Bride of Lochbarr

by Margaret Moore

  Lachlann looked a bit better than Adair, but he was likewise exhausted and pale from lack of sleep. To her relief, he’d done nothing since his father’s death to raise more suspicions, nor had he tried to speak to her alone. She’d obviously been upset and overwrought when she doubted his loyalty and feared that he wasn’t quite what she’d been led to believe.

  Unfortunately, she had no such comforting thoughts about Cormag, who’d returned the day before with the man sent to fetch him, their beasts sweat-slicked and foaming from the long, arduous ride.

  At last the procession reached the wharf. Dearshul had explained that all the thanes and chieftains of Clan Mac Taran had their final resting place on the small island out in the loch. It would be peaceful, Marianne supposed, with only the calls of the birds to disturb their final rest.

  Once Seamus’s body was in the boat, along with the priest, piper and six men accompanying it, the women, Barra and the rest of the pipers fell silent. As they watched the boat pull away from the wharf to make its way across the calm waters of the loch, Marianne spotted an eagle circling. It was like seeing Seamus’s spirit soaring—a minstrel’s notion, perhaps, but a comforting one.

  When the boat disappeared around the island, she turned to Dearshul and the other women. “Come. We’ll make certain all is ready for when they return.”

  She led the subdued women back to the hall, where those involved in the cooking went off to the kitchen. Marianne had only to ensure that the tables, benches and goblets were ready, and since they were, she sat down to wait, leaning her head in her hand. She hadn’t had much sleep either. She’d lain awake for a long time every night, wondering about Adair’s brother and Cormag and these people she couldn’t really understand….

  She awoke with a start when the door to the hall banged open. Sitting up straight, she rubbed her weary eyes as Adair strode inside, followed by his brother and Cormag, and then the other men.

  There was relief in her husband’s face as he approached her, as if the worst was over. She hoped it was.

  She was about to rise and go to meet him when Lachlann came to a halt. “Adair!”

  The word was like a challenge, a slap to the face.

  Cold fear gripped her heart as her husband turned on his heel to look at his brother, now standing so defiant beside the hearth, with a sneering Cormag beside him. Everything about their attitude told her she’d been right about Lachlann and Cormag, and Adair seriously, grievously wrong.

  Where was Roban? And Adair’s other friends? She didn’t see any of them in the group facing her husband.

  Hands on his hips, Adair cocked his head, apparently simply puzzled. “What?”

  Lachlann instinctively stepped back. Cormag didn’t move.

  “Well?” Adair said, his tone impatient, but not worried. “If you’ve got something to say that’s so important I can’t sit down to hear it, out with it.”

  Could he not see the difference in their attitude? Did he not sense that this was open defiance, perhaps even a challenge to his leadership?

  Lachlann reddened. “I don’t think the women need to hear clan business.”

  Marianne wasn’t about to be sent away. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said firmly. “You can’t dismiss me like a child.”

  Her husband gave her a swift, questioning glance, but he didn’t tell her to go. Instead, he addressed his brother.

  “What do you have to say to me, Lachlann?” he repeated, his voice stern and, finally, wary.

  When Lachlann hesitated, Cormag stepped forward. “We don’t want you for chieftain.”

  “I was chosen by the clan,” Adair replied, the only sign of his rising temper the slight flushing of his face. “Are you questioning their decision?”

  “Aye, we are.”

  Adair regarded his brother. “Are you in agreement with Cormag?” he demanded.

  Oh, Adair, she wanted to cry. He’s not like you. He’s not loyal like you. Trustworthy and honest and honorable like you.

  Recovering his bravado, Lachlann straightened his shoulders. “I agree with them. You’re too impetuous, too stubborn and too selfish to think of the clan before your own needs and desires. That woman beside you is proof of that.”

  “So you wish to call a meeting of the clansmen to debate their choice?”

  “No,” Cormag declared. “We’re telling you to get out of Lochbarr and take that Norman wife of yours with you.”

  Adair’s eyes flared with surprise, then scorn. “You would put yourself above the other clansmen?” He looked at Lachlann. “You know this isn’t how this should be done.”

