Bride of Lochbarr

by Margaret Moore

  She gave him a rueful smile. “You mustn’t think I was planning to walk through the gate and announce my presence. I was hopeful most of the people of Lochbarr would be loyal to you, and they would help me find you.”

  “Oh, my God, Marianne!” he murmured. “You could have been caught, and I doubt Lachlann would have risked letting you escape a second time. Why did you risk it?”

  “Because Lochbarr is my home and you’re the rightful chieftain of Lochbarr.” She gave him a glorious smile. “And because you’re my husband. I was quite determined to find you and help you fight to get it back.”

  Had there ever been a braver, more resolute woman? How could he not love her?

  Adair brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss upon it.

  “Fortunately, Roban found me as he was on his way to some of your faithful clansmen who are hidden hereabouts. He told me you were alive, and brought me here.”

  She made it sound so simple and easy, but in her tone he read a deeper tale, of struggle and fear and sheer force of will. “You’re a bonnie brave woman, m’eudail, and I’m so proud you’re my wife, I may burst with it.”

  “What, and need more bandaging?” she said, frowning, although her eyes shone with love.

  “We’ll get Lochbarr back somehow,” he vowed.

  “Of course we will.” She covered him with his plaid. “Now you rest, and we’ll talk later.”

  “But—”

  She rose and gave him an imperious look. “Rest. You’re no good to us if you’re weak.”

  Then she grinned, looking like a beautiful, mischievous imp. “Besides, we’ll give Lachlann a few more days trying to control Cormag and the others. Let him see if it’s as easy to be a chieftain as he thinks.”

  “AYE, ADAIR, they stole everything we had that they could carry. Like ravening wolves they were,” the middle-aged farmer said, his bright eyes full of hate above his bushy black beard. “Thank God I’d heard of their mischief and sent my wife and daughters into the hills, or…”

  Anghas’s gaze faltered as he regarded Adair. “We’ve heard tales about some of the poor lasses in Lochbarr.”

  Her heart full of sorrow, Marianne glanced at her husband seated beside her in another farmer’s byre high up in the hills where they’d taken refuge after leaving the cave. Close by, a mouse scuttled through a pile of straw, while outside, cows lowed, waiting to be milked.

  When she’d told Adair they should let Lachlann try to control Cormag and the others for a few days, she hadn’t considered the full extent of the evil Cormag and the others might do if left unchecked for even a little while. Now she especially feared for sweet, gentle Dearshul and hoped that somehow, her affection for Lachlann had kept her safe.

  Adair shifted and Marianne reached out to take his hand, offering him her silent comfort. As painful as it was for her to hear what was happening in Lochbarr under Lachlann’s leadership—or lack of it—she knew it was even more agonizing for Adair.

  “What of Lachlann?” Adair asked.

  The burly farmer’s lip curled with scorn. “He stays in the hall dead drunk, they say. He’s been that way ever since you got away.”

  “Then he doesn’t lead these raiding parties?”

  “No,” Anghas replied. “But he doesn’t stop them, either.”

  “I don’t mean that I won’t hold him responsible for what’s happening,” Adair replied. “He’ll suffer for it, along with the rest.”

  “When?” Anghas demanded, his deference giving way to understandable anger and frustration.

  “Soon.”

  “As soon as Adair’s fit to fight,” Marianne clarified.

  “And when might that be?”

  Roban, who’d been listening from his place in the shadows of the small stone building, stepped forward. “It’s not for you to question what Adair intends to do, Anghas, or when.”

  His face creased from worry and the pain of his healing wound, Adair addressed his friend. “Aye, it is for Anghas to question, and be assured that I’m going to act soon. It’s his livestock got taken, and his wife and daughters put in harm’s way because of me.”

  Marianne heard the heavy mantle of guilt he’d put upon his shoulders. “Adair, nobody will blame you for what they’re doing.”

