by Riley Moreno
The next morning the weather was grey, the wind knifing through the moors and rain coming down in bursts. Marion looked up at the clouds, her face like a block of ice; tears stinging her cheeks as they rode away from the land that had so charmed her, and the man who had claimed her heart.
‘Could my parents not have travelled back to London with us?’ Marion asked Robert.
‘No. You need to learn, as quickly as possible, how to live without them,’ he answered.
Marion stifled her emotions, but the tears broke through eventually. The coach sped bumpily over the uneven terrain, the sound of the horses’ hooves an unsettling accompaniment to the hiss of rain and the howl of wind.
‘It is barely the time to be undertaking such a journey. The weather is so rough!’ Marion cried out.
‘If we wait for fair weather, we will be waiting forever!’ Robert retorted.
The sky grew darker still, the clouds lowering and sparking threateningly. They rode further and further away from Bothwell Castle, braving the elements, when suddenly the horses balked and whinnied, and through the mists Marion saw shadowy figures emerge on horseback and realized by the shouts, that they were being attacked.
Robert sprang from the coach and drew his sword, taking on two men who came at him through the gloom. Marion huddled in the coach, trying not to attract attention to herself, by clapping both her hands over her mouth to stifle the scream that was trapped in her throat. As she crouched in the corner, a masked figure heaved himself inside and grabbed her. She opened her mouth to scream, but a large, heavy hand forced her into silence, as she flailed her arms in protest at her capture.
‘Sssh,’ Brice said, ‘Do not make a sound if you want to escape.’
Marion froze and her body went limp as she relinquished herself to Brice’s arms. He said nothing more as he lifted her onto his horse and galloped away.
‘Brice!’ Marion exclaimed, ‘Is this really you?’ She twisted about in the saddle to get a look at his face, her heart lifting at the sight of him. ‘What do you intend to do with me?’ she asked, confused.
‘I will tell you directly.’
‘Where are we headed?’
‘To a woodcutter’s cottage. It is the only place I could find where we can be safe until we decide what must be done.’
‘We?’
‘Yes, dear Marion – we.’
‘But I am married to Robert.’
‘A mere detail, Marion. A mere detail. Trust me.’
‘Where is this woodcutter’s cottage and how did you come by it?’
‘You do ask a lot of questions, lassie,’ Brice said. ‘If you must know, I bought it - a day ago.
‘You had a plan all along for us?’
‘I had a plan – yes. Not all along,though.’
‘I have to tell you something,’ Marion said.
‘If it is about your wedding night with Robert, spare me the details.’
‘There are no details, Brice. None at all. The woman you are carrying away on your horse is every bit as untouched as the day she stepped out of a carriage and fell in love with you.’
Marion felt Brice’s body stiffen behind her.
‘I do not lie, Brice,’ Marion said, ‘Believe me.’
Brice said nothing. ‘Robert is my brother,’ he said eventually, ‘And I will not speak against him.’
‘Yet you steal me from him.’
‘I know he does not love you,’ Brice said.
‘How came you to that conclusion?’ Marion asked.
‘I know my brother,’ Brice replied.
‘And yet you did nothing to prevent the marriage?’
‘I did not know how at the time. But when a man is desperate, he is also driven.’
They heard the sound of horses in pursuit and Brice spurred his horse on, leaving the path and heading away to the left to a wooded expanse. The mist was still thick about them.
‘They are coming after us,’ Marion said, alarmed.
‘Robert does not know these moors like I do, so do not be afraid.’
‘How far is the cottage that you speak of?’
‘We will be there soon, don’t you fret Marion.’
‘I cannot lie – I am afraid. If Robert were to find us now, who knows what force he would use on us?’
‘He does not know that it is I who has kidnapped you, so in that respect we have an advantage over him.’
‘Your family will come looking for you,’ Marion said, ‘Won’t they?’ She swiveled around in the saddle to look into his eyes as he rode. ‘Will you return to Bothwell Castle – of which you are to be laird one day? Or will you and I be hiding in a remote woodcutter’s cottage until we are discovered?’