  “We won’t wait for that,” Cormag said, reaching back and drawing his claimh mor. “Your time as chieftain is over, Adair. Get out of Lochbarr.”

  Adair stared incredulously at Lachlann, who also unsheathed his long sword. So did the men behind him. “You threaten your thane and chieftain with death? That’s no different than treason against the king.”

  Lachlann pushed his way past Cormag. “You won’t be hurt, either you or Marianne. You’ll be free to leave and—”

  “Traitor!” Adair bellowed, his voice rumbling through the hall like thunder breaking upon the mountains. She’d never heard a man so angry, not even Nicholas. “Do you think I’d leave Lochbarr to you after this? You ought to die of shame right now!”

  “Traitor?” Lachlann charged. “You call me a traitor? You’re the one who went after a Norman woman and brought her here. What have you ever done to deserve being chieftain, except being born first, and comely?”

  “I’m glad our father’s dead,” Adair said, his angry gaze sweeping over the men facing him before coming to rest on his traitorous brother once more. “I’m thankful he’s not alive to see this shameful, disloyal act.”

  “And if he were, we all know what he’d say,” Lachlann hotly replied. “You could never do any wrong in his eyes. The angriest he ever got was over that woman, yet even then, what did he do? Did he cast you out of the clan? Did he so much as utter harsh words? No. He forgave you, again. He even made the marriage out to be an advantage, all because he loved you so much, he wouldn’t see the truth—that you’ve endangered us all with your selfish lust. Well, we won’t wait for you to bring a Norman army down on our head.”

  “What Norman army?” Marianne demanded, no longer able to keep silent. “Has anyone spotted one on its way? My brother is not making a war over my marriage.” She gestured at the other men. “Is that how you’re getting these men to support you, by lying to them? Because if anybody brings a Norman army down upon Lochbarr, it will be you with this traitorous act. By trying to usurp my husband’s position as chieftain, you are also acting against the sister of Sir Nicholas de Beauxville. Whoever attacks us will have to deal with him.”

  She hoped.

  Seeing the doubt and dismay blooming in Lachlann’s eyes, and in spite of what Nicholas had said and done after her marriage, she pressed on. “Do you think Scots are the only families who fight among themselves, yet unite when threatened? Do you think my brother won’t come to my aid if I tell him you’re trying to rob my husband and me of our rightful places? If you believe that, you don’t know Nicholas, or the Normans. My brother will fight you with all the men and arms at his disposal to insure that doesn’t happen. You’ll be the one who starts an open war, not Adair.”

  “That’s a lie,” Cormag snarled, all but shoving Lachlann out of his way. “Your brother doesn’t give a damn about you, and we all know it.”

  “Are you willing to gamble your lives on that?” she asked, seeing the other men’s confidence flagging as they exchanged wary glances. She turned to Lachlann. “As for what Adair’s done, what have you done except prove that you’re not worthy to be Adair’s brother and your father’s son? Adair would have died for you and every man of this clan, simply because you are his clan. That’s what makes him fit to be chieftain. Yes, he’s impetuous and rash—but he’s not sly and deceitful. He’s honest and trustworthy, incapable of lyin
g—not like you.”

  She addressed the clansmen. “Which would you rather have for a leader, a man who acts because of the dictates of his noble heart, or one who’ll draw a weapon against his lawful thane, his chieftain, and his brother?”

  Before anyone could speak, and regarding his brother with a stern and grim expression, Adair stepped toward Lachlann, and when he spoke, it wasn’t with red-hot rage, but with a cold deliberation that seemed yet more awesome, and terrible. “If you want to lead this clan, Lachlann, you’re going to have to kill me. You won’t succeed, so I’ll give you one chance to turn around and walk out of Lochbarr, never to return while I or my wife or my children live.”

  Gritting his teeth, his hand gripping his sword, Lachlann shook his head as the men behind him moved forward. “I’ll give you one last chance to walk out of Lochbarr, Adair,” he replied. “Never to return.”

