Taming the Highlander

“He is well. Now, wash up and make haste.” Now that he had made the decision to wed and found the suitable bride, he was tired of waiting. The long day in the freezing wind above the keep did nothing to soothe his mood. And now she questioned him?

She took a step closer, bringing all the odors with her. “I would see him now, my lord.”

His people gasped at her insolence. She questioned his word before them. She must have realized her mistake for she seemed startled and blinked several times as she looked at those around her. Her gaze moved back to his and she was bold enough to meet it directly.

“Disrespect seems to run within the clan MacCallum, I see. You would question my word?”

“Aye, my lord. I would see my brother before any vows are taken.”

He took in a breath, ready to lash out at her for her challenge to his honor and his orders, but Duncan’s expression warned him off. Putting her in her place, as appealing as that might be at this moment, was not the way to begin her life here in the clan. Connor knew there would be plenty of time and opportunity to correct her ways once she was completely his. He motioned to one of his men and whispered an order to him. Stepping back, he crossed his arms over his chest and waited, giving her the full weight of his gaze during the time it took to fetch her brother from the dungeon.

He took advantage of the waiting to make a more thorough examination of his soon-to-be wife. Connor tried to see beneath the layer of mud, but could determine nothing other than the color of her eyes. They were green.

Kenna’s had been green.

He felt the bile surge in his stomach as it nearly reached his mouth and fought to control it. Another wave of nausea flowed through him and he almost lost the meal he’d eaten that afternoon. He had not thought of Kenna in a long time and wondered why it was now that she invaded his mind and his memories. Probably the upcoming marriage had stirred things better left alone.

He brought his thoughts back to the woman who stood before him and realized that she was staring at him with the same intensity of his own gaze. Had his discomfort been apparent to all? He shifted his stance and turned towards the door of the keep. Two of his soldiers stood there, each one grasping one arm of Athdar MacCallum. The young man, his left arm in a sling and bruises covering his face, looked dazed and confused as the men held him in place there.

Connor heard Jocelyn’s gasp and caught her arm as she tried to run past him to her brother. She struggled against him, but she was no match for his strength or determination in this.

“I must go to him. He is hurt,” she said as she tried to pull free.

“You said you wished to see him and you have. Now, you will fulfill your part of the bargain,” he whispered through clenched teeth so that only she could hear.

“Fine, my lord. Let us marry now so that I may see to my brother’s injuries.”

Connor yanked her back to her place before him. “You were told the provisions of the agreement, were you not?” He looked to Duncan for confirmation of that fact. At Duncan’s nod, he continued, “Once you are wedded and bedded and the agreement fulfilled, the boy will be released.”

He couldn’t be certain, but he thought she blushed under the filth. Duncan coughed and choked at his words and the others around stood with their mouths gaping at this news. So much for discretion.

“Then, my lord, let us find the priest and have done with it.”

“You should wash and change before…”

“I can take my vows dirty or clean, my lord. I would prefer to do it as quickly as possible.”

She was insufferable! Standing before him and his clan, she was the obvious loser in this agreement, and yet, one would not be able to tell it from her stance, her words or the demanding tone of voice she used to him. Well, he was not one to back down from a challenge, especially one from a woman who should learn her place as quickly as possible.

“Duncan, fetch the priest to us.”

“But, Connor,” Duncan stepped forward, already arguing.

“You heard the lady. She wishes to take her vows now. I would accommodate her in this. Get him now, Duncan.”

Duncan had been his friend for too long not to recognize the fury that even he could hear in his own voice. The lady under discussion knew him not, but must have realized her mistake for she took a step back away from him. He held her fast, not allowing her to escape the fate that she had hastened. Turning to his men on the steps, he ordered her brother returned to his place in the dungeon. When she would have contested his orders, he squeezed her arm tightly, drawing her attention.

“Not only his life, but also his comfort depends on your behavior, my lady. Think you well on it before the words spill from your mouth.”

