The Highlander's Accidental Bride (3 page)

Scott Castle

Mary paced the floor of her room. With her mood swinging alarmingly from horrified to angry and back again in the five days since her marriage, she found it impossible to think about anything other than the terrible deception played upon her.

Ranald said they thought she was Miriam. Mary waved her hands dramatically in the air as she whirled to pace in the opposite direction.

He thought?
She snorted in derision at the concept. Nay, the man obviously had
not
thought! He had kidnapped her and given her a knot on her head in the process.
Just wait until the laird returns.
I shall give him a piece of my mind, make no mistake about it!

She came to an abrupt stop. With a shiver of apprehension, she remembered Laird Scott’s barely leashed fury as he stood beside her before the priest, and the way he’d dragged her from the ceremony afterwards. Would he think her to blame for this? Would he free her from her vows? Or was he capable of further cruelty for this unintended deception?

The door creaked on its hinges and Mary spun in fear to face the new threat. Her vision blurred and spots appeared before her eyes. Grasping the back of the chair beside her, she managed to remain on her feet.

“Milady?”

Mary heard concern in the voice and inhaled a short breath of relief. Ina was one of the few people at Scott Castle who seemed to honestly like her. But it wasn’t the promise of friendship from the castle’s chatelaine that calmed her wildly beating heart. It was the fact Ina wasn’t Eaden.

“Milady? The guests have all departed. Would ye come downstairs for yer supper?”

Mary considered the request. She would have to leave her rooms sometime. No one seemed to know how long Laird Scott would be gone and she couldn’t very well cower in this chamber until then.

She offered a short nod. “Aye.” Whatever lay in store for her, she’d face. Surely there wasn’t much worse than what had already occurred.

Ina’s face beamed with pleasure. “`Twill do the people good to see their mistress at the table this night.” She turned to the two gowns hanging from pegs on the wall. “Would ye care to put on somethin’ fresh and pretty?”

Mary gave in to the carefully-worded opinion she appeared tired and rumpled in her present condition, and allowed Ina to help her change her gown. Though she did not want the title of Lady Scott, she’d heard enough of the gossip about her marriage to the laird to know his people already considered Barde’s daughter insufferably arrogant.

She would not let them think her intimidated by their judgment.

Ina finished dressing Mary’s hair and patted the gleaming chestnut curls as she stood back to survey her work. “Ye’ve lovely thick hair, milady. But `tis a wee bit temperamental, aye?” She tweaked a fallen lock back in place, tightening the ribbon holding the mass in place.

Mary sighed. “`Twill be about my shoulders by the time I am halfway down the stairs.” She rose from the stool and faced the older woman. “I thank you for your trouble, though.”

Ina eyed Mary’s dress critically. “Well, ye at least look fresh and bonny, though the dress doesnae do justice to the lady of the castle.”

Glancing at the plain brown dress, Mary hastened to reassure her. “Please don’t worry. I’m sure it is more than adequate.”

Ina smiled at her. “Perhaps when Himself is home he’ll find some lovely jewelry to place around yer pretty neck.”

Mary winced. The only things Laird Scott would likely want around her neck were his hands. She responded with a faint smile and went downstairs. The murmur of voices in the great hall slowly faded as, one by one, people became aware of her presence.

Mary inclined her head slightly, acknowledging their stares. She strolled to the head table and chose the smaller chair obviously intended for the lady of the castle. If she must bear their scrutiny, she would do so as their mistress.

Ina leveled a cool gaze over the people gathered at the tables and instantly everyone’s attention returned to their plates. Satisfied, she nodded to a nearby servant, sending the lass scurrying to the kitchen for fresh food and wine.

“They will get used to ye in the lady’s chair.” Ina busied herself with a platter of fruit to place before Mary. “It has been empty these past years, though many have wished to fill it. Here.” She offered the fruit. “This should hold ye ‘til the lass gets back with yer dinner.” Ina poured a goblet of wine, motioning for her to eat.

Mary took a bite of fruit, surprised at how quickly the servant girl returned with a platter of steaming meats and bread. Ina heaped food onto her plate and sat beside her while she ate, chattering about the life of the castle. Mary heard very little, too aware of the curious stares darting at her from all over the room, though they did not linger more than a moment under Ina’s protective presence.

