Mated By The Demon Collections: Paranormal Romance

by Riley Moreno

  ‘Yes, Brice is a worthy opponent, but Robert wins every time.’

  ‘Not this time, though,’ Marion breathed as Brice unhorsed his brother.

  ‘Well, this is quite unusual,’ Lady Murray said, smiling despite her obvious discomfiture.

  ‘Come,’ she said, nodding at Marion and Lady Buchane, ‘Let us go and join the feasting.’

  There were tables laid out under the trees. Brice was there, divested of his heavy armor, and Marion tried to lock eyes with him, but he seemed not to notice her and her spirits plummeted. Robert on the other hand sprang forward, offering her his arm, and led her to the banquet tables where an array of roasted game birds and venison greeted them. Marion had no hunger for food, and poked at a slice of meat without enthusiasm.

  ‘Are you well, Lady Marion?’

  ‘Perhaps I am overwhelmed by the events of the morning,’ Marion answered, not meeting his gaze.

  ‘Do partake of the food and keep your energies up, for more is to follow. You do know that our betrothal is set for this evening.’

  Marion looked at him aghast. ‘What did you say?’ she asked furiously.

  ‘We are to be betrothed…this evening,’ Robert said calmly.

  ‘And did nobody think it necessary that I should know about this?’

  Robert looked surprised. ‘Oh, I thought you would have been well prepared for such an occasion.’

  Marion looked wildly around, as if for some means of escape, and her eyes fell on Brice, pinning him down until he looked up and met her gaze. His eyes conveyed apology and sadness. He shrugged slightly, signifying helplessness, and looked away. Filled with righteous indignation and absolute despair, Marion stood up, breathing heavily, and hurried away from the gathering, not knowing where she should go in order to escape the ignominy of the situation.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Robert asked, rising from his chair.

  ‘I wish to visit the privy, if you please, so kindly do not attempt to follow me,’ Marion replied, her face strained and white. With that she walked rapidly from the grounds to the castle, out the side entrance, and to what Brice had described as a barn like structure near the Chapel. When she was inside, she gave vent to her emotion, striking her fists against the wall and choking out copious tears. A sliver of light briefly illuminated her trembling form as the door opened and closed, and suddenly there were familiar arms around her, holding her close and rocking her to and fro.

  ‘Oh Brice, how could you let this happen? Why didn’t you ask for my hand?’

  ‘Marion, I cannot do that to my brother. He has had his mind set on you from the moment your name was mentioned, and I cannot very well step in.’

  ‘Don’t I have any say at all?’ Marion repeated in frustration.

  ‘Hush, don’t cry Marion.’

  ‘Why are you even here comforting me? What good will it do?’ Marion asked, between racking sobs.

  ‘You looked dreadfully distressed and I couldn’t let you bear this alone.’

  ‘What do you care?’ Marion asked, looking up into his face and studying his expression.

  ‘For some strange reason, dear Marion, I do care – very much.’

  ‘Then do something about this, please.’

  ‘If I could, I would, Marion, but at this moment, I don’t see a way out for us.’

  ‘I saw your victory in the tournament as a sign that you had defeated your brother – and therefore had claim to my hand,’ Marion sobbed.

  ‘That is a charming thought, but reality is very different, Marion, you must understand.’

  He kissed her eyelids and dabbed her tears away with his fingertips, and gradually her body ceased to quake with sorrow and instead quivered with yearning as he kissed her. His lips brushed hers so softly, yet a spark was released, sending a violent fire coursing through her veins. Marion stood on the tips of her toes to reach Brice’s face as he towered above her, and she traced the outline of his lips with one trembling finger. He cradled her face in his hands, his eyes burning into hers and then he leaned in and took her lips captive again, holding them in the warmth of his own; his tongue first barred from entry and then invited in with an eagerness that took him by surprise. Marion felt Brice’s body come alive with desire and leaned harder against him, but he inhaled sharply and took her by the shoulders, firmly breaking the embrace. They stood there, facing each other, the wretchedness of their situation growing to the proportions of a yawning abyss between them.