  The door to the hall burst open and Roban ran into the hall, followed by some of Adair’s friends. For a moment, Marianne joyfully thought help was at hand, until she realized how few in number they were.

  “What mischief’s afoot, Adair?” Roban demanded. “Who decided on three patrols this morning, and most of our friends among them?”

  “This traitor,” Adair replied, not for an instant taking his eyes off Lachlann.

  Roban’s brow furrowed as he drew his claimh mor from the sheath on his back. “It’s like that, is it?”

  “Aye, it is,” Lachlann replied, likewise not taking his gaze from his brother’s face. “And if you’re smart—”

  Cormag lunged for Adair.

  Marianne screamed and threw herself in front of her husband. Lachlann shouted and Roban charged forward. Cormag roughly shoved Marianne aside. She fell hard on her knees while Adair, snarling like an angry wolf, pulled his claimh mor from its sheath and charged his cousin.

  Cormag avoided Adair’s blow, but as her husband recovered, ready to strike again, Lachlann leapt at him.

  Someone grabbed Marianne around the waist and pulled her backward. A rough, callused hand clamped over her mouth.

  She struggled and kicked and fought as she was dragged backward toward the door to the yard, away from the fight, and her husband. She twisted and turned, trying desperately to break free, but the arms holding her were too strong.

  Her assailant dragged her toward the chieftain’s empty teach. Where were the sentries at the gate?

  Her captor shouldered open the door to Seamus’s empty quarters, then threw her inside. As Marianne stumbled to her feet, the door closed.

  “Let me go!” she shouted as she turned, ready to fight to get away and back to the hall, and Adair.

  She gasped at the sight of Fionnaghal barring the door. “You! Are you in league with them?”

  “No,” Fionnaghal answered, but not moving, either. “I still think it would have been better if Adair hadn’t married you, but what Lachlann is doing is worse.”

  “Then let me out of here! I have to go back to Adair!”

  “Do you want to be killed, too?”

  Marianne didn’t care about any danger to herself. “I have to go to Adair!”

  Fionnaghal moved so that her back was up against the door. “And do what? You’ll only get yourself killed—or raped.”

  Marianne started forward. “That won’t happen. Adair and his men—”

  “Are outnumbered.”

  “They’ll still win!”

  “No, they won’t.”

  “I won’t hide in here like a coward!”

  Fionnaghal put her hands on her hips. “If Adair’s wounded or killed and Cormag finds you, what do you think he’ll do?”

  “Nothing,” she returned, telling herself it would never come to that. “I’m still Lachlann’s sister-in-law. He won’t dare to harm me.”

  Frowning, Fionnaghal swore under her breath. “Gomeral, Cormag and those others will never listen to Lachlann, no matter what they’ve said to his face about being the chieftain. They’ll do what they want, and he won’t be able to stop them.”

  Marianne felt sick, because she knew Fionnaghal was probably right. Lachlann wouldn’t be able to control Cormag. But it wouldn’t matter. Adair would defeat them.

  “You heard what Roban said. Lachlann sent out most of Adair’s friends on patrol. I don’t doubt he left Roban and a few others behind in case it came to a fight. This way, he can kill them, too, and claim his men were only defending themselves.”

  “Defending themselves from what? They’re traitors who’ve attacked their chieftain.”

  “They’ll say Adair flew into a rage and drew his dirk on Lachlann first because he was jealous over his wife.”

  “What?” Marianne cried. Then she remembered Adair’s moment of jealousy the night Seamus died, when Lachlann had been with her in the teach. Perhaps some people would believe that.

  Fionnaghal looked at Marianne as if she was dim. “It’s no secret Adair cares for you and he’s got a fiery temper. So when Adair’s friends return, Lachlann will claim Adair made jealous accusations and attacked him. He had no choice except to defend himself. Then it got to be a bigger fight.”

  A cold shiver of suspicion ran down Marianne’s back. “How do you know their plans?”

  “Because I made it my business to find out, and Cormag is a boastful braggart who can’t keep his mouth shut when he beds a woman.”