Finally, she set her plate back, indicating she had finished. “Ina, I do not wish to interfere with the obviously perfect way you’ve run Scott Castle.” Her comment won the woman’s approving smile. “I need some time to adjust. If you would continue with your good work for now, I’m sure we can combine our efforts in the future.”

Ina beamed at her friendly words, obviously satisfied she’d not lost her position in the castle. She patted Mary’s knee in a motherly fashion. “Ye leave it to me, milady. I’ll keep things running smoothly.”

Mary nodded, thankful to have Ina’s support while she figured a way out of her marriage to Laird Scott. She glanced around the great hall, wishing for something to do to keep her mind from her present troubles. “I’d like to take a walk around the castle, if you don’t mind.”

Ina stood, a pleased smile on her face. “Of course, milady. There’s still some time before dark. I’ll have someone show ye aboot.” She pursed her lips. “And ye’ll need a lady’s maid, too.” She nodded her head decisively. “Kirsty will do fine.”

Mary caught herself before she could protest the need of a maid. Ina called and waved to a young, red-haired girl who stopped her work and hurried over. She gave a hasty curtsy and a swift glance at Mary before turning her attention to Ina.

“Ye’ll accompany Lady Scott aboot the castle, lass, then see to her as lady’s maid,” Ina instructed. Kirsty nodded, but Mary could not tell if her new duties pleased the girl.

Mary rose to her feet. “Thank you, Ina. I’m sure your choice is a good one.” She looked at Kirsty, who didn’t appear much younger than herself. “What can you tell me about Scott Castle?”

Climbing the steps worn smooth with the passage of time and the tread of many feet, Mary’s soft slippers slid on the bare stone. Following Kirsty through the great hall, she found herself greeted along the way by the cool nods of the castle staff. She sensed their veiled animosity and understood she was an intruder, one of the hated Bardes.

“‘Tis the laird’s dining room, milady,” Kirsty said, bringing Mary’s thoughts back to the present. “The laird and his family can eat in private here.”

Mary glanced around the room. Weapons and heraldic symbols hung against the stone walls. An enormous fireplace nearly engulfed one end of the room, and numerous candles set in wrought iron holders hung suspended from the high ceiling.

“This is lovely,” Mary murmured politely. In truth, though Scott Castle was impressively large and obviously well-fortified, she found herself comparing its almost militant starkness to the courtyards and gardens of Bellecourt Castle. Remembering the comfort the open air had always brought her, she suddenly yearned to be outside and feel the wind on her face.

“Is there a garden in the courtyard here?”

“There’s no’ a ladies’ garden here, but ‘tis a view of the surrounding hills ye may like.”

Mary brightened. “I love being outside. Will you take me there?”

Kirsty nodded. “Aye.” She led the way from the laird’s private dining room and skirted the great hall where tables were being dismantled and stacked along one wall for the night. Once through the far doorway, she pushed open a wooden door and peered into the stairwell.

She canted a look over her shoulder. “Here, milady. We can go up.”

Mary hurried after the maid, at last coming out into the fading light. Overhead, shades of vivid pink splashed across the evening sky took her breath away. Pearly gray clouds slipped past the high parapet walls. Kirsty motioned for Mary to follow her and they strode to the crenellated walls reaching chest-high. “`Tis the most beautiful view, milady. But ye must be careful no’ to lean over the walls.”

Mary flattened her palms on the warm stone and pressed her body as close to the rock as possible in order to see beyond the wall. “Why?”

Kirsty shook her head. “‘Tis no’ safe, milady,” she said, her voice tight and apprehensive.

Mary noted the look of distress etched on the young girl’s face, and took a step back from the wall. Kirsty visibly relaxed.

More than worry for safety lay behind Kirsty’s unease. “Tell me.” Mary addressed her sternly. “I have no wish to jump, if that’s what you’re afraid of, and the wall is much too high to accidentally fall.”

“Oh, milady, ‘tis the ghost of Lady Fenella who walks these stairs at night.” Kirsty’s eyes had widened, her voice now an excited whisper. “She fled her cruel husband, and came here to her lover, Laird Magnus Scott, many years ago. But her husband followed her here, and though Laird Scott challenged him for the beautiful Lady Fenella, the laird was killed.”

She paused for breath. “When Lady Fenella heard her lover was dead, she flew up these stairs, gazed over the parapet and saw him sprawled at the feet of her cruel husband. Some say she flung herself over the edge, others say she leaned too far and fainted at the sight of her dead lover. Either way, she died on the bloodstained ground beside him.”