  His hand on his side, her husband got to his feet. “They should,” he said bitterly. “I should have seen which way the wind was blowing. I should have taken steps against Cormag, at least, and not believed no clansman would betray me. I should have paid more attention to Lachlann, too. But I didn’t, so now this man has every right to know what I intend to do.”

  Adair put his other hand on Anghas’s shoulder and spoke with determination and sincerity. “I won’t let Cormag and his men turn our land into an outlaws’ hunting ground. And I’m well enough to do something now.”

  Hearing the firm resolution in his voice, Marianne decided the time had come to tell her husband of her plan. Afraid he would want to ride before he was well enough, she’d hesitated, but Adair was too anxious and determined to delay any longer.

  After hearing Anghas, so was she.

  “You can ride, Barra thinks,” she said, “but we’re outnumbered. We’ve got to get more men before we attack.”

  “I’m not going to stay hidden away like a coward any longer,” Adair replied, rubbing his fist into his palm.

  Looking as if he’d rather be elsewhere, Anghas sidled toward the door. “I only wanted to know how long my wife and daughters need stay in the hills.”

  “Come with me, Anghas, and have some stew,” Roban said with slightly forced good humor. “It’s best to leave these two to fight their battles alone anyway.”

  Anghas looked from Adair to Marianne, then nodded and joined Roban, who was already walking out the door.

  “There’s an excellent troop of soldiers nearby led by a man who should be very keen to help, and we should seek his aid,” Marianne said the moment they were alone.

  Adair’s eyes narrowed warily. “What man?”

  “My brother.” Marianne hurried on before Adair could reply. “He should realize that it’s far better for him to have his sister and her husband for neighbors and allies than men who’d betray their chieftain. It won’t be easy to humble ourselves to Nicholas, but what is our pride compared to what’s happening in Lochbarr? I’m even willing to beg, if I must, to see you restored to your rightful place, and those men defeated.”

  Some of the tension left Adair’s face, only to return a moment later. “Marianne, m’eudail, I’ve already been humbled. I’ll ask for help from anyone who might provide it. But I fear your brother’ll probably bar the gate against us and tell us to go shift for ourselves.”

  “I’ll make sure Nicholas listens to what we have to say,” Marianne replied firmly. “And that he’ll help us.”

  More of the tension fled Adair’s features as he reached for her. “I’m sure if anybody can get that man to listen and come to our aid, it will be my bonnie wife.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  STANDING IN HIS SOLAR, Nicholas studied the soldier before him as if the man were proposing Nicholas jump into the nearest large body of water. “What do you mean, she refuses to leave?”

  The garrison commander shuffled his feet and shrugged his beefy shoulders, making his chain mail rattle.

  “She says they’ll block the gates until you come and speak to them,” he replied, his accent revealing his Saxon heritage.

  “She’s mad,” Nicholas muttered, turning and walking toward the window through which weak sunlight shone. “Utterly and completely mad. I wondered before, but now I’m sure.”

  And he must have been temporarily deranged to think for one moment when he heard who was at his castle gate that Marianne had come crawling back to beg his pardon and forgiveness.

  Nicholas looked out unseeing over the completed inner walls, to the hills that he considered the natural outer ring of his defenses against the lawless Scots. It was going to pour rain before the d
ay was done.

  He wouldn’t worry about Marianne getting soaked to the skin. She hadn’t worried about the compensation he’d have to pay Hamish Mac Glogan when she’d run off with Adair Mac Taran, a sum her husband’s bride price had barely covered.

  The garrison commander’s mail jingled again. “Whatever her state o’ mind, me lord, they’re not budgin’.”

  “Didn’t you tell them I was prepared to use force?” Nicholas demanded without turning, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Yes, me lord.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, me lord, that is, she, um, she…laughed.”

  “Laughed?” Nicholas turned on his heel to glare at the soldier, who stiffened to attention.

  “Yes, sir,” the soldier replied. “Laughed and said she knew you weren’t the most kindhearted fellow, but she didn’t take you for a fool, and what she had to say was important. She said, ‘Tell my brother that for his own sake, if not mine, he’d better let us in.’”

