers or any of his men, Jocelyn MacKenna’s behavior intrigued him. When all the other lasses talked of nothing save marriage, this lass did everything to dissuade a suitor. He was also impressed with her cleverness. The tale of her “infertility” was really quite brilliant.

  “Perhaps the two of you would stop trying to convince me to back out of my agreement,” he growled. “I know no lass will lie with me willingly because of the great scar on my face. This is my only course of action.” Robbie fought the urge to sink his sword into the nearest tree in his temper. It would do him no good and trying to yank it back out of the tree would put them later still.