His Lady of Castlemora

Ban realised then that his earlier alarm had been unfounded. Isabelle hadn’t lost control at all. Furthermore he realised he was being tested. The long greensward led into a copse and the narrow track meant he had to rein back, following in the mare’s wake. Ducking low branches and jinking round bends in the path, they sped on. The mare took a fallen log in her stride and fifty yards later leapt a dry streambed. The chestnut followed suit, never altering its stride. Then, as they neared the edge of the copse Ban saw it, a great tree uprooted by an ancient storm, the centre section of its trunk lying across the path. It was high and solid. Isabelle didn’t hesitate. Heart in mouth, he watched the mare gather herself and leap, soaring over the obstacle into the open land beyond.

Setting his jaw, Ban collected the chestnut a little. The big horse stood back and took off, clearing the jump with ease and landing safe beyond it. Then for the first time Ban let the animal have its head. The chestnut responded, lengthening its stride. Almost two hands bigger than the mare and far more powerful, it steadily narrowed the gap until eventually they drew level again.

Isabelle looked round, her face registering surprise for a moment. Then it was gone. She pulled up a little further on, he following suit. The blowing horses snorted, their great muscles trembling with effort and excitement. Ban, catching his own breath, was torn between reluctant amusement and annoyance for the anxiety she had caused him. That innocent expression didn’t deceive him for a moment. The vixen was thoroughly enjoying herself. Moreover, the pace had heightened the bloom on her cheeks and brought a lovely sparkle to the hazel eyes. Strands of hair, loosened from the sober braid, played around her face in an artless halo that enhanced the suggestion of innocence. It was also unwittingly alluring and conjured more erotic thoughts. Ever since the episode at the burn they’d continued to tease his imagination. With an effort he suppressed them and nodded towards the mare.

‘How do you like her?’

‘Very much.’ Isabelle patted the glossy neck. ‘It’s like riding the wind.’

‘In truth I thought you were. Do you always set such a pace?’

Her face registered apparent concern. ‘Was it too much for you, my lord?’

For a second or two he was speechless with incredulity. Then he fought a desire to laugh. If they’d been alone, he’d have exacted a penalty for barefaced cheek. It was a pleasing notion, but unfortunately they weren’t alone. Instead he asked, ‘Where did you learn to ride like that?’

‘From my father, and a groom called Hamish.’

‘They taught you well.’

‘So I think.’ She turned her attention to the chestnut. ‘That is a fine animal. What is he called?’

‘Firecrest.’

‘It suits him. Did you break him?’

‘I did, but he was a rare handful.’

‘I can believe it.’

Before he could make any other observations their companions hove into sight, reining in nearby.

‘How do you like the mare, Sister?’

‘I like her well,’ replied Isabelle, ‘as I was just telling Lord Ban.’

‘She can certainly move, eh, Murdo?’ said Hugh.

‘Indeed she can,’ replied the other. ‘All the same, you took a dangerous risk, my lady.’

His tone was perfectly level but she heard his unspoken disapproval. It irked her. He had no right to criticise; he had no rights over her at all, nor ever would have.

‘I did not ask you to follow, Murdo. You were always free to go around the obstacle if you felt it too dangerous a challenge.’

Her brother drew in an audible breath and chuckled appreciatively. ‘Oho! A hit! Most definitely a hit.’

The master-at-arms inclined his head. ‘My lady’s wit is sharp.’

For a moment the dark gaze glinted as it met hers, his expression quite unmistakable. Isabelle lifted her chin in silent defiance even though, inwardly, she regretted letting her temper get the better of her. She knew she had annoyed him and that it behoved her to be more careful; Murdo was not possessed of a forgiving nature and it didn’t pay to cross him.

Ban had observed that brief exchange and felt his curiosity stir. The tension between the two was evident. He wondered what lay behind it. Apart from a brief introduction he’d had little to do with the man thus far, but Ban was fully aware of his presence none the less. From the seating arrangements at the table the previous evening it was apparent that Murdo enjoyed a privileged position in the household, as though he were a member of the family rather than a servant. However, such things were not uncommon. A rich household might well take in poorer relations and find a place for them. In this instance an influential place, he thought, but then a capable man who worked hard might do much to better himself.