  ‘Tha gaol agam ort,’ Brice whispered, reaching out to touch the tips of Marion’s fingers.

  ‘I love you too,’ Marion said, recognizing that he had said those words to her in Scottish Gaelic.

  Brice felt like a sword had pierced his heart. ‘You understood what I said…’ he whispered in wonder.

  ‘I know a little of the language of my ancestors and I am proud of my roots,’ Marion replied.

  A look of abject sorrow flickered across Brice’s face but he rallied quickly and his expression was resolute as he bid her return to the festivities and prepare for the evening.

  ‘Go now, Marion. Let us not make this more painful.’

  ‘How could you even say that? It was you who followed me here, and you who said you loved me.’

  ‘I didn’t follow you. I just came here as I usually do when I am in need of a place to hang my head and give in to emotion once in a while.’

  ‘And you needed to do that today? Why?’

  ‘You know why.’

  ‘I want to hear you say it.’

  ‘Because you are to be betrothed to Robert and I am in no position to stop the event from taking place.’ He looked away. ‘Please go, Marion. I need to be alone here.’ She dared not touch him again though she wanted to throw her arms around his warm, comforting body and melt into him.

  When Marion had gone Brice felt like he had lost some vital part of himself. Would that he were anyone else but the brother of the man who was to be betrothed to the woman he loved, Brice thought, holding his head in his hands. He would have fought a duel for Marion. He would have moved heaven and earth to have her.

  Marion re-entered the castle once more and then went out again to join the revelers. Lady Buchane looked curiously at her, noting the tear stained cheeks and eyes still moist with emotion.

  ‘Where were you child?’

  ‘It’s a long way to the privy and back,’ Marion said, hoping her mother wouldn’t ask her where the privy actually was.

  ‘You need to rest for a while now and then get ready for the evening,’ Lady Buchane said.

  Marion said nothing for a while and then turned to her mother. ‘Do you know how betrayed I feel, mama, that I knew nothing of the fact that I was to be betrothed today? How could you conceal such an important piece of information from me?’

  Lady Buchane evaded the question, and coaxed her offspring to eat. Marion, however, could not eat even a morsel.

  That evening as the pipers played and the feasting continued, Marion was betrothed to Robert. She searched the faces around her for Brice, but he was not there; coming in only after the simple ceremony during which Marion’s hand was placed in Robert’s and an announcement was made that the two were pledged to each other.

  ‘We will be married soon,’ Robert whispered in Marion’s ear as he surprisingly avoided her lips and kissed her delicately on the cheek instead. She was quiet, conducting herself much as a sheep approaching slaughter, and said nothing on the ride back to Arniston House.

  CHAPTER III

  The days that followed were fraught with activity involving a constant stream of seamstresses, merchants delivering fabrics, and fittings with shoemakers. Marion went through the motions with such a lack of emotion, either positive or otherwise, that her mama became quite agitated.

  On the day of the wedding Marion woke early and looked out of her window, hoping the mists would roll in and make travelling to Bothwell Castle impossible, but the fates were not on her side and the heather clad hillsides basked in the ge
ntle sunlight. Outside the air was sharp, slicing through Marion’s flimsy bridal attire. Lady Buchane threw a heavy cloak around her shoulders, being careful not to disturb her carefully coiffed hair that had taken Netty all morning to arrange.

  ‘You look very unhappy, my lady,’ Netty had observed as she dressed Marion.

  ‘I can’t really feel anything anymore, Netty,’ Marion said, limp under her ministrations.

  ‘You must be well prepared for your wedding night,’ Netty had giggled, as she filled a tub with hot water and stirred in scented salts.

