Possessed by the Highlander

by TERRI BRISBIN

  “Tread lightly, wife.”

  Jocelyn understood the warning and ’twas not about her behavior, but about her intention to seek out more information from Marian. Connor did ken her ways, as she did his—Jocelyn waited for his words.

  “Marian. Would you join me after the noon meal? I would like to speak with you about Dunalastair. I visited there long ago and would be pleased to talk with you about it.”

  “Aye,” Marian replied, though no enthusiasm entered her tone, something Jocelyn could understand from her own arrival here at the home of the Beast of the Highlands.

  Now, she knew him as husband, protector, lover, friend, father of her children and even as laird, but ’twas a difficult thing to get past his reputation on first meeting. Mayhap, with Marian’s own experience with a sordid reputation, her fear of Connor would go away quickly?

  “Until the meal then, ladies,” Connor said, with a polite bow of his own.

  Jocelyn watched him leave, enjoying the way his legs and hips moved and the outline of his broad shoulders and strong arms. Aye, she loved the man and she loved watching him and touching him and being loved by him. A few minutes of silence and she realized that Marian must think her a lovesick fool to be gawking at her husband in the middle of the morning in front of strangers.

  The fear in Marian’s eyes removed all worries that the woman even thought on the trivial matters of Jocelyn’s attraction to her husband, unseemly as it could be at times. Was she afraid of Connor? Or of the questions she knew he’d asked her?

  “Duncan told us that your marriage was done in haste and you were forced to leave without your plants…or many clothes.” Bringing their discussion to something menial might help. “I have some gowns that I cannot wear now, because of my increased girth…and breadth…and width.” She let out a frustrated breath at all the changes her body seemed to make on its own. “I think you and I might be a size, though not now, but I would rather have them worn than sitting in some trunk.” Jocelyn slid her hands around her body, considering the added inches on her hips and breasts. “Did you gain like this while you were carrying your daughter?”

  If she had not looked quickly, Jocelyn would have missed the puzzled expression on Marian’s face at her question. Marian stood and wiped her hands clean of the loose soil.

  “Nay,” she said, shaking her head now and not meeting Jocelyn’s gaze. “I thank you for your offer, Jocelyn, but I cannot accept them.”

  “Truly, they sit in a chest, probably gathering mold. And who knows if I will ever fit back into them once I have this bairn. Come,” she said, standing. “Let us see if any fit you before making any decisions.”

  Marian had the sense, it seemed, to give into the inevitable, for she nodded and followed her back to the solar. If Marian felt like a peasant, that was how she would act, but Jocelyn knew better—her guess was Marian was a noblewoman wearing this other life as some sort of penance. Until she could discover the truth, she would, as her husband warned, tread lightly.

  But that did not mean she could not try to find the reasons behind the other emotion that she read in Marian’s eyes…loneliness.

  Duncan paced along the corridor in front of the tower that led to Connor’s chambers. When he could no longer delay, he climbed the curving stairway up to the top floor. The documents of the treaty as well as those of his handfasted contract were in the leather case in his hand and bags of gold and other gifts for Connor lay inside the small, locked chest he carried. He stared at the door to his laird’s, and friend’s, room.

  ’Twas where he was to meet and review the outcome of his negotiations and the tangible results and successes of those talks. Never in all of his life did he expect to be bringing back news of his own errors in judgment and how they’d caused the problems they had.

  When he went to see the MacCallum laird to negotiate for a bride for Connor, no such thing had occurred. When he went north to the MacDougalls in Lorne to gain space on ships to Flanders and the continent for MacLerie goods, no unexpected twists or turns happened. When he’d met with the king’s men to work out the agreement that made Connor the Earl of Douran, nothing untoward came of it.

  But this simple task to shore up support to the east and to agree to mutual defense in case of need, and he ends up in a public disgrace that can only be redeemed by a hasty wedding, and a handfasted one at that. What would be Connor’s reaction to all of this?