Kirsty sighed and turned to point past the chapel where a worn stone stood solitary beside the castle wall.

“They were buried in the same grave, milady, there, beneath the stone. Ye can hear her cry of dismay on the stairs late at night, and once I saw something white fluttering off the edge of the wall.” Her voice dropped even lower. “Like the fabric of her dress as she fell to her death.”

Mary felt a ragged thrill race down her spine. Her gaze slid from the maid to the edge of the stone wall. “I can see it could be dangerous.”

Privately, she thought the height of the parapet and the thickness of the wall seemed safe enough as long as she did not try climbing on top of the wall—which she certainly had no intention of doing. But the little maid was clearly enthralled by the tale.

Kirsty nodded her head wisely. “Aye. ‘Tis said any lass who hears the lady’s cry is compelled to follow her to her death.”

Mary blinked. “I shall endeavor to not be near the stairs after dark, then.”

A cloud passed over the remnants of the sun and they both shivered at the sudden chill. As quickly as it began, the cloud passed and the mood lifted.

Kirsty took a cautious step forward and pointed over the wall. “Ye can see the sheep on the hills. There, on the grass, heading toward safety for the night.”

Glad for the change in subject, Mary peered at the flocks moving across the fields.

“Why, they look like clouds!” she exclaimed, moving closer to the wall. “And look at the little ones, scampering about!”

“The lambs are born out in the hills, but any who are sickly or injured are cared for in the barns near the stables. ‘Tis noisy, it is, when the lambs are born.”

“I suppose so. Oh, they look so soft and white!”

Kirsty shook her head. “They are greasy and full of grass and twigs,” she informed Mary. “‘Tis glad I am I dinnae shear or card the wool.”

They lingered a moment longer as the sun dropped below the hills and the white lambs became dark spots against the grass. Finally, Mary turned to her maid. “All right, show me the rest of the castle.”

As Kirsty led her from the parapet, Mary’s ears couldn’t help but strain to hear the ghostly cry of lost love.

Scott Castle

He’d only been gone a fortnight, but Eaden knew her. Even in a gown as dusty and drab as those of the work staff, there was no doubt of her identity. Though the scarf tied over her hair made her almost as anonymous as the other women around her, he knew, in his gut, his bride, the new lady of Scott Castle, was busy cleaning the tapestries in the great hall.

Eaden scowled. But before he could decide if he was more annoyed to see her dressed like a servant or to find her cleaning like one, Ranald captured his attention.

“It looks as though the immediate danger is past.” Ranald motioned to the inner stairway leading to the battlements.

In silence, Eaden followed his brother and climbed the narrow stone steps to the southward vantage point facing the border between the Scott and Bard lands. The mountains faded in the distance to green hills dotted with clusters of white sheep. Nothing appeared amiss as the animals grazed unconcernedly on the early spring grass.

“So, Barde has turned back?”

“‘Twould seem he has. He raised an army, such as it was, then set out from Bellecourt Castle. They halted a day’s march north where he apparently awaited reinforcements. Other hot-headed soldiers joined him and they headed toward our border where they again stopped for the night.” Ranald made a gesture of disgust and Eaden hid a slight smile. He knew his brother’s opinion of those who would allow such a minor inconvenience as darkness to stymie their progress.

“Word of Lady Miriam’s disappearance is rife all over the highlands. Ian left to warn ye at the first indication Barde headed this way. We had no way of knowing the spineless bastard would turn tail and return home before he got here.”

“Does anyone know why he turned back?” Eaden rubbed at his tense neck muscles.

“Nay. I’m still waiting to hear.”

“I had fully expected him to camp outside my walls and protest loudly because I’d kidnapped his daughter, though I dinnae actually imagine he would be so foolish as to attack.” Eaden frowned. “He spent time and effort gathering a force, traveled this far, and then turned back. Why?”

“He’s less stupid than we’d thought?” Ranald offered with a shrug.

“We’ll have to wait and see. Perhaps my
wife
would have an idea about her father’s actions.” Eaden pushed away from the wall and headed for the stairs. Ranald started visibly at Eaden’s statement and raised a hand to check him, but Eaden strode past his brother without stopping. Just the mention of his new wife put him in a decidedly bad mood.