‘I cannot answer all those questions just now,’ Brice said, ‘but I will do so as soon as I can.’ He drove his horse faster, though the sound of the pursuing horses’ hooves had long since fallen away and the only sound was that of the rain whipping the leaves in the canopy above them.
As the rain soaked through her clothes, Marion began to shiver and Brice drew her closer against him. ‘It won’t be long now before you are seated in front of a nice warm fire with something hot to drink.’
‘Will the woodcutter and his family be there to greet us?’ Marion asked, and Brice couldn’t prevent the smile that tugged at his lips.
‘I mentioned it was a woodcutter’s cottage. I didn’t actually say that the woodcutter would be there. I paid him a good sum for it and he was delighted enough to move on to another dwelling that he has further up the path.’
‘So we will be alone, then?’ Marion asked.
‘Not entirely,’ Brice replied, ‘and you need have no fear that I would behave in an ungentlemanly manner or that I would seek to outrage your modesty.’
Marion said nothing. The cold rain and the recent events had numbed her senses and given her a feeling that she was drifting through a very strange and disjointed dream. Her eyelids were drooping with fatigue when they broke through the curtain of mist and saw their destination before them.
‘A rustic cottage!’ Marion exclaimed weakly. ‘How very charming!’
Brice leaped from the horse and lifted Marion off, standing there with his arms about her as he looked into her face. ‘I’m sorry I had to do this to you.’
‘You rescued me. How could you be sorry?’ Marion said as he led her into the cottage.
There was a young woman inside who opened the door to them and bowed to Marion.
‘This is Lainie. She is the wife of one of the men who rode with me to rescue you,’ Brice said, leading Marion inside. It was a homely cottage with roughly crafted wooden chairs overlaid with sheepskin and woollen coverings. A rickety table stood to one side with chairs around it, and a fire blazed in the hearth. Marion slipped off her sodden cloak and held her hands over the flames, rubbing her palms together and blowing on them as she had seen peasants do.
‘Where is Wallace?’ Lainie asked anxiously.
‘He will be here soon, I trust.’
‘You did not see him, my laird?’
‘I had to get the lady to safety here, and did not wait for Wallace and the others, but I know they will be safe. Have no fear.’
Lainie nodded and began to fill three glasses with something from a pitcher.
‘It will warm you up, my lady,’ she said, handing a glass to Marion. The liquid stung her throat and burned all the way down to her belly, but before long it released a glowing warmth which spread through Marion’s body.
Lainie cocked her head to one side at a familiar sound outside. ‘It must be Wallace,’ she said, running to the door.
‘Wait!’ Brice said, motioning her to stand back while he opened the door and peered into the darkness.
‘It is me my laird – Wallace!’
Brice stood back relieved, and Lainie rushed forward and threw herself into her husband’s arms.
‘Easy, easy, woman!’ Wallace said. He was a large bearded man with a deep voice and he carried one o
f the cases that Lainie had packed for Marion’s journey.
‘I do not know what this contains, my lady, but I do hope it has a change of clothes,’ Wallace remarked.
‘Oh thank you, thank you!’ Marion said, moved that anyone could be so considerate of her wellbeing.
‘Come my lady, I will show you to your room and help you out of your soaked dress,’ Lainie said, leading Marion to a small but comfortable room. It had a bed and an old carved mirror that looked incongruous in such a setting. ‘The laird brought that in yesterday,’ Lainie said by way of explanation. ‘He thought you might not feel comfortable without one.’
‘Oh,’ Marion said, grateful for Brice’s gesture but aware of a growing feeling of homesickness.
‘You had best change out of your wet clothes, my lady,’ Lainie urged. Marion unstrapped her case and began to fumble for something appropriate to wear.
‘Here, let me help you,’ Lainie said, extracting a pale green kirtle and white over gown from the pile of neatly arranged garments. She helped Marion out of her wet clothes and into her dry ones, and began to dry her hair and comb it out.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ Marion said, ‘I can do it…when I am sufficiently recovered.’