  The sound of Connor coming up the stairs, along with Rurik from the sound of the bickering, forced Duncan to collect his final thoughts and steel himself for this encounter. The dread that curled in his gut was something new and different for him. Never had he faced Connor with such a feeling before. If negotiations did not go as planned, if the results were not everything the clan elders and laird had hoped for, so be it. So long as Duncan gave it his best efforts, in preparation and execution, he could present his work to his laird with a clean conscience.

  This time, though…this time ’twas something completely unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Mayhap Connor could have some insight about the situation once they’d spoken? When he’d faced failure in the past, he learned from the errors he’d made. This time, he had no idea where his lapse in judgment or preparation had been, so ’twas hard to give it an adequate evaluation. Lost in his thoughts, he did not realize that Connor and Rurik now stood before him.

  “Duncan?” ’Twas not Connor’s voice, but the laird’s rough shake of his shoulder, that brought Duncan out of his stupor.

  “You look unwell,” said Rurik. Connor opened the door to his chambers and led them both inside. “Marian looked well enough, so I dinna think it’s something catching.”

  Duncan walked in, put the wooden chest and his leather satchel on the table near the window and shook his head. “I am not ill, Rurik. And when did you see Marian?” He did not bother to explain that his sleepless night caused his rough appearance, for that would only bring more questions.

  No matter that he was married. No matter that he was about to be a father for the second time. No matter that he would never stray from Margriet’s side or her heart, Rurik had some power over women that could turn them to addle-brained idiots in his presence. Duncan had seen it more times than he could keep count of and thought he’d seen a glimmer of it last evening when he was introduced to Marian.

  Her eyes had taken on that strange, soft look when she first saw him in the light of the torches, the same expression that happened to most every woman on meeting his half-Scots, half-Norse cousin who could be the heir to the Earl of the Orkneys if he’d chosen to be. The danger with Rurik, though, was that he loved women in a way that they could feel. Even though he would die before betraying Margriet, he had a manner of talking to them as though they were the only females left on earth.

  The worst part was the sharp burn of jealousy at the thought that she might prefer Rurik’s light, affable way to his own, confused, somewhat distant one.

  “Just a few minutes ago,” Connor answered instead. “She was working in the garden with Jocelyn.”

  “That should accomplish two things then,” he said. At Connor’s raised brow, he continued, “Keeping Jocelyn from working too hard. Against your orders, if I remember correctly from the last time she was carrying?” Connor answered with a slight tilt of his head. “And improving the cook’s temper over the lack of his favorite herbs since you stopped allowing Jocelyn to work in the garden.”

  Rurik laughed out loud at his comment. He’d long been complaining over the changes to the quality and tastiness of the food in Lairig Dubh since Connor had ordered his wife to ease from her duties as her pregnancy progressed. “I for one would be pleased to have the cook happy once more.”

  After Connor poured them some ale and sat in his chair, Duncan opened his satchel first and handed the parchments that outlined the treaty to Connor. The laird perused the words there, but would save a thorough reading for later. Although Connor was skilled in several languages himself, Duncan kenned he wo
uld wait for Jocelyn to read it first. He trusted her that much.

  Another stab of jealousy pierced him.

  Mayhap living among happily married men was a bad example for him? Duncan guessed that he’d expected, when he married, his marriage would be like those of his friends. He’d delayed marrying in the hopes of finding a woman who could be his helpmate and his friend, much like Connor’s and Rurik’s wives were to them. Instead he was handfasted to a stranger, one with a child who could not be hers, other yet-undisclosed secrets and plans to leave after their year-and-a-day had passed by.

  Connor asked several questions and Duncan answered them, outlining the basic agreements and what they received and what they gave away. Since Rurik oversaw the clan’s warriors and fighting strength, his questions centered on that aspect of the treaty. When Connor had a firm understanding of the agreements, Duncan handed him the wooden chest.

