by Mary Wine
“All I care about is that Achaius is willing to help me gain vengeance for Sandra.” It was an evasion, but it only proved what Moira suspected. Gahan was right.
Bari snickered. “Do ye think ye’ve escaped me hold over ye by giving that bird away? It does nae matter. Matheson will likely take a great deal of delight in raping ye if ye refuse to stand by his side. Do nae think ye will find a welcome back at Seabhac. If ye ever set foot on me land again without doing as I command, I will make sure every person who shows ye even the slightest kindness is rewarded with ten lashes.”
She clenched her teeth against the horror, and she wanted to gag because of the helplessness filling her. “Ye are nae worthy of the respect given ye by the Frasers,” she spat.
“But I am still their laird—yer laird—and there is naught ye can do to stay me hand. The reasons for yer match do nae concern ye. Only the fact that I have given me word on the matter.” He smirked at her, victory shimmering in his eyes. “Go get dressed for yer wedding.”
Moira glared at Bari. Every muscle felt tense, and her mind was racing as she tried to think of a way around his dictate…but there was none. The noose was too tight to pull off. She knew that Bari would do exactly what he promised. The only choice she had was to wed Achaius and hope she could make him happy enough to refuse to go feuding.
But she admitted to having very little faith in how content she’d be. Sometimes, doing the right thing brought little satisfaction. She wondered how long it would be before she committed the ultimate sin of counting the days until she was a widow.
She’d resist the urge, because it would make her more like Bari, and that truly was a fate worse than death.
***
Gahan walked through the hallways on his way down from his chamber. He wore a doublet with silver buttons that were closed for a change.
He’d rather be riding across the hills on his way north, but he had his duty to attend to as well. Witnessing a vassal laird’s wedding was a time-honored tradition. To ride off would be an insult. Highlanders tended to hold grudges longer than most.
The scent of roasting meat drifted past his nose, reminding him that the Mathesons were making ready to celebrate their laird’s fourth wedding. There was excitement in the air. As he passed the huge arched doorway that opened into the Great Hall, he could see the brewmaster happily overseeing the placement of a hogshead of ale for the feast. He directed the men moving the large barrel into position, and only when he was satisfied it was steady did he open the spout and draw off a sample. The men grinned as he held it up, and they all took a whiff.
It didn’t interest Gahan, but it should have. After a long winter of nothing but what the storeroom offered, a feast should have pleased him. Instead, he moved out onto the steps and looked at the gate longingly.
“I like the direction of yer thinking,” Cam said from behind him. He stuck a finger into his collar and tried to loosen it. “I’ve never cared for a doublet once spring begins. I’m roasting like that pig.”
There was a rustle behind him, and they both turned to see the last of the sun’s rays illuminating Moira. Gahan’s breath froze in his chest. Somehow he’d missed just how truly beautiful she was. She wore a pair of gowns made of fine wool and dyed a spring green. He realized he’d never seen her hair. It was brushed out now into a wave of golden silk that fell to below her waist. A wreath of early spring greens sat on her head and looked grander than any golden crown.
But the look of impending doom in her eyes cut him deeply. Still, she held her chin steady as she lowered herself in front of him. Then, drawing a shaky breath, she descended the stairs.
“I hope ye enjoy the wedding,” Bari Fraser sneered under his breath at Gahan. The cad didn’t offer his sister his arm and left her to make her way to the fate he’d engineered.
She did it admirably. She was as regal as a queen and as determined as any Highlander going into battle, doing what had to be done for the good of her kin. No matter how much he detested the circumstances, Gahan was struck hard by how much grace she conducted herself with. By the time she arrived at the church doors, her feelings were hidden behind a smooth expression. She reached for the basin holding the holy water and dipped a delicate finger into it. There was only a brief pause at the door as she lowered herself in deference to the house of God, and then she made her way to Achaius’s side. The strength it took for her to face her future without tears in her eyes was not lost on him.
May God forgive him, but Gahan entered the church, craving Bari Fraser’s blood for forcing his sister to such a fate.
Despite it all, Gahan reminded himself that Moira wasn’t the only one who understood duty. He took up a position behind the couple and maintained his composure. He was the son of the Earl of Sutherland and had his father’s expectations to uphold. In that moment, as the bells began to ring above them, he realized how much he and Moira had in common. They were both their father’s children, bound by duty to remain in their places. Both the Church and the rest of the world maintained order by such methods. He’d been raised to respect it and to fear what happened when there was no order.
But at that moment, he felt more like becoming a savage than he ever had in his life.
***
The Matheson clan knew how to celebrate.
Her brother’s retainers joined in, and the Great Hall was a swirling mass of jubilance.
“More cider!” Achaius bellowed. His mug was still full enough for some of the amber liquid to slosh over the rim, but a maid hurried up to the high table to fill it.
“Bari Fraser, yer father did nae teach ye how to drink like a Highlander,” Achaius declared, to the amusement of his kin.
Moira’s new husband stood up and lifted his tankard high. His people hooted with approval, pounding the tables as their laird emptied his mug in one long draw. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and threw his arms up in victory to the delight of his clan.
“That’s how it’s done, lad!”