‘I would be in shock if I were you. Being married to one brother and kidnapped by the other,’ Lainie observed, as she combed Marion’s hair and left it flowing freely on her shoulders to dry. When she emerged from the room Brice could not take his eyes off her. Her hair was speckled with points of light from the blazing hearth and her wan face reflected the glow of the fire.
Brice had changed too and was wearing a clean, dry kilt of green and blue plaid with an overlay of fine red checks. His shirt did little to conceal his brawny body and Marion had difficulty keeping her feelings in check. She wanted to bury her face deep in his chest and inhale the masculine fragrance of his skin. She pulled her thoughts away from Brice and composed herself by staring into the fire.
‘Here,’ Brice said, handing her a bowl of soup, ‘Lainie had that hot in a pot for us.’
‘Thank you,’ Marion said, warming her hands on the bowl, and taking a sip straight from it. It was more a broth than a soup, and had the flavors of stewed meat and a wood fire, with just the barest hint of herbs. Marion tipped the bowl into her mouth hungrily. She could almost feel it revive her bones as it slipped down her throat.
Brice drew up a chair and sat beside her, watching her as she ate and refilling her bowl at her behest.
‘Is the soup to your liking?’ Brice asked.
‘Very much so,’ Marion answered, in between mouthfuls. She was ravenous, and realized that she had not eaten anything since before the wedding, nibbling only slightly at the lavish wedding feast.
‘I’m glad to see that the broth is appreciated,’ Wallace said, ‘Or Lainie would be mortified. She hates to see wastage of her efforts.’
‘I think our Lady Marion will ensure there is no wastage tonight at any rate,’ Brice laughed, glad to see a rare smile transform Marion’s features. A pink flush slowly crept into her cheeks.
‘I suggest you wash that down with a glass of ale. It will help you sleep soundly,’ Lainie said, filling a glass and handing it to Marion.
Marion shook her head. ‘No. I do not think I will need that, now that I have eaten the broth,’ she said. ‘Where will everyone sleep?’ she asked, rising from her chair.
‘I have asked Lainie and Wallace to stay here for a while so they have a room at the back. And you have your room,’ Brice said.
‘What about you?’ Marion asked, examining her fingertips so that she did not have to look into his face.
Brice laughed and Marion looked up. ‘There is another room, Marion. Go to bed now. Wallace and I will take it in turns to stay up and keep watch, just in case Robert pursues the search tonight, though thanks to the rain, our tracks will have been washed away by now.’
‘How long do we stay here - until we are discovered?’ Marion asked.
‘Long enough for Robert to be forced to agree to an annulment,’ Brice replied. He leaned forward and stirred new life into the fire. ‘If they find us before that – well, then we will see.’
‘I can, and will have to, let everyone know that nothing happened on the night of my wedding.’ Marion crinkled her nose prettily. ‘It seems so strange to think that it was only two nights ago.’
Brice moved closer and stroked Marion’s cheek. ‘Things will be better soon…I promise.’
Marion turned her attention to her fingertips again. ‘How will this work, Brice, if you are to lose your home and be treated as an outcast for stealing your brother’s wife?’
‘You need to know something Marion.’ Brice sounded grave. ‘There are things that my father, as laird of Bothwell, is doing, that I want no part of.’
‘What do you mean?’ Marion asked.
‘He is exploiting our tenants for higher rents than they can pay and…’ Brice’s voice trailed away as he fought for composure.
‘What is it? Tell me,’ Marion said, placing a hand on his arm.
‘He is not respectful to the clansmen or their wives – imposing his attentions and will on other women and sometimes…sometimes…taking them by force.’
Marion drew in a sharp breath. ‘Oh!’ she said. She wound a strand of her hair around an agitated finger and stared at the fire, her thoughts in turmoil.
‘Brice,’ she said at length, ‘Why is my father indebted to yours? What is it that my father has done that deserves such high payment as his daughter’s life?’