  “From Iain Robertson to you,” he explained. “And, on my word, this chest has not been opened since he locked it in my presence and gave me the key.”

  Duncan held out the key to Connor. He hoped Connor would allow him to stay when he opened it, for an intense curiosity built within him over the contents.

  “I would expect nothing less than that, Duncan.” Connor stared at him for a moment before continuing, “I ken that some things did not turn out the way you planned them, but you still have my faith.”

  Another stab—this time guilt, for he had decided not to reveal everything to Connor about Marian and her past. The laird’s expression of faith may have been well-intentioned but was ill-timed.

  “Now, sit and tell me how you came to be a married man.”

  The words, balanced in tone and volume, sounded like a request, but the order lay inherent within them. Duncan sat down opposite of Connor, drank the rest of his ale and thought on how to begin.

  “As I am certain Hamish already explained,” he said, kenning that Connor’s brother-by-marriage would have spoken to him after the scene in hall, “I was drugged, and dishonored the laird’s sister. Marriage seemed the right remedy to the situation.”

  “’Twas no’ as simple as that,” Rurik offered. “’Tis a bit difficult to dishonor a wh…” Rurik wisely stopped before saying the word.

  “Not marrying her would have been understandable as well, Duncan. If you think the laird was behind this and you knew that all along, why agree to it? You ken you would have my support, regardless of your choice.” Connor stared him in the eyes. “Was there something between you and the lass?”

  “An attraction, aye,” he admitted. “I met her by accident and stopped to see her and her daughter once or twice while at Dunalastair Keep.” He would admit to that as well. “I think Marian was a burden Iain wanted to rid himself of. There’s talk of a new marriage and his disgraced sister living in the village would have been an impediment to most noble families in marriage negotiations.”

  “Hamish said no one knew the woman was the Robertson Harlot.” So, Hamish had given an accounting to Connor first.

  “Even better then, get her out of the way before people began recognizing her.”

  “I imagine that the laird’s man knew your ways and used it against you?” Rurik asked.

  “My ways?” His comment was reminiscent of Marian’s.

  “Aye, your ways. Peace at any cost. A man of honor, of his word. The Robertson knew you would not try to weasel out of the situation and he would have his sister gone before she could become a true problem. Neatly done.” Rurik obviously approved of the handy little deal. Or at least how it was accomplished.

  “Think you he planned this from the start?” Connor asked.

  Duncan shook his head. “Nay. I suspect from some of his comments that he took advantage of an opportunity presented to him.”

  Connor stood then, signaling that this questioning was done. “You should feel honored that he believes you man enough to put his sister into your care. With all that entails.”

  “More like dumping his problems into my hands,” Duncan muttered.

  The backhand from Rurik was unexpected. He leaned over and slapped Duncan across the face and then rose to his full height, crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Duncan’s answer.

  “You do not ken…” he began.

  “It does not signify,” Rurik answered. “You claimed her as wife before her people and yours. Now you must honor that vow even as you demanded the clan to.”

  “She does not want to be my wife.”

  The words slipped out before he could stop them. In spite of the rest of it, in spite of the circumstances that brought them together, in spite of every problem caused by this joining, Duncan was devastated by the fact that Marian did not want him as her husband.

  Oh, aye, he could understand that she wanted no marriage, content to live quietly and out of sight in the village where she grew up. He could even understand not wanting to be part of a forced marriage, especially to a man who was not noble born and would not be worthy of the wealth and power she would bring to him. But, the part that ripped into his soul was that she did not want him as her husband and seemed to be counting down the days until she was free of him.

  “Many marriages start out that way, Duncan. You were witness to my own debacle. Jocelyn—” Connor stopped and lowered his voice “—Jocelyn called me by another man’s name when I bedded her the first time. The name of the man who was her first love, who she’d planned to marry.”

  Duncan had to fight to keep his mouth closed at this shocking disclosure and dared not look over at Rurik for his reaction. Considering Connor’s temperament at that time, ’twas a wonder that Jocelyn survived the night…or that the man involved was still alive.