  ‘My wedding night?’ Marion repeated, frowning. She had heard what happened the night of a wedding, and she quaked inwardly at the thought of submitting to Robert. He was not without good looks and a certain degree of charm, and as Lady Buchane had said, ‘His hands look gentle so he would be a good lover.’ Marion had not taken any note of Robert’s hands. The only hands she remembered and longed for were Brice’s large, gentle, capable ones. She shook her head. She must not think of Brice, she told herself resolutely, as the carriage bumped over the moors on the way to Bothwell Castle. She concentrated on the scenery instead, soaking in the sight of the heather and bracken; the wild flowers that skirted the rough path; the foliage – scattered in some places and abundant in others; the serene blue of a loch, reflecting the sky… sights she would never see again after the wedding, for Robert had said they must be off to France without too much delay. It was as if he was anxious to hasten their departure and as if there were something in France that he couldn’t stay away from for too long.

  It seemed like fate mocked her as she alighted from the carriage – for there was Robert with William and Brice by his side. Marion locked eyes with Brice for barely a second before she lost her footing and fell forward. Brice sprang forward to catch her – their bodies touching for one brief instant - and Brice saw that his own desperation was reflected in Marion’s eyes.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Brice asked, steadying Marion.

  She nodded, and Lady Buchane rushed to her daughter’s side to adjust her dress. Robert stepped forward possessively to claim his bride, linking arms with her and leading the party into the Chapel. The ceremony seemed over almost before it began and Marion was aware of how singularly uninvolved she was in the proceedings – moving like a marionette, she thought dully, even the play on her own name failing to bring a smile to her downturned lips.

  After the vows were repeated, quite mechanically in Marion’s case, Robert placed his hands on his wife’s shoulders and leaned over to kiss her lips. Marion evaded the kiss and Robert’s lips made contact with the side of her mouth. His fingers dug into her cheeks as he turned her head around and pressed his lips to hers. His lips were cold; the kiss more a show of possession or a stamp on a contract, rather than an expression of feeling. Brice looked away, his expression stoic.

  They left the Chapel and proceeded directly to the lavish feast laid out in the Great Hall of the Castle. Marion was forced to dance and to stand by while toasts were proposed, hoping the evening’s festivities would include them for as long as was possible in order that the inevitable wedding night could be postponed.

  ‘Marion,’ Robert said, too soon, Marion thought with quaking heart as he took her arm, ‘we have to go up to the nuptial suite now.’

  Marion felt her chest constrict with a nameless pain and fear choke her. She looked for Brice but he was nowhere in sight and she supposed he must be in the room by the Chapel. She pictured him in the darkness mourning her loss and in the morning shrugging off whatever feeling he may have for her, and getting on with the business of living. Tears sprang to her eyes.

  ‘Come on, we must not delay,’ Robert said roughly, nudging her forward as the assembled guests cheered. They climbed up the stairs, and Marion’s feet felt unsteady as she lifted them up one by one and placed them on the steps, steering herself forward with as much strength as she could muster.

  Robert’s fingers bit into her arm as he half pushed and half lifted her up the steps. Marion grew more distressed with every step, and when they reached the door of the nuptial suite and Robert turned to lift her over the threshold, she stepped back crying out, ‘Please, don’t! Don’t touch me!’

  ‘Get inside,’ Robert said, glancing to either side before he pushed Marion into the room.

  ‘You have a duty to your husband,’ Marion recalled her mama saying, as she sat on the side of the vast bed and took a deep breath, ‘you have to submit to him and allow him to have his way with you.’

  ‘You may be surprised,’ Robert said, standing in front of her, shrugging off his jacket and reaching for the buttons of his shirt, ‘but I find this far more repugnant than you do.’

  ‘You do?’ Marion breathed; hope surfacing through the clouds of distress.

  ‘Yes,’ Robert said. ‘The fact is – and I think I should let you know right from the very beginning – my tastes are very different. You are a lovely girl to be sure, but to me you are just a ticket out to France.’

  ‘How so?’ Marion asked, standing up, and trying to process the information that Robert had just divulged.

  ‘You see, my parents made a bargain with me – that if I marry they will allow me to return to France. Otherwise they will detain me here and have me work alongside Brice looking after my father’s estate after William leaves for England.’

  Marion shook her head. ‘I do not understand,’ she said, ‘You must marry in order to be allowed to go to France?’