  Fionnaghal smirked when she saw the look on Marianne’s face. “It’s a doughty woman who can beat me at anything, so I decided Adair had done well after all to wed you. It was no secret that Cormag was discontented and bitter with it, but Adair and his father have always been too honorable themselves to believe their own kin would move against them. I didn’t share that notion, so I thought I’d find out what Cormag might do. And I did.”

  If she’d known…. “Why didn’t you warn us?”

  “Because I didn’t know when or where or how he’d make his move. I thought I had time to find out more, and I didn’t know that Lachlann was with him, or that they had so many men willing to side with them. Still, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what I heard.”

  Marianne wished she had, too, but that was in the past. “These other men out on patrol are Adair’s friends. Surely they won’t believe Lachlann.”

  “Lachlann wasn’t able to convince all those with him now he’d be a better, wiser chieftain because Adair is sweet-tempered and thoughtful.”

  Oh, God help them, she was right. Yet even so, there had to be a way…. “Adair will beat them,” she said, once again starting for the door. “He’s too fine a fighter—”

  Again Fionnaghal blocked her way, this time spreading her arms wide so there could be no mistake that she meant to keep Marianne there. “Can you not see that you’ve got to think of yourself now, and the bairn?”

  The baby. She’d forgotten about the baby.

  “Now that we’ve got our breath, it’s time to run. There’s a way through the palisade at the back and a path to the hills we can take. We can hide there and think about what to do after.”

  Marianne didn’t want to leave Lochbarr while Adair was still fighting, but for the sake of their unborn child, she must. “Adair will surely find—”

  The door crashed open, knocking Fionnaghal to her knees. Then Cormag strode into the chamber, his broadsword in his hands. “So, this is where the bird’s flown.”

  As Fionnaghal staggered to her feet, Marianne summoned her courage and her dignity, and pointed imperiously at the open door. “Get out!”

  Cormag merely smiled a cold, cruel smile. “You should have more care, Norman,” he said. “You can’t order me, not when your husband’s dead.”

  Every muscle in Marianne’s chest clenched and she couldn’t breathe.

  But she mustn’t—she wouldn’t—believe him. “You’re lying.”

  “Lachlann killed him, ran him through with his dirk, like sticking a pig.”

  “Liar!”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Marianne saw Fionnaghal sidlin
g to the door. Leaving her to her fate.

  “Lachlann’s the chieftain now,” Cormag said.

  “He’ll never be chieftain.”

  Cormag laughed, coming closer. “Of course Seamus’s younger son will be chieftain. He’s a clever one, if not so fine a fighter. “Twas his idea to steal the cattle, to make it look like the Normans were raiding ours.”

  “Why?” she demanded, backing away.

  “To spur his father to go to the king. Seamus was too peaceable by far.”

  “Lachlann wants a war with the Normans?”

  “He wants power, and he wants Dunkeathe. When he has the Norman’s land, I get Lochbarr.”

  “You’ve betrayed your clan for greed and ambition?”

  “What else? Honor and glory? That’s for fools like Adair.”

  “Or men who understand what honor and glory mean,” Marianne charged. Her back hit the wall and she could go no farther. “And once you’ve got Lochbarr, will you be content with it, or will you want Dunkeathe, too?”

  “You’re a clever lass,” Cormag replied with a smile that made her feel sick. “I’ll let little Lachlann pretend to rule the roost awhile, until Dunkeathe is back in Scots’ hands.”

  “As you say, Lachlann’s clever, Cormag,” she said, keeping her gaze on her husband’s cousin, trying to determine how and where to attack.

  His shirt was open, exposing the dip in the collarbone, where there was no muscle. A weak spot, and if she could jab him there with her fingers, it would be enough to shock him.

  She’d have to be close to him, though, and keep her hands free and in front of her. She raised and clasped them as if she was going to beg for mercy. “Lachlann will see what you plan and surely get rid of you first.”

  Splaying his left hand on the wall beside her, Cormag leaned close. “If it comes to a fight between Lachlann and me, who do you think would win?” He put the tip of his blade on her cheek. “If it comes to a fight between ye and me, who do you think will win?”

  In one swift move, she unclasped her hands and jabbed hard at his throat.