by Mary Wine
Lord knew, she’d need all she could muster to make Marcus see reason. He would. She felt more certain of that with each hour that passed. He might be stubborn and full of his own authority, but he was also dedicated to his clan. He would never hurt the MacPhersons. So he’d grant her the annulment.
And that would be that.
* * *
“Helen. Wake up.”
She opened her eyes instantly. Marcus was using a tone she recognized well as one that was full of authority. There was the faintest glow of light coming from under the door.
“Come here now.” Marcus spoke softly and deeply. “Before ye are discovered over there, where I can nae have put me hands on ye.”
She’d drifted down to lie on her back sometime during the dark hours of the night. The floor was hard beneath her back and as cold as a grave. Her muscles ached as she moved, turning and crawling toward him while she fought with her skirts.
“It’s cold, sure enough,” he offered once she was close to him. He clasped his hands around hers, making her gasp.
“Ye are nae chilled.” No, his flesh was warm and welcoming. Maybe there were sound reasons why she should not huddle against him, but her mind was too locked in the grip of sleep to produce any of them. All that mattered was the comfort his body provided.
“No’ as cold as ye,” he said.
She’d never been so cold, or maybe she’d never enjoyed having warmth rubbed back into her hands so very much.
That wasn’t it.
Helen blinked, the last of sleep’s hold peeled away by Marcus’s touch. He was stroking her hands, slowly using his warmth to melt the chill encasing her flesh.
“Does my touch truly shock ye so much?”
She realized she’d been staring at his hands as he stroked hers. Transfixed, really. “Nay,” she sputtered as she looked up, but found his gaze just as unsettling. “I just realized it has been a long time since someone touched me.”
It was a confession, an intimate one, and Marcus didn’t miss it. “I shouldn’t have said that.” She tried to move away, but he stopped her.
“Be still. We’re about to have company.”
He was still stroking her, and she couldn’t help but stretch her back as he drew his hand along her spine. Delicious sensation went washing through her, easing the ache the hard floor had left in her flesh. A little sound of bliss crossed her lips before she felt his hand close around her neck and he captured her lips in a kiss.
It was startling, but in the way that excitement was. As though something snapped through her body, awakening all sorts of cravings she never realized she’d been starving to satisfy.
She shifted, uncertain, overwhelmed, and he moved with her, controlling her neck as his mouth took hers in a motion that further captivated her. The reason was simple: He wasn’t ravaging her this time. It was a slow meshing of their lips, as he teased her mouth, inviting her to kiss him back. For one magical moment, she did, mimicking the motion of his lips and learning the way as he guided her in an unhurried savoring of her mouth.
He increased the pressure as she responded and gained confidence in kissing him back. She had never fully comprehended how sensitive her mouth was. Marcus was showing her the true purpose of her lips, introducing her to the delight that came from having them stroked by his. It was the sweetest bliss, one she willingly gave herself over to.
But the door was shoved in and Marcus broke away from her.
“Ah…Morton.” Marcus’s voice boomed across the cell and echoed into the corridor behind it. “A fine morning it is.”
The gentle stroking of her fingers had lulled her into a false sense of complicity. Marcus swept that aside as he rose. All of the strength she knew he possessed was there as he pulled her along with him, pushing her partially behind him. It was like a bucket of cold water hitting her, the bubble of bliss created by the kiss popping and dropping her back into cold reality.
“Enjoying your last night as an unwed man?” the earl asked mockingly. “Be very sure that I plan to make certain ye are up to yer wedding duties.”
“I told ye, man. I will nae be bedding that child. No decent man would agree to put his hands on one so tender,” Marcus stated clearly. Eight men were behind the earl, and Marcus made sure none of them missed his words.
“Ye’ll do as told,” Morton informed Marcus. “Scotland needs alliances.”
“And just how do ye propose to bend me to yer will?” Marcus asked as smugly as if he’d been standing in the open Highlands with all of his clan behind him.
It was foolish, but Helen had to admit that she admired his bravado.
The earl’s mouth curved, and there was nothing nice about it. Helen felt a chill go all the way down to her toes as she watched the way the Earl of Morton grinned at Marcus.
“Ye will agree to the wedding and the bedding, or I will have ye dragged out to the yard, where Katherine will suffer for yer disobedience to my will.” He held out his hand, and one of his men placed a whip into it. The leather looked cold and shiny. The earl made it dance just a bit, the knotted ends of braided leather making a tapping sound against the stone floor. “Shall I send my captain for Katherine?”
* * *
Brenda was risking a great deal.
And the truth was, she had never felt more alive.
She had to control the urge to smile, schooling her features to look smooth and calm. The castle came alive at first light. She’d been waiting for the horizon to turn pink, pacing across her chamber after she’d dressed in Helen’s other dress. It was nearly a rag, with patches on top of patches at the hemline. The chemise was threadbare, while the stockings had more darned spots in them than fabric.