  “She dared to threaten me?” Nicholas demanded, incredulous at her insolence.

  The grizzled veteran frowned, as if thinking very hard. “No, me lord, it didn’t sound like no threat—more like a warning. Like she thinks you’re in danger.”

  Nicholas snorted. “What danger could I be in from them?”

  The soldier didn’t reply.

  Nicholas turned back to the window. He should let her sit there until she rotted.

  Except that they were blocking the castle gate.

  He should send out his men against them.

  Except that would lead to bloodshed, and he didn’t want to have to hire more men.

  Finally, exasperated, he strode to the door.

  “Get back to your duties,” he snapped as he passed the garrison commander.

  After trotting down the steps, he marched across the courtyard. Ignoring the guards, who watched him as they might a pot about to explode, he threw open the wicket door in the inner gate.

  “Raise the portcullis,” he ordered as he proceeded.

  Through the slowly rising wooden grille he could make out Marianne, mounted, with that Scot she’d married beside her. Behind them were about twenty other Scots, armed with those enormous broadswords they carried on their backs and wearing their ridiculous skirts.

  His gaze returned to his sister, who still sat on a horse like an empress. When he’d arrived at the convent, he’d noticed the proud carriage of her head and the graceful dignity of her posture. That, and her beauty, had made her a valuable asset—until she’d allowed herself to be seduced by a savage Scot. That barbarian bastard still had that same smug, superior smile he’d sported when he’d first met Marianne, too.

  He should have run him through and thought of an excuse afterward.

  “Good day, brother,” Marianne said brightly when the wheels stopped creaking and the ascending portcullis came to a halt.

  Nicholas marched closer. “I thought your father-in-law understood I no longer have a sister.”

  “Sister or not, aren’t you going to behave like a well-to-do Norman nobleman and invite us into your hall for refreshments and rest?”

  “No.”

  Marianne shrugged her shoulders. “Very well. We’ll have our parlay here.”

  She dismounted, and so did the Scot, moving in a way that told Nicholas at once the man wasn’t well.

  He nodded at Adair. “What’s happened to him?”

  “That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about.”

  “If he’s sick, I don’t give a damn.”

  “You should. Violence can be like a plague, spreading from one town to the next, or one valley to another.”

  Nicholas’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard nothing to suggest I’m in danger. If the Scots want to fight among themselves, that’s none of my concern.”

  “You think not?”

  Quite certain the Scots could all happily kill each other before it would be important to him, Nicholas merely crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow.

  “Have you heard that Seamus Mac Taran has died?”

  “Yes.”

  “A truly fine Norman nobleman would have sent his condolences.”

  Considering how much he’d paid those nuns over the years, they should have trained that arrogance out of her, Nicholas thought as he scowled at Adair Mac Taran. “You have my condolences.”

  “Thank you, brother-in-law.”

  Marianne obviously wasn’t the only arrogant one at the gate.

  “Since then, dear brother,” she continued as if she had every right in the world to arrive at his castle and talk to him as though they were on the best of terms, “we’ve learned that there’s been discontent and rebellion brewing among my husband’s clan. Some of the clansmen, including his younger brother, were of the opinion that Adair wouldn’t make a good chieftain, and his marriage to me was proof of his unsuitability.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with them.”

  Marianne looked at her brother as if she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “You would agree that an upstart faction should rebel against their rightful leader? I had no idea you had such sentiments, Nicholas. Tell me, does King Alexander know you feel this way?”

  Nicholas’s brows lowered. “What does Alexander have to do with this?”

  “If you truly consider rebellion a viable means of obtaining power, the king who rewarded you with this large estate should know.”

  He was fast losing what little patience he had. “What do you want, Marianne?”

  “It’s not only what I want, Nicholas, but what you ought to want, too.”

  “For God’s sake, why are you here?”