He watched as she started to speak and then stopped, clamping her lips shut. She used her free hand to move the long tangled mass of her hair out of her face and over her shoulder. Globs of mud and muck dripped onto her already-sodden cloak.

And they waited in a silence that grew even more uncomfortable as the minutes passed until finally a stirring among the crowd opened a path for Duncan and the priest. The priest walked to him and bowed.

“My lord, this is very unusual.”

“Aye, Father, ’tis that.”

“Should we not allow the lady to prepare for the ceremony and hold it on the morrow?”

“Nay. My betrothed has requested, nay demanded, that we speak our vows now. If you will be good enough to hear them and say the words?”

He knew Father Micheil was confused by his actions, but he also knew he would do whatever Connor wanted him to. So, a few minutes later, he found himself married once again. And if he felt overwhelmed by it, he could only imagine what his bride felt. The tremors he felt in her arm and her chattering teeth told him that she was not reacting well to the honor of being his wife.

“Ailsa,” he called out to one of the women who served him. “Take the lady to her chambers and see to her.”

He relinquished his hold and watched as Jocelyn wordlessly followed Ailsa into the keep. Turning to Duncan, he motioned him to his side. Connor waited until the crowd had dispersed and the activities in the yard resumed their natural noises and pace.

“Come inside and explain why you and my bride are covered in the same mud.”

It was only by sheer determination that Jocelyn was able to remain standing throughout the wedding and to follow the woman through the keep and up several flights of stairs in the far tower. Every step was a challenge. Every moment brought pain to her. She knew if she faltered or hesitated she would collapse in a heap on the floor. So, she focused on the hem of the woman leading her to her chamber and prayed it would not be long in coming.

After witnessing the extent of the disregard of her newly acquired husband, she was not certain what she should expect at the top of the stairs. Ailsa opened the door to a chamber and waited for her to enter first. Dragging her sopping garments across the threshold, Jocelyn was stopped by the sight of the comforts before her.

The room was a large one, facing east, with several windows of glass. A large hearth filled one part of one wall and an alcove set below the larger of the windows. Cushions made the wooden bench look very appealing. Even more appealing to her was the huge bed in the far corner. Hesitant to dirty the fresh rushes with the filth she carried, she looked to Ailsa for guidance.

“Here now, lady,” Ailsa said as she approached. “Let me help ye out of those clothes.” Jocelyn had neither the desire nor the strength to resist the woman’s efforts. “I have called for hot water for a bath for ye.”

Jocelyn fought back the tears that had threatened ever since she discovered her fate was in the hands of the MacLerie. She blamed it on her exhaustion and her fear for her brother’s safety and well-being. She stood and allowed Ailsa to peel the soggy layers of gown and chemise and plaid from her shaking body. When the noise outside the chamber signaled the arrival of the promised bath, Ailsa guided her behind a screen and continued to undress her, removing the mud that had found its way inside her garments. After a few more minutes, Jocelyn found herself sinking into the overly large tub of steaming scented water.

She later remembered Ailsa lathering her hair with a pungent soap and rinsing it at least twice and helping her to wash the rest of herself. Then Jocelyn remembered being wrapped in heavy towels and sitting on the bed as a tray of food was delivered. And that was the last thing she knew until the rays of the rising sun flooded her room and roused her from a deep sleep.

Panic filled her as she realized in an instant that she had not fulfilled the second part of the bargain. For unless bedding was an incredibly overrated experience and could be done on someone sound asleep, she doubted her husband had exercised his marital rights during the night.

Climbing from the center of the bed and still wrapped in the towels from her bath, she searched through the trunks lining one wall for anything she could wear. Jocelyn did not know where her own small bundle was and she could find nothing suitable for her. A sense of dread engulfed her as she realized that without the consummation of their vows, Connor could still seek retribution on her brother. Unable to locate anything but bed linens in the chest, she slammed down the lid and shook her head. She was a prisoner until one of the servants came to her. Grabbing a brush from the table next to the bed, she pulled it through her hair and braided it quickly.

