Bride of Lochbarr Read online

  His father’s frown deepened as he walked toward them, leaving the others at the gate. “Oh, my son, what have ye done?”

  Trying to marshal his arguments, to think the way Lachlann did—logically and without emotion—Adair took his time dismounting.

  “I was helping a lady in distress,” he replied as he took hold of Neas’s reins. “And stopping a marriage that would be disastrous for our clan.”

  “Whatever your feelings about the lady, the matter of the marriage should have been left to me.”

  If his father didn’t support him, he was lost indeed.

  “Sir,” Marianne said in French from where she sat on Neas, her voice ringing out like a clarion call. “Your son has abducted me.”

  Adair spun around. How dare she make that odious charge? “I didn’t abduct you. You came of your own free will.”

  “I most certainly did not!”

  “I never forced you. You came climbing down the wall after me and then called for me to catch you. What was I to do, let you fall?”

  “Adair!” his father said sternly. “We’ll discuss this in the hall.”

  Chastened, publicly humiliated, Adair fell silent, for no matter how much he wanted to protest and explain, that tone in his father’s voice would brook nothing but absolute obedience.

  His father approached Neas and addressed Marianne in French, his manner considerably more genial. “My lady, I can see you’ve had a difficult journey. Please allow me to extend to you the hospitality of my home, including whatever food or clothing you require.” He looked back to the gates. “Dearshul! You will tend to Lady Marianne.”

  Red-haired and freckled Dearshul appeared among the waiting men as if out of nowhere, regarding Marianne with outright awe as she sidled past Lachlann.

  “Now, my lady,” his father continued, “if you’ll allow me to assist you.”

  “I thank you, Seamus Mac Taran,” Marianne said graciously, and with what sounded like genuine gratitude. “Some water to wash, a comb for my hair and a gown would be most welcome.”

  Reaching out, she laid her hands on his father’s shoulders and jumped lightly to the ground, flinching when her feet touched the earth.

  “You’re hurt?” Seamus asked.

  “My feet are cut and sore. They’re feeling better now, and with a little tending, should soon be healed.”

  “I’ll send Beitiris to you—a woman in the village who knows much of medicine.”

  “Thank you,” the lady replied, giving his father a dazzling smile.

  As if he’d risked his life for her.

  “Dearshul,” Seamus repeated, gesturing for her to come closer. “Help the lady to my quarters, and see that she has everything she needs.”

  The young woman hastened to obey, giving Marianne a shoulder to lean on. They made slow but steady progress, and the crowd of men at the gate silently parted to allow them to pass.

  All amiability was gone from his father’s face when he turned back to Adair. “Now then, boy, to the hall with you.”

  His father hadn’t called him boy in that tone since he’d broken Cormag’s nose when they were twelve years old.

  As his father marched toward the hall, one of the stableboys hurried out to take charge of Neas. The rest of the clansmen followed their chieftain, leaving Adair to trail behind.

  Except for Lachlann, who waited for his brother. “You’re not badly hurt?” he asked, running a swift gaze over Adair as they walked toward the hall.

  “Only the cut to my face. You told them where I’d gone and why?”

  “Aye.”

  “What did Father say?”

  “Not much—’twas Cormag and his ilk did the talking. All for banishing you from the clan, they are.”

  Adair had expected nothing less. “No doubt Cormag thinks he’ll be chieftain if that happens.”

  “Thank God your fate’s not up to Cormag and his friends, but Father and the rest. They’ve agreed to let Father decide what to do, since you’re his son.”

  “That’s a mercy,” Adair said truthfully.

  “Aye. But they like you, too, Adair. You’ve a way of getting and keeping men’s loyalty, no matter what you do.”

  They reached the hall of Lochbarr and fell silent when they entered. It was much smaller than the Norman’s new hall, and smoky from the peat burning in the hearth.

  Normally, Adair felt completely at ease in this chamber, but not now, for seated on benches around that hearth, looking like a grim jury set in judgment upon him, were his clansmen, led by his father, who sat in the center of the semicircle.