He had no doubt whatever that the master-at-arms was capable; he’d met too many fighting men not to recognise the trait. In combat Murdo would be ruthless and deadly. He was also a natural leader. To judge from the way his men acted around him he evidently commanded their respect, no mean feat when the men themselves were hardened mercenaries. Castlemora’s reputation had been well earned. Perhaps too Murdo saw it as part of his role to be protective of Lady Isabelle even if she did resent it as interference. That would explain much. The more Ban thought about it, the likelier it seemed.

Before he could dwell further on the matter the party set off again, albeit at a more sober pace, and the conversation turned to other things. Isabelle didn’t speak to the master-at-arms again or even look in his direction, and the remainder of the ride passed without incident.

When, about an hour later, they returned to Castlemora, Archibald Graham came out to meet them. Then he looked quizzically at Isabelle.

‘Well, how did the mare go?’

‘Very well, Father. She has speed and stamina as we thought.’

‘Good. Perhaps you will find the time to ride the others.’

She returned a non-committal smile and dismounted. Lord Ban followed suit and came to join them. Standing so close to him now she was forcefully reminded just how much taller he was and how strong. Thence it was but a short step to recalling their first meeting. The memory burned. Glancing up she saw him smile as though he somehow divined her thought. Of course, that was impossible. Even so, her face, pink before from the fresh air, became a much deeper shade.

Apparently unaware of her discomfiture her father turned to Ban. ‘I trust you enjoyed your ride, my lord.’

‘Very much, sir.’ He looked at Isabelle. ‘Who would not in such company?’

Her father beamed. Isabelle thought he’d look a lot less gratified if he knew the truth. They made their way indoors for the sun was hot and the cooler air of the hall was a welcome contrast. Graham bade the servants fetch refreshment and then poured the ale with his own hands before offering his guest a cup.

‘It is most pleasant to have company again.’

‘You are kind,’ said Ban. ‘In truth Castlemora is a most delightful spot.’

‘Thank you.’ Graham clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I am glad you think so. I trust you will not find our hospitality lacking.’

‘I am sure I shall not. One day I hope to have the honour of returning it.’

‘If my health were better I’d like nothing more.’ Graham threw him a wry smile. ‘However, this hot weather is most tiring I find. It only seems to aggravate my condition.’

‘I am sorry to hear it.’

‘Never mind, I have strength enough to show you round Castlemora, if you would like it.’

Ban regarded him in concern. ‘I beg you will not over-exert yourself, my lord.’

‘No such thing,’ replied the other. ‘I’d be delighted.’

‘Then I thank you.’

Isabelle’s heart sank as she watched them head for the door, feeling certain this wasn’t just about showing their guest around. Her father almost certainly intended to talk business and it had nothing to do with horses.

Strolling to the end of the orchard the two men stopped to survey the view beyond.

‘A fine prospect,’ observed Ban. ‘Truly Castlemora is most happily situated.’

‘Aye, it is.’ Graham smiled. ‘And I’ll leave it to my son stronger and richer than ever it was when I became laird.’ He paused. ‘But it is not of my son I would speak, as I think you know.’

Ban remained silent, waiting. Now they would come to it. He was quite ready, knowing what needed to be said. It wouldn’t be an easy conversation but it must be unambiguous. There could be no room for misunderstanding.

‘As I told you,’ Graham continued, ‘my health is not of the best. It is my ardent wish to see my daughter married again before I die.’

‘A laudable aim, though I hope your lordship will live many years yet.’

‘That is not likely I fear. The pains in my chest come more often now. It is a penalty of age.’ He paused. ‘As I intimated, your coming here is not just about bloodstock, though indeed the horses are very fine.’

‘It is of Lady Isabelle you wish to speak.’

‘My daughter’s first marriage was ended untimely, a circumstance none could have foreseen.’

‘A hunting accident, wasn’t it?’