Helen’s heart ached for her friend, but the clothing was exactly what she needed to make her way through the passageways so early in the morning. Court was a place of intrigue and night liaisons. The nobles slept while their servants began the task of making sure there would be a fine banquet supper that evening when their blue-blooded masters awoke.
The maid in front of her was nervous. She looked back and forth, casting numerous glances back at Brenda to make sure she was still following. At last, the girl stopped and pointed down a narrow section of passageway. They were in the oldest part of the castle now, the walls rough and lacking the smooth coat of plaster that had been applied to the newer sections. One could almost hear the echoes of the centuries here, and Brenda fought the impulse to cross herself.
She mustn’t spook the maid. Brenda pulled a pearl from a pouch at her waist. It was one that she’d inherited from her mother, but she couldn’t be bothered by the loss. Court servants worked long hours for masters who often mistreated them. One only entered such service for the income that might be earned. The maid’s eyes brightened as she took the pearl and eyed it critically.
She finally nodded and slipped it into a pocket of her skirt. Many noble families were at court because they had lost their fortunes and intended to secure a new office from the regent to gain income. It wasn’t uncommon for a servant to be paid in gems that had been in noble families for generations.
The maid held up a finger. Brenda pressed back against the wall as the maid went toward the man guarding the door ahead of them.
“It’s so cold here…” the maid began. “Can ye no’ spare a moment to come to the kitchen and warm yer hands?”
Brenda listened as the maid cajoled the man, finally succeeding in taking him by the arm and moving on down the passageway.
Once they were gone, Brenda hurried toward the door, opening it and going inside without knocking. Katherine bolted upright in her narrow bed, but she didn’t scream. No, there was a look on her face that told Brenda the child knew there was no point in crying out for help that would not come.
“I am here to help ye escape.”
Katherine might have been young, but she
had sharp wits. She was out of the bedding in an instant, crossing over to Brenda with her face set with determination. “How?”
“I am Brenda Grant. Ye must wear this clothing.” Brenda was already yanking on the ties to open the bodice. “And I must put on yers.”
Katherine was only wearing a chemise. She turned and scampered across the small chamber to where a wardrobe stood. She opened it and pulled out the pieces of a simple dress.
“Why are you helping me?”
Brenda looked into Katherine’s eyes. “Because I also was wed too young. Men are controlling beasts, and we women must do what we can to outwit them when possible.”
The chamber was full of the sounds of rustling cloth. If Brenda had had any doubts about the action she was undertaking, the way Katherine held her questions and focused on getting into the servant’s clothing without a single protest stilled them. Katherine knew too much about the harsh realities of life already, it would seem.
“Me friend Helen wed Marcus MacPherson last eve,” Brenda explained.
Katherine was lacing up the front of her bodice but raised wide eyes to stare at Brenda. “The Highlander?”
“Aye, he is that, but a decent man, make no mistake.” Brenda finished dressing and reached out to cup Katherine’s frail shoulders. “Morton is a villain.”
“Yes, a black-hearted one.”
Brenda nodded. “If ye would be free of him, ye must memorize how to get to the yard where Marcus’s men are. They will take ye away from Morton’s reach.”
“What will happen to you?” Katherine asked.
“I will stay in yer place, for the guard will surely peek in to make sure no one is the wiser about him leaving his post. If he were to cry the alarm, the gates would be closed and ye discovered.”
Katherine was thinking it through. “Morton will punish you. Severely so.”
“Leave that matter to me,” Brenda said. “I have kin here in Scotland. He will not find it so easy to mistreat me. Marcus will take ye to the Highlands. He is an honorable man. Remember that, because it will nae be a simple life for ye since ye are English.”
“Better than what the earl would make of me today,” Katherine answered quietly. She was older than her years, the innocence ripped out of her. “I will go and be grateful to you forever.”
“Now listen carefully. Ye must do exactly as I say so that everyone believes ye are me, being taken home in shame to fulfill the contract me uncle has made for me.”
* * *
Finley wasn’t a man given to dishonesty, but he enjoyed a good raid. Of course, most of the time, raiding happened under the cover of darkness. He looked up, noting the sun that was rising. It was full daylight, and the courtyard was alive with delivery wagons and those coming and going on business with the regent.
The Earl of Morton was truly king in every way except name. Parties of ambassadors were coming through the gates now that they were open. Men dressed in velvet and silk. Finley shook his head and busied himself with making sure the horse in front of him was bridled correctly.
“Men looking prettier than women,” Skene remarked beside him. “It is nae for me.”
“No’ me either,” Finley agreed. “The sooner we ride, the better, I say.”
“Ye’ve faith in this scheme, then?” Skene asked.
Finley looked around before he shot his fellow retainer a hard look. “Best ye hope it succeeds. I do nae want to have to return and tell the laird that Marcus is chained or worse.”
“Aye,” Skene agreed. “For all the trouble I had wrapping me thoughts around the idea of ending the feud with the Robertsons, I find peace suits me well.”
“Better to have the help of women than a war against our own king’s regent.”