  Lachlann left Adair’s side and went to take his place across from the smug, triumphant Cormag.

  Adair didn’t have to be told to stay standing in the open space.

  “So, young Mac Taran, ye’ve got yersel’ in a pot of boiling water,” Barra began.

  “Aye, to my everlasting regret,” he admitted. “I should never have acted on my own in this matter, without my father’s knowledge or consent.”

  That sent a mutter among the men.

  “What, you’re not going to stand there in defiance and claim you did right?”

  Adair gave Cormag a sour look. “No, although I acted with good intentions, to save a woman from a forced marriage and our clan from an alliance that would mean trouble to come.”

  Seamus shifted in his chair. “We have no proof Sir Nicholas is our enemy.”

  “He’s a Norman, isn’t he? Who else would be stealing our cattle and leading them toward Dunkeathe?”

  “If he wasn’t our enemy before, he will be after you abducted his sister,” Cormag said.

  Several of his friends nodded their agreement.

  “I didn’t abduct her,” Adair forcibly replied. “I’d already left her bedchamber when she came after me.”

  “Her bedchamber?” Cormag repeated, as if Adair had committed a shocking breach of propriety—this from a man who’d brag about any women he’d managed to seduce to anybody who’d listen.

  Adair’s temper flared. “Aye. Where else would she be in the middle of the night?”

  “Waiting for you, maybe.”

  “She’s not my lover. Never was, never will be.”

  “Then why did she come with you?” Barra asked.

  “Because she was going to have to marry Hamish Mac Glogan and she doesn’t want to,” Adair replied.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Her brother’s set a guard on her, as if he knows she’ll try to run away.”

  “Oh, so you’re reading minds now, is that it?” Cormag sneered. “Among your many talents.”

  Adair decided he had to reveal his earlier encounter with Marianne in Beauxville, or a part of it, anyway.

  Addressing his father, he said, “That night I went looking for the plans I met her in the yard. I wasn’t sure what she was up to, until I heard about the marriage. She was trying to run away, until I stopped her.”

  The men were all duly amazed, as he’d been when he’d first met Marianne in the alley.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before, Adair?” his father demanded.

  “Because at first, I didn’t think her troubles were any concern of mine. Then I learned of the marriage plans. As bad as that is for us, I realized it would be worse for her, and that’s why she was fleeing. But even so, since I can’t read minds and don’t have the Sight—” he shot a condemning glance at Cormag “—I decided to go to Dunkeathe and see if I could find proof she was being forced to wed. When I saw the brute her brother set to guard her, I thought I’d found it. The rest you know.”

  “I never thought you’d keep secrets from me, Adair,” his father said.

  Adair flushed with shame. “I wanted to be certain.”

  “Regardless of your reasons, Adair,” Seamus replied, “or what you thought you were doing, great harm’s been done.”

  “Aye, it has,” Cormag unnecessarily seconded. He turned to Lachlann. “Why didn’t you tell anyone what your broth
er was about before he went back to Dunkeathe? We could have stopped him.”

  Lachlann colored as Adair quickly answered. “Lachlann bears no blame in this. He tried to talk me out of it.”

  “And you wouldn’t listen,” his father finished with a heavy sigh. “For once, my son, you should have.”

  “Aye, I’ll not deny that,” Adair replied, his remorse deep and heartfelt. “But I thought she’d welcome the chance for freedom. Instead, she refused my aid. So I was going to leave without her, until the alarm was raised and she followed me.”

  “In her shift?” Cormag asked with a sarcastic smirk.

  “There wasn’t time for her to dress. We’d have been well away before the alarm if she hadn’t balked.”

  “Oh, so now it’s her fault the Normans almost caught you,” Cormag countered, accompanied by the approving mutterings of his friends. “I suppose you’re going to claim she begged for your help, then changed her mind.”

  “No.”

  “Yet you went there anyway?”

  “How many times do you want me to say I made a mistake?” Adair demanded, his patience gone.