‘Aye. A stray arrow from the thicket.’ Graham shook his head. ‘The culprit was never found. Most likely it was a poacher who fired without looking carefully enough, and then panicked and fled when he realised what he had done.’

‘That is quite possible. The fellow must have known he’d hang otherwise.’

‘At any rate it was a bad business and it has left Isabelle vulnerable.’

‘Did she not wish to remain among her husband’s kin?’

‘To be honest, there was little love lost between Isabelle and her late husband’s mother.’

‘I see.’

‘When the match was arranged it seemed good but subsequently …’ Graham paused, eyeing his companion warily, as though deciding how far to commit himself. Then he took a deep breath. ‘Subsequently I have had cause to repent the alliance. The Neils refused to return the balance of my daughter’s dowry.’

Ban stared at him. ‘Refused?’

‘Aye, God rot them.’

The news gave Ban pause, though not for the reasons his companion might have thought. He didn’t care about the gold. The point was that if Isabelle had only a small dowry it greatly reduced her chances of making an illustrious second match. At the same time her father wanted her off his hands. The strengthened tie with Glengarron began to look like a convenient pretext; the real reason was more concerned with the bridegroom’s own lack of expectations. Such a man could not look too high for a wife. The more he thought about it the more certain Ban became. The realisation brought with it a raft of mixed emotions. It was a bitter reminder of what had been lost, but, at the same time, this match offered a glimmer of hope—for his house at least.

‘She will still have a dowry of course, though it will not be as great as I’d have liked,’ Graham went on. ‘In spite of my representations the Neils have refused to return any part of the original portion. Until they can be persuaded otherwise that is how the matter stands.’

‘On what grounds did they refuse?’

‘On the grounds that there was no issue from the marriage.’

The question Ban had carried in the back of his mind now loomed large. However, it was a sensitive matter and he chose his words carefully. ‘No issue because the child died, perhaps?’

‘There was no child. My son-in-law was often from home in the king’s service. No doubt he thought he had time aplenty to sire heirs.’

That threw up more queries in his companion’s mind. Why would a newly married man leave his bride’s bed, particularly when the bride looked like Isabelle? Even the king would not demand such a sacrifice, unless for dire political emergency. As far as Ban was aware there hadn’t been any of those in last year or so. There was more to this matter for certain. While he didn’t think that Graham was trying to mislead him—the man had been frank thus far—he knew they hadn’t got to the truth yet either. Perhaps that resided with Isabelle herself.

‘It surprises me that Neil should have shirked so serious a responsibility,’ he said.

‘He was a fool.’ Graham hesitated. ‘Isabelle will breed, my lord.’

‘Will she?’ Ban didn’t want to antagonise his host but at the same time he had to make his own position clear. ‘You know my family history so I need not repeat it now,’ he continued. ‘The essential point is this: as the last surviving male member of my line it is imperative that I get heirs to continue it.’

‘Of course it is. I understand that.’

‘Then you will also understand that I need to be sure.’

Graham frowned. ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’

‘A secret betrothal. Later, if matters turn out as planned, the arrangement would be formalised publicly.’

‘It is not without precedent but it would not be easy to keep the matter quiet.’

‘You may rely on my discretion.’ Ban paused.

‘It’s a risk.’

‘A calculated one, since you have already said you are certain of a favourable outcome.’

‘If I agree to this I expect the matter to be expedited with all possible speed.’

‘As soon as you like.’

For a moment Graham was silent, formulating his thoughts. Ban made no attempt to push him. The proposal was not without precedent and the circumstances were unusual. At the same time he knew that he wanted Isabelle Graham; had wanted her since the day he met her. However, physical desire was one thing; he couldn’t afford to lose sight of the bigger picture. He had a duty to his family, to the souls of his murdered kin. He had to be sure.

At length Graham nodded. ‘A secret betrothal it is then, for the time being.’

‘The only remaining question is whether the lady will agree to the arrangement.’

‘Isabelle will be ruled by me.’