Her activities must have alerted the servants that she was awake for soon a knock came on the door of the chamber and a young girl entered with a bucket of steaming water. After curtsying, the girl poured an amount of it into the basin by her bedside and sat the bucket near the hearth. With an efficiency born of experience, the servant had the fire within the hearth burning brightly with just a few adjustments to it. Then the girl turned to leave, but stopped once she’d pulled the door open.

“Milady, the laird asks that ye join him in the hall to break yer fast.”

“I fear I cannot do that…what is your name?”

“Cora, milady.” The girl curtsied again.

“Cora, please tell the laird that I cannot do as he asks—”

Before she could finish, the girl was gone. Jocelyn did not think a body could move that fast, but in a blink of an eye, she was alone once more. Hoping that someone would seek her out and discover her need for clothes, she decided to wash up. Rearranging the towels around her, she leaned over and dipped her hands into the hot water. Splashing it onto her face, Jocelyn reached for a cloth to wipe the water off. The noise behind her startled her into turning and losing control over the layers of toweling around her until it loosened and slipped down her. Grasping it before it fell to her waist, she looked up expecting Cora.

She found her husband. Connor MacLerie.

And from the dangerous look on his face, she knew why he was called Beast. All the words she thought she would say to him froze in her throat as his gaze moved down her and settled on her breasts. She longed to slap the now lustful stare from his face, but as her husband, she knew she must submit to not only his gazes but also his touch, his possession of her body. She could not control the shudder that moved through her. Finally, he met her glare with one of his own.

“I see that even the night of rest I allowed you has not sweetened your disposition. You would disobey even my smallest request?” He crossed his arms over his chest as he took several steps toward her. Although she would have liked to back away, she had nowhere to move.

“Laird,” she said, looking around the room once more. “I did not disobey you.”

“I called you to the hall below and you refused me. What else is it, but disobedience, plain and simple?”

This was no way to begin their married life. A simple misunderstanding, but it could become something larger if she did not handle it well enough. Looking at him, she realized that she had not really taken his measure on her arrival. Exhausted, soaked through with icy muck and fearful for her brother’s well-being, she had stumbled through their meeting and their vows. Now, in the full light of the sun, she found she had married a wildly attractive man. Taller than her father, taller than even Ewan, Connor towered over her. His black hair was pulled back from his face and tied in small braids at his temples. Shaven clean of any beard, the rugged angles of his face proclaimed his masculinity. Eyes nearly the color of bronze glowed back at her, full of fire at her challenge to his authority, both as her husband and now as her laird.

“My lord, I have no clothes.” She lowered herself into as deep a curtsy as she dared before him. With her head bowed, she could not see his reaction, but heard the cough he let loose.

“No clothes?” he asked.

“None, my lord. And there seem to be none in this chamber that I could cover myself with to answer your summons to the hall. Unless you want me to appear naked before your clan?”

She heard his choking cough again and the sound of laughter from outside her chamber. She looked up just enough to see his booted feet move to the doorway. A scuffle ensued and a few moments later a bundle was dropped on the floor next to her. Jocelyn looked up to find him staring down at her, and staring down the loosely held towel at her chest again. When she tried to stand, she lost her balance and toppled backward. His hands around her arms prevented her from hitting the stone floor. She found herself being pulled in close to his chest until she was steady on her feet.

“Get yourself dressed and down to the hall now.” She felt his gruff voice as he whispered the words into her ear.

“Aye, my lord,” she answered.

He released his grasp of her and walked away. But she could not let him go until she discovered her brother’s condition.

“Laird?” she called out. He stopped, but did not turn to face her. “Did my brother suffer for my failure to consummate our vows last night?”