The assembled company pounded on the tables until Bari stood. He drained his mug, slammed it down, and the musicians began to play. Pipers and drummers played merry tunes.
Moira tried to let it take her dark mood away. She tapped her toe and clapped her hands but couldn’t seem to keep in time. She looked for the children and watched them attempting to mimic the dance steps of their elders. One mother noticed her interest and promptly brought her baby up the steps of the high table to place it in Moira’s arms.
The Matheson clan members applauded. The baby was a little bundle of life, a tiny miracle that smelled sweet. It watched her with big, glassy eyes while sucking on its fist. She tried to wish for a child, hoping the promise of a babe might brighten her mood, but she just couldn’t banish the distaste of how that child would be conceived.
“Miss, we’d best leave before they get much more cider into them. They’ll lose all sense soon,” Fann whispered from beside her and lifted the baby away. She handed it to her clanswoman, then turned around and waved Moira toward the arched opening at the back of the hall.
Fann seemed to know her kin well. A cheer went up as Moira left the high table. But she hesitated in the hallway, looking toward the large doorway that led into the yard. The doors were still open to allow people who were finishing up their duties to join the festivities. The retainers manning the walls would be listening to the music and lamenting their poor luck at drawing duty tonight.
Moira cursed her own poor luck, because she was dreading the duty waiting above stairs for her. Still, some duties were best done quickly, so she turned and left the hall behind her.
“Second thoughts? Is that why ye hesitate?”
Moira jumped. “How do ye blend with the shadows so well?”
Gahan moved only slightly, so she could make out the mocking grin on his lips. “It’s me dark hair.”
The color of midnight.
Fann had continued on up the stairs, but it wouldn’t take her long to realize Moira wasn’t followin
g. A lump formed in her throat as she faced the fact that there was no escape.
But Gahan extended a hand, offering it to her palm up. It looked like an invitation, and she longed for it to be one. Except there was no way she might accept it. She gripped the front of her skirts and lifted them to climb the stairs.
“Ye do nae want to go up those stairs.”
“Nay, I do not,” she admitted.
“Then come with me.”
It was so tempting. She’d never felt so trapped, so desperate in her life. Her mouth went dry, and she stared at his hand as she faltered.
He moved, reaching out and clasping her hand. The contact was explosive, and she recalled how easily the burst of awareness might transform into excitement. She didn’t want to jerk away; instead, her fingers closed around his, and it sent a rush of sensation through her.
Back in the hall, Bari roared with laughter, but the sound of his voice broke the spell.
“I cannae.”
She opened her fingers, but Gahan tugged her forward. She stumbled into the shadows with him, like falling into the mythical world of the Fae.
His embrace was warm and secure, and she might so easily allow her senses to become beguiled. He leaned down, angling his head so their lips met. There was no reason to resist this time, and every reason to meet him halfway. The desperation threatening to smother her sent her rising up onto her toes so she might have a last taste of him.
He groaned when she moved toward him, a deep sound of male approval and surprise. His lips settled onto hers, softly coaxing at first, gently instructing her. He teased the seal of her mouth with the tip of his tongue until she parted her lips, opening her mouth wider. He took instant advantage, deepening the kiss as passion began to flare. She jerked back, stunned by how quickly their kiss transformed into something ravenous.
“We cannae.”
His hands firmly held her hips. It was bluntly intimate, making her more aware of her passage and its purpose than she’d ever been before.
“I will take ye away.”
“But to where?” She was letting her thoughts spill over her lips once more, but it sobered her. She pushed against his chest, and he released her with a soft grunt.
“I’ll take ye away and make no demands upon ye, Moira. Just do nae go up there and unite the Matheson with yer brother’s plans for a feud. I know the Church would have something to say about me asking ye to leave, but I still am.”
He’d crossed his arms over his chest and looked like he was resisting the urge to reach for her again. Not many men were willing to swallow their pride so completely. Too many preferred the glory of battle to logic.
“Ye make too much sense, Gahan Sutherland, and I’m tempted, for I am no blind to the fact that Bari is intent on making trouble with yer kin. But ye have every reason to want vengeance on Bari. I’d be a fool to no see how taking me away would satisfy that need.”
She backed away, moving back into the hallway where the lanterns offered her some light.
“I would nae take me vengeance through a woman.” His voice was hard as he followed her into the half light. “Ye are questioning me honor again, lass.”
She’d be mad to trust him, but the way he looked at her made it seem so possible.
“If ye are acting with honor, ye must understand that I have me own to uphold.”
“There is naught honorable about yer brother wedding ye to an old man.”
“I agree.” She took a deep breath. “But I do nae see the Mathesons taking kindly to ye stealing their laird’s bride. No one will debate the wisdom of the match. They will see only that ye stole me away while Achaius made ye welcome. He’ll feud with ye or with me brother.”
“Yer brother would deserve it.”
“But me clanswomen would nae, and it would be the women of the Fraser who will weep for their sons.”
She expected him to argue with her. Instead he cursed, low and viciously, but not at her. She’d never thought to find something in common with him, but at that moment, they were both caught in the web of circumstance.
“Ye are nae like Sandra.”