Ban wasn’t surprised. It was a father’s responsibility to find a suitable husband for a daughter, and her duty to accede to his choice. If Graham spoke with such confidence it was because he knew Isabelle respected his judgement. Privately Ban wondered what her true feelings would be. Would she accept him willingly or would she secretly consider such a match beneath her? Beatrice had considered it beneath her. Of course, he’d been much younger then, and inexperienced, so smitten with a lovely face that he’d failed to see the character behind. That had not become apparent until he declared himself and asked for her hand …

For a moment she stared at him. Then she laughed. ‘Marry you?’

At first he mistook the nature of the laughter, taking it for surprise. ‘Aye, why not?’

‘My father would never permit me to marry a Sassenach lord.’

‘I will speak to him, talk him round.’

‘It’s not just that,’ she replied.

‘Then what? I have wealth enough.’

‘But where are your lands, my lord?’

His smile faded. ‘They were stolen from me.’

‘And you have no prospect of regaining them.’

‘I will get more.’

‘How? You do not wield the kind of influence that would gain you an estate.’

His jaw tightened. ‘I’ll find a way.’

‘That might take years, if you ever succeed. I cannot waste my life waiting on the event.’

‘Would it be a waste then, Beatrice?’ He paused. ‘We would be together.’

‘To live in the hedgerows?’

‘Hardly that. I can support you in comfort.’

‘But you cannot give me position.’

‘Does that matter so much?’

‘Of course it matters. My father is rich and powerful, the laird of fair estates. Should not my husband be the same?’

‘I cannot blame you for wanting it,’ he replied.

‘Well then.’

‘I thought … I hoped that your feelings for me were strong enough to offset that.’

Beatrice smiled coldly. ‘You rate yourself too high, my lord, if you presume to think so. I am not so negligent of the duty I owe to my family and my name as to throw myself away on a mere nobody.’

Stung now, he was goaded into retort. ‘The Thanes of Heslingfield are not nobodies. They come from a proud and ancient line.’

‘But where are they now? They have no power, no influence. They are nothing.’

Brian pushed the memory aside. He’d been a fool and paid the price for it. The naïve and idealistic lover was long gone and in his place was a grown man who knew the world he lived in. This offer was an opportunity, one he’d little thought to have. It would provide a foundation on which much might be built—in time.

‘We have an agreement then,’ he said.

Graham smiled and held out his hand. ‘You’ll not regret it.’

Ban clasped the offered hand and hoped the words were true.

Chapter Five

Isabelle stared at her father in stunned disbelief, uncertain that she’d heard him correctly. ‘A secret betrothal?’

‘That’s right.’

‘A betrothal which will give him the rights of a husband?’

‘Correct.’

Disbelief was slowly displaced by outrage. Did the Sassenach thane really imagine she would agree to this? The very fact that he had suggested it showed the kind of regard in which he held her, in which he had always held her.

‘You can’t mean it.’

‘I was never more serious in my life.’

His expression supported the words, a circumstance that created the first stirrings of alarm.

‘Marriage is one thing; this is quite another.’

‘It is unusual, I’ll admit, but it is not unknown.’

‘This is little better than prostitution.’

‘It is no such thing. Nor would I have agreed to it if I thought so.’ Her father paused. ‘In essence betrothal is little different from marriage. The only variation here is that it will not be made public until you are with child.’

The visualisation of what that entailed fanned her rage to red heat. How Lord Ban must have delighted in creating this little scheme. That her father should actually sanction the plan must have afforded the very greatest amusement. How much his lordship must be enjoying the thought of her reaction.

‘I am not a brood mare to be covered by a Glengarron stallion!’

‘It is a wife’s duty to bear children and you have not done so.’

‘That wasn’t my fault alone.’

‘I have given you the benefit of the doubt thus far, but now it’s up to you to prove yourself worthy of my faith.’

‘I’d gladly prove it, but not in this covert, underhanded manner.’

‘You are a widow with no children and no dowry to speak of. God’s blood, do I have to spell it out?’ He glared at her. ‘You have one chance now and this is it, unless you’d prefer the cloister.’

Seeing that she remained silent he nodded. ‘I didn’t think so.’