* * *
Brenda peeked out of the door, watching as Katherine made her way down the passageway. She’d told the girl to move at a steady pace, looking down, like a servant intent on a chore. Yet the girl seemed to move too slowly. Brenda felt her heart pounding while she watched Katherine get closer and closer to the end of the passageway and finally make the turn around it and disappear from sight.
She sighed in relief and decided to savor it while she might. Turning around, she surveyed the cell. It really wasn’t much more than that. There was the narrow bed and the wardrobe. A stool sat on the floor near a tiny table. The only other thing in the room was a prayer bench. Brenda went toward it, because it allowed her to have her back fully to the door. She took a moment to pull up the soft neck wrap she wore so that it covered her head. The bench had a thin pillow that did little to protect her knees as she interlaced her fingers and adopted a position of prayer.
Not long after that, she heard the door open, the hinges grinding. Brenda didn’t move, and a moment later, the guard closed the door, clearly pleased to discover his charge where he had left her.
She smiled in victory.
* * *
“Ye can have yer captain unlock me,” Marcus boldly informed the Earl of Morton. “It’s past time I returned to MacPherson land to deal with keeping peace between Robertsons and MacPhersons. That’s the alliance I am engaged with ensuring for Scotland.”
“Remove the strumpet,” the earl said. “It’s time to get on with yer wedding.”
The captain made a single step toward them before Marcus was standing all the way in front of her. “Helen is me wife.”
The earl’s face darkened. “Impossible.”
“Nay,” Marcus confirmed in a hard tone. “And me temper is near to the breaking point over having to wed her in this piss-stinking hole.”
“Ye did nae have to wed her,” the earl exploded. “Ye have defied me, man.”
“A fact ye should thank me for,” Marcus responded in disgust. “The last regent ended up poisoned because of some of his deeds. Best take heed.”
The earl shifted his attention to her. “Perhaps I will just have ye widowed, MacPherson.”
“Touch me wife, and ye’ll need more alliances than ye can form.”
The men behind the regent weren’t sure what to make of Marcus. They shifted, uncertain if they should take action. But there were also a few looks of disgust in their eyes, looks aimed toward the Earl of Morton.
“Now unlock me and let me be on me way,” Marcus continued. “Be very sure that we had witnesses, men ye do nae need knowing ye would press a child into wedlock with me.”
“Better to hope I never learn their names,” the earl hissed.
“No, man,” Marcus countered. “Ye’d best pray they do nae tell their friends who have daughters what ye think is an appropriate age to wed. For all that I do nae have any children, I know that a man will fight to protect them. Marriage may be a business, but it is one conducted between adults.”
The earl locked gazes with Marcus for a long moment. Helen could feel the tension filling the room. Both of their blood might end up spilled on the stone floor. After all, a man who could so easily decide to wed a child to Marcus might not care what was said.
He should be concerned. The earl was forgetting that Scots did not take well to men who were depraved.
“Go home,” the earl finally said. “And make sure I do nae hear of unrest in the Highlands.”
Morton turned and left. A captain stayed behind, a set of keys jingling as he lifted them to fit one of them into the lock that held the collar around Marcus’s neck. Helen stepped aside, but her gaze was glued to the motion of the man’s hands as he turned the key. The sound of the lock grating was sweeter than any music she’d ever heard.
The thick band of the collar opened, allowing Marcus to pull it off his neck. He made a soft, growling sound that had the guard backing up.
“Here.” Helen went after the man and took the keys from his hand. She turned and knelt to fit one into the leg irons. She turned the key on one leg iron and then the other.
The moment he was loose, Marcus reached down and hooked her arm. She’d forgotten how much bloody strength the man possessed. A gasp escaped her lips as he put her on her feet and pulled her along with him through the doorway and out into the passageway. It was a good thing her skirts were hemmed high, because the pace he set was so fast she nearly had to run to keep up.
And there was no question of not staying beside him. Marcus hadn’t released her, his grip solid and unyielding. She was caught in a strange mixture of memory and reality. She clearly recalled being pulled along beside him, while his men held her brothers back with their drawn swords. Today, Marcus took her into the yard where once again his men waited with their horses.
She recoiled. It was simply a response that overrode all attempts at thinking. Marcus turned to look at her, his keen gaze feeling like it actually touched her. He came to some decision quickly.
“Skene.”
It was a command his men seemed to understand. The burly retainer acted upon it, coming up beside her and blocking her way to freedom.
There was no safe haven behind her. She knew it, and still she looked at the horse in front of her as though it was the last place she wanted to go.
She wanted to scream with frustration and force her mind to function.
All she managed was to bite her lip as Marcus leaned over and cupped his hand. “Lift yer foot, Helen.”
Later, she would likely recall why she detested him ordering her about, but at the moment, it was a relief to have him giving her direction. Her head was full of memories, and the ones from the night before were making everything very confusing. The haven she’d thought court to be was now more dangerous than returning to MacPherson land.
She was frozen as Marcus grabbed her ankle, pulling her foot off the ground, and then he straightened, lifting her up and onto the back of a horse.
She stared at him, their gazes meeting when he took the reins and handed them to her.