  His father rose, stern and commanding. “This isn’t some simple misunderstanding, Adair. You’ve sinned against the woman, and her brother. He has every right to be aggrieved, and bring you before a court of law.”

  “Father, I swear to you on my life, I didn’t force her to come with me. I went to her chamber because I thought she’d welcome my aid.”

  With a jolt of surprise, he realized nobody was listening to him, not even his father. They were all staring at something behind him.

  Marianne had entered the hall and was walking toward them, her movements slow, graceful and dignified. Her golden hair had been brushed so that it was soft and flowing about her slender shoulders. The plainness of her simple gown of doe-brown wool only seemed to accentuate her astonishing beauty and shapely form.

  “I assume, sir, that you’re talking about me, and what’s to be done?” she said, her voice soft and feminine—quite a contrast to the tone she used when she was alone with him.

  A woman’s wiles, no doubt. The ungrateful, deceitful—

  “Yes, we are discussing your fate, my lady,” Seamus replied, his whole attitude softening. “I apologize for any trouble or pain my son’s caused you. It’s often his way, you see, to act first and think later.”

  Adair tried not to scowl at that description of his character.

  “But he’s especially impetuous if he thinks a woman’s in danger,” his father continued.

  That was better, although his father’s words didn’t seem to impress Marianne.

  “Or if he thinks his actions will benefit his clan?” the lady smoothly inquired. “Except of course, in this case, his impetuous behavior is more likely to cause greater trouble for your clan than my marriage to Hamish Mac Glogan ever could. My brother won’t take kindly to the ruin of his plans.”

  God help him, how he wished he’d left her there.

  “We’ll see that you’re safely returned to him.”

  Marianne shook her head. “Unfortunately, because of what your son has done, I can’t go back to Beauxville. My brother believes your son and I are lovers.”

  His father frowned. Lachlann stared at Adair with dismay. The other clansmen looked baffled, clearly wondering what the lady was saying in that soft, deceptively gentle voice.

  As Lachlann translated, his voice low, Adair saw a glint in Lady Marianne’s bright blue eyes that he recognized all too well. But she couldn’t be any more incensed than he was.

  “Under those circumstances, my brother will not want me back.”

  “Then we’ll escort you anyplace else you wish to go,” his father offered.

  There. That should satisfy her. And he’d gladly see her gone.

  “I appreciate your generosity,” she replied, her voice still unruffled and matter-of-fact. “However, my brother made his accusations loudly and in front of his men. My reputation has been destroyed. I will be notorious. There will be nowhere I wish to go that this scandal will not reach. Also, unless you want war with my brother, we must find a way to stem his angry retribution. I’ve thought of a way to prevent conflict between you, as well as provide some recompense for me.”

  His father’s white brows rose questioningly, while Adair waited to hear what her idea of recompense would be.

  “Your son must marry me.”

  Adair gasped, dumbfounded.

  His father’s eyes widened for a moment, then became inscrutable ciphers, as they sometimes did when he was presented with a serious, puzzling problem. Lachlann looked shocked as he told the other clansmen what she’d said. They were obviously as taken aback as Adair.

  “Why would you propose such a thing?” he demanded. “You can’t possibly want to marry me.”

  She eyed him as she might a bedbug. “I want children, and I want them to be legitimate. I’ve seen how bastards are treated. So I must marry someone. Thanks to you, I’ll be considered unmarriageable by any Norman standard and no Norman will offer for my hand. That leaves you to repair the ruin you’ve made of my future.”

  “But I never laid…your virtue is—”

  “Now subject to rumor, speculation and innuendo,” she interrupted, that glint in her eyes now an indignant glow. “Everyone will believe that either I went with you willingly, in which case you must be my lover, or you took me by force, in which case you surely raped me.”

  “I would never take a woman against her will!”

  “Your moral virtue is immaterial,” she said dismissively. “They’ll suspect it just the same, and thus my value as a bride is reduced to nothing. The only future I face is the convent, and I have no wish to spend the rest of my life celibate because people think I’m dishonored. Since it’s your fault I’m in this predicament, you should do the honorable thing and marry me.”