She closed her eyes, trying not to give way to rising panic. Her father had spoken no more than the truth about her circumstances and her lack of religious vocation. She realised too that there was no way out of this: much as she wanted to reject this proposition a refusal to comply would leave the way open for Murdo. All he’d have to do would be to ask for her hand and it would be granted. She was under no illusions about what would happen then.

She licked dry lips. ‘When is this betrothal to take place?’

‘I have decided upon Thursday next.’

Her heart leapt towards her throat. Thursday was only two days away. ‘That’s too soon.’

‘Soon or no, it’s your betrothal day.’

‘This haste is indecent.’

Her father’s gaze grew steely. ‘Your opinion is irrelevant. You’ll do as you’re told. The betrothal will take place in my private chamber. I shall invite Lord Ban there, ostensibly to discuss business. It will be a simple matter for you to join us unnoticed. Everyone else will be about their work and it will be quiet enough for our purposes. It won’t take long.’

He was right: it wouldn’t take long to join her hand with Lord Ban’s and to speak the vows that would make her his. How easily a woman was disposed of. She’d had no say last time either, although then there had been a public wedding followed by lavish feasting and then the bedding ceremony, held amid ribald jests and laughter. How hollow that laughter had proved to be.

She shivered inwardly, recalling all the nights spent in Alistair Neil’s bed; nights she had come to dread. Your late husband couldn’t get a cock stand. Murdo’s mocking voice echoed in her head. The words were not entirely accurate though. Alistair had, occasionally, achieved an erection but it carried a price. She swallowed hard, seeing it all in her mind’s eye, her husband standing by the bed, slowly removing his belt, wrapping the buckle end around his fist …

‘Take off your shift.’

‘Please, my lord …’

‘I said take it off.’

Trembling she complied. When she was naked he nodded.

‘Lie down as I have instructed you.’

Reluctantly she obeyed, knowing what was coming and knowing it would be far worse if she tried to resist. She gasped as the belt descended across her buttocks leaving a fiery welt, her hands clawing the coverlet. At first pride kept her silent but she had quickly learned the folly of that. Since it was her cries that excited him he would continue to beat her until she did scream. When she cried out he flung down the belt and joined her, pinning her down, his knee forcing her legs apart. Then he took her from behind. It hurt, but her cries pleased him and, mercifully, that part of the procedure never lasted long, a minute or two at most before the small, probing member was withdrawn. Then he rolled off her, panting and sated. She shut her eyes, praying silently that this time she would conceive and that somehow his thin and watery seed might take root in her womb …

Isabelle had heard it said that sometimes women found pleasure in the act of intercourse but she couldn’t imagine how, even if the man were not violent. Alistair had dreamed up many ways of achieving his purpose, almost all of them painful, but he took good care that the marks he left on her didn’t show. Even if he had not, no one in that household would have questioned his behaviour. Nor would the law: it was a husband’s right to chastise his wife if he chose. It was his right to do anything he liked, and her duty to submit.

‘Are you listening to me?’

Her father’s voice pulled her up abruptly. ‘Yes, my lord, I’m listening.’

‘It won’t take long. When it’s done you’ll consummate the betrothal.’

Isabelle paled. ‘I will not; that is not until we’ve got to know each other a little better.’

‘Damn it, you’re no blushing virgin now and this is no time for airs and graces. The union will be consummated immediately and you will give yourself to Lord Ban whenever it pleases him thereafter. Is that clear?’

She swallowed her rage. ‘Very clear.’

‘I hope so.’

‘And just how is this arrangement to remain secret?’ she demanded. ‘I would not be the subject of servants’ gossip.’

‘There are ways and you will find them. I imagine Lord Ban will not lack invention there.’

‘I am quite sure he won’t.’

The sarcastic tone wasn’t lost on her father. He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’d do well to curb your acid tongue, my lass. No man wants a harridan for a mate.’

She lowered her gaze, quelling the urge to argue. Her father’s temper was close to the edge already. If she pushed him any further he might bring the betrothal nearer still or add some further humiliating conditions to the arrangement.