Another strangled cough erupted, this one from the hallway, but Jocelyn could not break her gaze from him as he turned and met hers. Rising even taller and looking as dangerous as a beast could, he stalked over to her, clenching, tightening and opening his fists with every step. Standing as close as possible but without touching her, he looked down at her from his height and spoke through clenched teeth. She could feel the waves of anger pouring from him as he spoke.

“I hold your brother accountable for his own behavior as I hold you accountable for yours. Now, get you dressed and get you down to my hall.”

She stood frozen by the cold fury in his voice until he turned and left, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the windows in the room and her head. A muffled argument outside her chamber drew her attention for a few moments, but when it quieted she knew he was gone. She sank to her knees as the tremors of fear shook her to her core.

Jocelyn did not know how long she stayed on her knees, but she soon became aware of whispered voices outside her door. Rubbing her hands over her arms and face, she roused herself and climbed up onto still-shaking legs. Rummaging through the bundle at her feet, she found a clean shift, gown and stockings. With a few minutes of struggling with the laces, she was dressed. Jocelyn decided to use a length of plaid as a shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders tightly, trying to ease the trembling that still filled her.

After a few deep breaths, she felt ready to answer Connor’s call. Pulling open the door, she was surprised to find Duncan and Ailsa standing before her. Ailsa curtsied as Duncan bowed to her, a far cry from the disrespect he had showed her every leg of their trip here.

“The laird asked me to escort you to the hall.”

“Fine,” she answered, waiting for him to lead the way.

“Mayhap shoes would make the walk a bit more comfortable?” He pointed to the floor and her shoes that now lay cleaned and brushed. “I do not think the laird would want his bride appearing in bare feet.”

“Fine,” she answered once more as she bent down to pull her shoes on.

“Here, my lady. Let me help ye wi’ these.” Ailsa said.

It took the efficient servant but a few moments to secure her shoes on her feet and then she was ready. Well, she was dressed now, but she doubted she would ever truly be prepared to face what awaited her in the hall below. She had drawn Connor’s fury in questioning her brother’s safety. Honor required that a hostage be unharmed during their captivity, but there was unharmed and there was alive and she knew that many were mistreated, even beaten or starved while held. The thought of her younger brother being ill-treated while she had been bathed by servants and had slept the night undisturbed in a huge and comfortable bed brought tears to her eyes. And there was only her honoring her part of the agreement to keep him alive.

Duncan held out his arm and she placed her hand on top of it, allowing him to guide and support her as she walked down the stairs. Unable to keep from trembling, she focused her attention on the steps below her, counting each one silently as she passed it. A terrible thought entered her mind as she reached the lower landing—were these the same steps where Connor’s first wife met her death?

Her momentary pause drew Duncan to a halt. He must have sensed her curiosity for he shook his head even as he answered her unspoken question.

“Nay. ’Twas not there.”

“I…heard…” She did not really know what to say. Duncan had made his displeasure at her use of the name, the Beast, quite clear when she’d used it before. How would he react now that she had revealed her knowledge of the rest of the sordid tale?

“He would not put you in her chamber. No one has used that since her death.”

“Is it true then? Did she die at his hands?”

Duncan stared at her and the sight of his anger took her breath from her. Lifting her hand from his arm, she stepped back, in truth a bit fearful of his next action. Before another word could be spoken, a different voice broke in.

“I asked you to bring my wife to the hall, Duncan, not to conduct her on a tour of the stairway.”

Chapter Three

Connor stood watching them a few paces away. His arms crossed over his chest once more, Jocelyn was certain he was still angry over her words questioning his honor. He held out his arm to her and she walked silently to his side and accepted it. Turning with him and following his lead, she took her first good look at the great hall and the people in it.

’Twas much larger than her father’s hall, and in much better condition. The changing fortunes of the clan Mac-Callum could be seen in the deteriorating keep and the lack of decorations and comforts in their hall. That approach to poverty was what had made her father vulnerable to the MacLerie’s offer. They entered from the back and she could feel the gazes of those there to break their fast. No one smiled at her, no one called out to her, she recognized no one. Trying to read their expressions was impossible for they turned from her as soon as she came close.