It was the finest compliment she had ever received. Her cheeks warmed with a blush as she lowered herself in front of him.
“Good-bye, Gahan Sutherland. It might be a sin, but I thank ye for giving me my first kiss.”
The men who had wagered against her composure lost their bet, because she didn’t weep on her way up the stairs. She smiled as the words Gahan had praised her with sank into her memory and left her feeling proud.
***
“She’s a surprise,” Cam muttered as soon as Moira was out of earshot.
Gahan turned on his brother, but Cam only raised an eyebrow. He reached up and smoothed the three feathers secured to the side of his bonnet with a silver brooch and made sure one of them was pointing up. It was the symbol of his position as captain, a rank he held for the sole purpose of protecting the earl’s son.
“I’d be little good to ye if I failed to notice when ye slip away. There’s more than one man here who would enjoy hearing ye were found with yer throat slit.”
His brother was speaking the truth, but it felt like the point of a dagger was indeed at his throat. Too many truths were cutting into him. He had to force himself to walk away. He had never cared enough about a woman to think about her when he was gone. To have it happen with a woman he couldn’t have was a foul twist of fate. There were more than a few who believed a child born on the wrong side of wedlock inherited their parents’ sin.
At the moment, he felt like the curse of his birth would never leave him.
Four
“There’s no need to be nervous.”
Fann sounded more uncertain than Moira felt. Aife was poking the fire and adding wood. Soon the chamber was overly warm.
Or maybe she was more nervous than she wished to admit.
“I found this dressing robe for ye. It’s made of thick wool and lined in the softest linen. It will feel grand against yer skin.”
“Against me skin?” Moira questioned.
Fann’s smile was, without doubt, wicked. The lump returned to her throat and stayed there as the girls began to take away the fine overdress and underrobe. She understood the reason for the large fire now.
“Sit, so I can take yer stockings.”
Aife brought over a stool, and Moira lowered herself onto it.
She had to face her responsibilities. Maybe she should think of Gahan. Why had the man said such things as lover? Such boldness was certain to send her thoughts places they shouldn’t go. If she had never tasted sugar from the Indies, she could not long for it.
Fann knelt and rolled one stocking down her leg. The warm air teased her skin, making her feel vulnerable. When the second stocking was removed, she felt completely exposed.
Gahan’s dark features filled her thoughts as Aife began to loosen the wreath in her hair. But Achaius’s face came to mind, and she felt the sting of tears when she realized just whom she was going to be lying with tonight.
She could not think of Gahan. It had been unkind of the man to tease her. To be so close that she wondered what his kiss would feel like. Such curiosity was sure to shred her determination. Well, not if she refused to allow any thought of the Highlander to enter her mind. She was wed. The wife of another man now. Gahan was forbidden.
“Ye are sweet as a spring morning,” Fann murmured and reached for the neck of her last garment.
Moira hugged herself to keep her chemise. Fann worried her lower lip for a moment before she lifted the dressing robe and held it up. It almost felt like a trap as Moira uncrossed her arms and pushed into the sleeves. Fann moved in front of her to tie it closed.
Aife set two slippers on the floor for her.
A shiver went down her back as she pushed her foot into a slipper. She ground her teeth as she forced herself to put on the second one. But once it was done, she was able to draw a deep breath again.
Her throat constri
cted when she was led into the hallway. Fann guided her up two more flights of stairs to the laird’s chamber. Two retainers stood guard. They grinned at her as they opened the double doors.
Just beyond the doors was a different world. The outer room had Persian carpets and ornately carved furniture. Hung on the walls were tapestries, and beeswax candles burned, filling the air with sweetness. Through the open doors, which led to the bedchamber, she could see a huge bed with a canopy and thick bed curtains.
As she passed two thronelike chairs, she realized they had the crest of another clan on their cushions.
“The laird’s second wife was a Sinclair,” Fann explained on her way to the bed. “The first was a Campbell…”
The bed curtains were embroidered with the Campbell insignia. As she looked around, most of the lavish adornments held the crests of other clans. Achaius knew how to play the marriage game well.
“Quickly now, miss. The men will be delivering yer groom soon.”
The bedding was pulled back, and Aife untied the dressing robe. She stepped behind her to remove it gently and drape it over a chair. Fann stepped up and took hold of the chemise collar, and Moira jumped back. Fann looked surprised, and Aife looked to her sister for direction.
“Ye are wed now, so there is no reason to wear the chemise to bed,” Fann offered gently. “The laird will nae like it.”
“Of course.” Moira tugged the garment off herself and handed it to Fann. “It is simply a habit.”
Fann nodded and looked toward the floor to hide her feelings. “The laird will nae summon ye often. In yer own chamber, ye may do as ye please.”
With her last garment stripped from her, she slipped into bed. The mattress was soft and felt like goose down. The sheets were fine and smelled of heather as Fann pulled them up to cover her. There was a small mountain of pillows behind her, so many that she wasn’t really lying down.
Fann and Aife both lowered themselves before quitting the chamber. Both girls had bright cheeks and hurried from the room. Once the outer doors shut, there was only the crackle from the fire to listen to. And her own thoughts.