  Before Adair could protest, before he could even find the words to begin, his father said in Gaelic, “She’s right. You made this mess, Adair. You can repair it.”

  As Adair stared in utter disbelief, the rest of the clan began to express their opinions, some willing to consider the marriage, others clearly against the idea. Lachlann believed the union would be a mistake. Barra, not surprisingly, sided with his father. Roban was silently stunned, looking from Adair to Marianne and back again.

  Lachlann and the clansmen opposed to the marriage were expressing but pale imitations of Adair’s indignant reaction.

  “She hates me,” Adair said in Gaelic over the din, addressing his father. “She told me she hates Scots, and she hates our country.”

  Seamus raised his hand for silence. When the men obeyed, he addressed Marianne. “Adair tells us you don’t like him, or Scots, or Scotland. Yet you’d marry him?”

  “I want children, so I require a husband,” she replied, her voice unwavering, her stance confident. “He’s taken that chance from me. And the rest of you should welcome this marriage as a means to avoid my brother’s vengeance.

  “Nicholas obviously wants an alliance with a Scot,” she continued in the same practical way. “If I marry your son, he’ll have that. A suitable bride price for me will be welcome, too, I’m sure, and help overcome any further objections on his part.”

  “Adair will pay the bride price,” his father declared.

  Now he was going to have pay money for the privilege of marrying a woman he didn’t want, a woman who didn’t want him, either?

  “Why should I have to pay recompense?” he demanded of her. “You broke the betrothal when you ran away.”

  Her expression was as hard as the rock that made up the hills around Lochbarr. “You forced me to run away when you came uninvited into my bedchamber.”

  “You were going to flee anyway.”

  “But I hadn’t yet, had I?” she retorted. She faced his father. “For the sake of peace, I’m even willing to tell Nicholas that your son and I were lovers.”

  She gave Adair a disgruntle
d look that declared nothing could be further from the truth. “I’ll explain to him that your handsome son swept me off my feet and I fell desperately in love with him. Then he won’t be able to blame you, or your clan, for what’s happened. He can only fault me for my weakness, and your son for his lust.

  “And, if he takes a grievance to your king, you can truthfully say that you knew nothing about our plans until I had fled Beauxville with Adair.”

  Of all the reasons he’d ever thought to marry, placating a Norman had not been one of them—and it shouldn’t be one now, any more than he should have to part with money because she’d followed him.

  “I’m not going to marry a woman I don’t want and I’m not going to marry to appease your bastard of a brother,” he vowed, glaring at Marianne.

  “I don’t want you, either,” she returned, bold and defiant still. “But I’m the wronged party here, not you. I’m the woman whose life you’ve destroyed. I meant what I said about children, so much so I’m willing to stay here and marry you rather than face a barren life.”

  She ran a scornful gaze over him. “You should be grateful for the opportunity I’m offering to prevent bloodshed, too.”

  “I should be grateful?” he charged, overwhelmed by her incredible arrogance. “Because you deign to marry me?”

  When she answered, there was no hint of shame, no implication that there was any chance she’d reconsider, in either her voice or her expression. “Yes.”

  Of all the haughty, proud, cold Normans he’d ever met, she had to be the worst.

  “They could handfast,” Barra suggested, his voice sounding loud in the silence.

  Adair grasped at the suggestion like a drowning man a rope thrown from shore.

  “Aye,” he agreed, addressing his father in Gaelic. “And then if we don’t suit, she can go back to her brother after the year and day are over.”

  “I don’t think she’ll agree,” Lachlann said. “She’s got everything to lose and nothing to gain by handfasting.”

  Adair shot his brother a disparaging look.

  “What are you saying?” Marianne asked, her smooth brow furrowing.

  Despite Adair’s silent warning, Lachlann jumped in to explain. “They’re proposing you handfast. It’s a sort of temporary marriage. If, after a year and a day, you don’t wish to stay with Adair, you’re free to go.”