  “We’re here because Adair’s brother has taken Lochbarr and made himself chieftain, against the expressed wish and choice of his late father and the majority of the clansmen.”

  “What do you expect me to do about it?”

  “I expect you to…” She hesitated and some of the color drained from her cheeks.

  “I expect you to—” she began again, her words faltering.

  She started to slip to the ground.

  “Marianne!” her husband cried, rushing forward to catch her as she fell, yet looking faint himself with the effort.

  Adair Mac Taran’s voice and his expression told Nicholas this was no ploy to gain sympathy. His sister was sick, or hurt.

  Marianne’s pale face looked like their mother’s just before she died.

  That realization was like the stab of a knife, and Nicholas immediately leapt forward to help. He gathered his sister into his arms. “Here, I’ll take her,” he said to the Scot, picking her up. “Inside.”

  He became aware of the worried rumblings of the other Scots. They could look and sound as concerned as nursemaids; he wasn’t letting a heavily armed band of Scots inside Beauxville. “Just Marianne and her husband can come into the castle. The rest of you stay here.”

  They weren’t happy about the order, but they were the least of Nicholas’s worries as he carried his sister through the gatehouse. He wasn’t concerned whether Adair could keep up with him, either. All that mattered was getting Marianne safely inside.

  “Open the wicket! Now!” Nicholas shouted when he reached the inner gate.

  The smaller door swung open and he went through sideways, careful not to let Marianne’s head hit the frame. He strode across the courtyard.

  “Get that door!” he ordered a dumbfounded female servant—the slightly less ugly one with the mole on her breast whose name he could never remember. She sprang into action and did as he commanded.

  “Oh, God help us!” she cried as he carried Marianne past her. “Is she dead?”

  “No. Fetch water. And wine. And the man who tends the laborers when they’re injured.”

  He took the stairs to the apartments two at a time and kicked open the door to his bedchamber. Gently he laid Marianne on his featherbed. As he looked at her deathly pale features, the image of their mother’s face kept s
urging upward from the depths of his memory, an image he’d kept buried there because it was too painful to recall.

  He heard footsteps behind him and turned to find a winded Adair Mac Taran leaning against the doorjamb and breathing hard.

  “What’s wrong with Marianne?” Nicholas demanded. “Is she ill? She said something about the plague.”

  The Scot shook his head. “Not ill. She’s with child.”

  Nicholas’s dread lessened, but his animosity toward the Scot increased. “Yours?”

  “Of course mine,” the Scot retorted. “I’m her husband.”

  Nicholas regarded the man with undisguised disdain. “Yes, I know. You seduced her, so what choice did she have?”

  “More than you gave her,” the Scot muttered as he went to the bed.

  Nicholas refused to feel guilty for what had happened. “So your own brother has rebelled against you,” he sneered as Adair bent over Marianne, studying her face and stroking her hand.

  “Aye, he has,” Mac Taran said absently, as if he was more concerned about Marianne than regaining what had been taken from him. “We’ve come to ask you to help us get back Lochbarr, and my place as clan chieftain.”

  “Surely you’re jesting,” Nicholas scoffed, even as he wondered what was taking the man who tended to the laborers’ injuries and illness so long to get there. “Why would I help the man who ruined my sister?”

  Adair straightened and his intense gaze seemed to peer into Nicholas’s heart. “And destroyed your ambitious plans?”

  “You destroyed her future.”

  “That’s debatable and I didn’t come here to debate you. I came because Marianne suggested it. It seems my wife believes her brother will help us.”

  “How?”

  “We need more men, and although I’ve sent to other clans for their assistance, it could be days yet before enough Scots can get here. Meanwhile, the traitors who hold Lochbarr are acting like outlaws. Marianne thought you’d see the merit of helping us because the alternative would be to have those outlaws for neighbors.”

  The Scot looked down at Marianne, then back to Nicholas. “I don’t think that’s the only reason she wanted to come here. Is she wrong to hope that a Norman can have family loyalty, too?”