  ‘Yes. Because while I was there all these past years, I did not show any proclivity for matrimony…or, you must know, for the company of women. This distressed my father greatly and caused my mother to threaten to drop herself onto a spear and bleed to death.’

  ‘Unless you married…appropriately.’

  ‘Yes,’ Robert said, ‘And your father, finding himself in debt to mine, had to promise you to me. Quite convenient, wouldn’t you say?’ Robert strode over to the dresser and filled a glass from a flagon. Marion watched the golden liquid splash into the receptacle, realization slowly dawning upon her. She was raised without much knowledge of sexual preferences such as those hinted at now by her new husband, but had heard enough whispers in the corridors, about others who shared Robert’s particular penchant, not to appear completely ignorant.

  ‘I suppose you would not have to perform your duty?’ Marion asked, with even greater hope in her voice.

  Robert drained the glass and refilled it. ‘I must,’ he said, ‘or bring shame to the Murray name.’ He looked her over. ‘You women wear such voluminous garments. Perhaps you should begin to undress while I steel myself for the act.’

  ‘You make it sound so mundane. Is it not meant to be something beautiful?’

  ‘Oh, one of the romantic ones, are you?’

  Marion’s eyes filled. This was not how she imagined her wedding night would be.

  ‘Here,’ Robert said, filling a glass from the flagon and handing it to her. Marion accepted the drink and sat down again on the edge of the bed, looking down at the liquid uncertainly.

  ‘And you would have me swallow this?’ she asked Robert.

  ‘Yes. Because I do not want you hollering… and crying… and carrying on while I am about my business with you.’

  Marion looked down into the glass again. ‘ In that case…’ she said, and walked over to the window and tossed the contents outside.

  Robert shrugged. ‘I did make an attempt to help you,’ he said, ‘and you would have none of it. Now come here and undress yourself… and then lie down.’

  Marion began to tremble and her fingers were unsteady as she made an effort to unfasten her dress and unlace her stays. Robert kept drinking as she undressed slowly, reluctantly, until she stood before him clad only in her chemise. Marion averted her gaze as Robert threw off his shirt and began to take off his trews, leaving them half on as he threw Marion unceremoniously onto the bed, wrestling with the hem of her chemise. There were no preliminaries, and Robert began his swift as
sault on Marion’s virginity – awkward and inept. It would also seem that he was not sufficiently desirous of her as to ensure that the act progressed towards completion and before long he heaved himself off Marion’s body, leaving her intact, confused and relieved, all at the same time.

  ‘We will maintain that everything went as it should have,’ Robert said, moving to the side of the bed and lying down.

  Marion pulled the sheets over her semi clad body, unable to sleep. She turned on her side, completely awake, wondering what she must do about her situation. Somewhere in the middle of the night weariness overtook her and Marion fell into a fitful sleep, tossing through semi wakefulness and disturbing dreams until she awoke to see that Robert appeared to have risen before her.

  Marion was glad that Netty had been allowed to accompany her to her new home, and she summoned her to help her dress, wondering as she did so, how she would go down and face Brice. To her relief Brice seemed to have taken himself out of the castle and probably intended to stay away for as long as possible.

  ‘You will have to instruct your maid to have your bags packed and ready to leave,’ Robert said, coming in as she set about reviving herself with a bowl of porridge and a bannock.

  ‘Must we depart Bothwell Castle so soon?’ Marion asked.

  ‘Yes, we will leave by coach for London tomorrow morning, and I have arranged our passage to France from there.’ Robert looked energized, cheerful. Nobody would guess that he had failed in his duties as a husband on his wedding night.

  ‘Might I have leave to visit my family and bid them farewell?’ Marion asked.

  Robert nodded. ‘They will be dining with us, and you can say your goodbyes to them then.’

  Marion looked out for Brice all that day and in the evening too, when she bid a tearful farewell to her parents, little knowing how she would tell them that her marriage had not been consummated and that it was not her fault that it wasn’t.

  CHAPTER IV