‘It was a gambling debt, or so I think,’ Brice said, ‘and one that was too large for your father to pay in any manner other than by promising your hand in marriage to Robert. You see, everyone here knew about Robert’s…lifestyle. You were a good choice because you would be seeing him through different eyes.’
‘I understand that I was promised to Robert, and not to you, specifically because of his…preferences – that you now inform me were known to everyone here,’ Marion said hotly. ‘Did my father know…about Robert?’
Brice took her hand from his arm and held it in both of his. ‘I don’t know dear Marion, but I have not finished what I wanted to tell you.’
‘Pray continue,’ Marion said, giving him her attention.
‘I am mustering an army to ride against my father…to take over Bothwell Castle and the Murray lands.’
‘What!’ Marion exclaimed, ‘Go against your own father? How could you do that?’
‘Do not be dismayed by this revelation. It is to free the peasants from the harsh terms that bind them to their life of poverty. I want a happier life for them. And I am to be laird one day, despite being the youngest of my father’s three sons.’
‘Yes, I heard,’ Marion replied, ‘Because William wishes to live in England and Robert of course is bound for France. The problem is, Brice, that now Robert no longer has a wife, will he be permitted to go to France? I hear that he can only go if your father affords him the means to do so.’
‘That is the reason why I have had to hasten the uprising against my father – so that both he and Robert are put to flight, one way or the other. They both have far too many people here amongst our clansmen and other clans who are against them.’
‘So you have begun preparations for your revolt?’
‘Yes, they have been going on for a while now,’ Brice said.
‘You are so different from the rest of your family,’ Marion remarked, looking up at him in admiration.
Brice stroked her hand. ‘I love Scotland. The rest of my family seems enamored of a life and places that are alien to me. The only thing I could ever love about England is that it sent you to me.’
‘Oh Brice,’ Marion said. He cupped her face in both his hands and stroked her cheeks with thumbs that felt rough from outdoor work. Marion took one of his hands off her face and stroked the weather worn skin. ‘Your hands…’ she began to say.
‘Not quite the hands of one who lives at Bo
thwell Castle?’ Brice laughed.
Marion blushed. ‘I wasn’t going to put it quite that way,’ she said.
‘It’s alright that you notice. I visit our tenants and sometimes help the peasants who cannot afford labor for their harvests.’
Marion’s eyes softened. ‘A brave man – strong and kind. There could not be a better person to be laird.’
‘Oh, I have my faults,’ Brice said, laughing again.
‘What are they?’
‘Running away with other men’s wives. Well, one at least,’ Brice said, leaning in to kiss Marion. He pulled her closer into the circle of his arms and held her against his warm body.
‘Brice,’ Marion whispered, feeling emboldened and liberated by their situation. ‘You do not have to spend the night in the third room that you spoke of.’
Brice’s arms tightened about her; holding her firm against his chest. With a sharp breath that was almost a groan, he brought his lips down hard against the side of Marion’s neck. And now it was her turn to gasp. His teeth made tiny indentations in her ivory skin as he continued to kiss the side of her neck, gently first and then with passion. His hands slid down her back and came up around the base of her spine and then to the plump firmness below. His breath came faster now, and he turned his attention to her lips again, his tongue gently breaking through the barrier of her teeth and softly caressing hers. Their tongues seemed caught in a dance – a reel of sorts – cocooned within the exquisitely warm softness of Marion’s lips, and then shifting languidly to the heat of Brice’s mouth.
Marion was breathless now and so was Brice. The kiss was pushing their senses to a limit beyond which they would have no control, but Brice pulled away in time.
‘No, my dearest,’ Brice gasped, ‘Not like this. Not now.’
Marion looked pleadingly up at him.
‘Don’t look at me like that, Marion. I want to wait…until we are married.’
‘Would that even be possible?’
‘Yes,’ Brice said, looking intently into her face. ‘Yes, it will.’
‘When?’ Marion asked.
‘When Robert has had your marriage annulled,’ Brice replied, kissing her forehead and moving resolutely away from her. ‘And now you must go to sleep while I stay on guard.’