  “I tell you this only to show you that even with a rocky start, a true marriage can grow.” Connor paused and added, “And if you tell anyone I spoke of that incident, anyone, I will cut off your ballocks.” Rurik choked and coughed at the threat, but nodded in acceptance of the warning.

  “Connor, I offered her marriage. She would not accept it and instead demanded a handfasting in its place.” Duncan ran his hands through his hair and then rested his head against his hands. “This would seem to be the escape she has been wanting, a way to get away from her family and her disgrace and then a way to get out from me.”

  Connor nodded his agreement. “Could you blame her for that? To live her life hiding in plain sight and having no chance for much more?” Connor shrugged. “Have you seen what is in that box?”

  Duncan looked up, curious now. “Nay. ’Twas closed when I arrived and he only locked it in front of me. From the sound and weight of it, some gold. What else?”

  Connor lifted out several sacks. Tossing one on the table, he read from a small piece of parchment attached to it. “My sister’s dowry—to be administered by the MacLerie.” The next one was the same size as the first. “Matching my sister’s dowry—as a gift to Duncan MacLerie.” A third, smaller sack landed next to the others two. “For Ciara Robertson’s care and well-being.” The last one was about that same size. “To the MacLerie for his assistance in all matters regarding my sister.”

  The silence grew around them, broken only when Rurik let out a sharp whistle. “You are a rich man now, Duncan.”

  True, according to the contracts signed by her brother, all of the gold that named Marian or Ciara as the recipient, whether sent with other instructions or not, belonged to him to do with as he saw fit. The niggling feeling moved down his spine, from his head to his legs, warning him of something bigger here, some yet unseen part of the puzzle. Connor recognized it, as well, for his dark, intense expression spoke of his suspicions.

  “Rurik. I would speak to Duncan alone.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  With a nod, Rurik accepted the dismissal. “I will be in the yard, if you are up to it, Connor.” With a hearty laugh, knowing that such a challenge would be met, he left, pulling the door closed tightly behind him. Duncan felt Connor’s scrutiny, but said nothin
g.

  He’d never doubted his cousin’s loyalty and would never, for there was nothing that would make Duncan betray him or his clan. Indeed, Duncan stood ready to lead the clan if anything happened to Connor before Aidan was of age. But something was making him lie to his laird and Connor must discover what reason lay behind his deceit.

  “I trust you and your abilities no less because of this, Duncan. You made no mistakes that endangered our clan or its aims in this treaty.”

  Connor watched Duncan’s eyes for any sign of subterfuge and found none there. There was more, much more, to the story of his marriage to the Robertson Harlot, but Connor was having no success drawing it out of him.

  “So, other than to smooth ruffled feathers, very ruffled if the amount of gold is any indication, what reason would Iain of Dunalastair have to pay you off?”

  His cousin and heir to the high seat stared back at him. Would he share his concerns with his laird or would he keep some secret that the Robertson was paying a high price for? Connor could accept that Duncan would keep some personal issues and concerns to himself, as laird he should expect a man to have some measure of privacy.

  “I fear there is more to this, Connor. I was so surprised by the simple audacity of it that I was caught off my guard and in a situation that had only one way out of it.”

  Connor stood and walked to the table. He filled their cups once more and handed it to Duncan. “What do you suspect?”

  The plain question caused a myriad of emotions to flit across his cousin’s face. Duncan started to speak and stopped, shrugging. “I ken not. I am looking into the matter. I have sent some men back to find information I may have missed.”

  Connor asked the one question that would settle whether or not he became involved or whether he waited on Duncan to do as he said. “Is she a danger to your clan, tanist?”

  “I will never allow her to be a danger to my clan. On my honor.”

  Connor held out his hand to his tanist and gave him the formal acceptance due him in this oath of honor. This was not the explanation he’d hoped for, but Connor would never doubt Duncan’s loyalty.