Never had she felt so unwelcome in a place. Was it their fear of their laird that kept them silent? Did they hold her in the same lack of esteem that their laird did? She shivered and clutched at her shawl more tightly as they finally approached the high table. If her husband noticed her discomfort, he gave no sign. He ignored her even as he walked beside her, greeting various men among those present. Once at the table, he waited for her to take her place next to the large carved chair that was obviously his as laird and then dropped his arm to his side. The low murmurings throughout the room quieted as he waited.

“This is the lady Jocelyn MacCallum, now my wife,” he called out in a loud voice.

She waited for the rest of her introduction to his people, but there was no more. She turned to look at him and found he was already sitting in his chair. Jocelyn did not know what she had expected in his words, but she knew that this brief statement was disappointing at best. She glanced at those at the table, but none would meet her gaze. Realizing that she drew more attention by her actions, she sat down and pulled her own stool in closer to the edge of the table. At his nod, the servants brought forth trays of bread and cheese and pitchers of water and ale. Next, bowls filled with steaming porridge were delivered to each of them. The aromas wafted through the air and her stomach grumbled in anticipation of eating.

If her husband noticed, he gave no sign for he tore a loaf of bread apart and began eating. Jocelyn waited, her hands clenched on her lap until the others had followed Connor’s example. Aware of their indirect scrutiny, she took a small spoonful of the thick porridge and lifted it to her mouth, savoring the taste and consistency of it as she swallowed. Her stomach made even more noises and she held her hand there, trying to cover them.

“You did not eat enough last evening?” Connor asked without pausing from his own meal.

“Nay, my lord.”

“Ailsa was told to see to your needs. Did she not bring you food?”

“She followed your orders, my lord, but I fear I was too tired to do anything save bathe and sleep.”

He grunted at her words and asked no more questions. Her thoughts were suddenly filled with her brother and her appetite fled. Her spoon clattered on the table as images of him in some filthy cell, injured and hungry, raced through her mind. Her distress must have shown for she gained Connor’s attention.

“Are you ill? The blood has just drained from your face.” He leaned over and stared at her.

Jocelyn did not know how to respond. She had already challenged his honor about her brother once today and he would without a doubt see any more questions as another attack. Given his reputation for taking offense and defending his name, she feared what would happen to her if she asked the questions that burned within her.

She never knew what revealed the truth to him, but in the next moment, he stood with a speed belying his size and knocked over his chair. As it toppled behind him, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her from her stool. Without a word of explanation, he dragged her from the table, out of the hall and down a corridor toward the back of the keep. Her struggles lasted all of a minute since his advantage in size and strength and intentions overwhelmed her efforts to resist their motion. Yanking open a door in the wall with such force that the door banged against the stone and shook on its frame, Connor lifted a torch from a sconce and led her into a dark tunnel.

The air grew thicker and more humid as he dragged her farther and farther along the passageway. Jocelyn could not see past him and could not gauge how much longer they could travel along this corridor. Connor slowed momentarily and then he began to walk down some steps. Where did he take her? Had her defiance cost her her life? She struggled against his hold trying to slow his pace.

“I do not expect you to challenge my every word and action, lady wife. You are like a dog gnawing on a juicy bone. You will not give it up until you are forced to it.”

“My lord…” she began.

“Here now. This is the last time I will be so lenient with you.”

Grabbing her by her shoulders, he shoved her forward until she was looking into a small cell. The dungeon. Her brother. Pushing up onto her toes, she peered into the room until she saw her brother lying on a small pallet in the far corner. Even when she called out his name, he did not move.

“You may have five minutes with him, not one more. Duff,” he said to a guard she had not noticed before, “Bring the lady back to the hall when her time has passed. And she is to remain out here and not enter the cell.”