“Ah, Eaden.” Ranald’s raised voice brought him to a halt.

He turned. “What?”

“There may be a problem with your, er,
wife.
”

“I saw her with the servants.” Eaden scowled at the memory. “I’ll speak to her about her duties.”

“Och, ‘tis no’ the problem.”

“Then what is?”

“She’s no’ yer wife.”

“What do ye mean?” Eaden bit out the words. Damn the Barde wench! What kind of trouble had she stirred up in the two weeks he’d been gone?

Ranald squared his shoulders. “I mean, ye married her, but she isnae the woman we thought she was.”

“What!”

“The day after ye left for Troon, yer bride came running from yer bedroom all in a panic.” He tossed Eaden a wry look. “I wasnae too surprised about that.”

The edge to Ranald’s voice reminded Eaden of his deplorable actions on his wedding night.

“She kept telling me she wasnae Miriam.”

“What are ye talking about?” Eaden ground out in a voice growing thin with impatience.

“She swears she isnae Miriam Barde, but Mary Marsh, Lady Miriam’s companion.”

Eaden’s face flushed hot with anger as he digested the news and considered the ramifications. “The woman is lying. She has fought me tooth and nail from the beginning. The treacherous wench is trying one last time to put an end to this marriage.” He glared at Ranald, daring him to disagree.

“Nay,” Ranald replied evenly. “You dinnae see or hear her that day. She was pale and trembling. I dinnae think she was lying.”

Eaden didn’t bother to answer. He spun on his heel and strode down the stairs and into the castle, looking for the woman who was turning his life upside down.

Mary absently tucked a loose curl beneath the scarf she’d donned to keep the dust from her hair, and stared at the tapestry on the wall. Running a hand appreciatively across its surface, she touched the mingled textures of different threads and stitches used to create such a masterpiece.

She heard a whispered commotion behind her and heat rose to her cheeks. If she turned, the staring looks of the castle servants would dart away as they did every time she entered a room. She’d caught the murmurs of disapproval when she’d appeared dressed in servants’ clothing, but she was heartily bored with the insignificant jobs Ina appointed her. Besides, she grew impatient to confront the laird and convince him to send her home.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the floor behind her and Mary dragged her gaze from the tapestry as a strong hand clamped down hard on her shoulder. Alarmed, she spun around, her eyes wide with shock as she came face-to-face with Laird Scott himself. Or, rather, face-to-chest, for she’d forgotten what a very large man he was, and she craned her head backward in order to see his face.

Eaden released his grip on her shoulder and folded his arms across his broad chest as he stared at her. “Ranald tells me ye are no’ Miriam,” he stated bluntly. “Is this the truth?”

This was not how Mary envisioned this conversation with the laird. She’d imagined herself properly dressed, composed and clean, and with a clear sense of what she needed to say. She brushed the loose strand of hair from her face again and struggled to gather her thoughts, which foolishly fled at his unexpected appearance.

“No.”

His gaze narrowed and she hastily amended her answer. “No, I am not Miriam. Yes, it is the truth.”

Eaden grabbed her wrist and Mary stumbled as he dragged her behind him. As her anger flared, she planted her feet and gave her arm a twist and a jerk, neatly freeing herself from his grasp. Eaden whirled on her. He’d clearly not expected her to resist him.

The look of astonishment on his face almost made her smile. Instead, she bit her lip and stood before him, her hands clasped demurely. Her gaze met his with challenge.

Eaden stared, one eyebrow quirked.

“I will not be dragged anywhere in this castle ever again.” Her voice held deceptive calm. “I am capable of following both verbal and written directions.” She lifted her chin. “Choose.”

With each servant’s ear turned in their direction and all eyes marking their every move, surely he could not fault her for maintaining what dignity she had under the circumstances. A slight grin played about his lips as he inclined his head toward her and motioned for her to precede him. Giving him a wary look at his unexpected capitulation, mocking though it was, Mary swept from the room and up the stairs to the bedroom she’d inhabited for the past two weeks.

She’d obviously made a point with the laird, and she was about to congratulate herself on her small victory when the thudding sound of the door closing behind them triggered her doubts and fears all over again. She took a deep breath and turned to face him, her thoughts going from frightened to resolute in the moments it took her to compose herself.

Ranald said the king named Eaden’s lands forfeit if he did not wed Miriam, and she was not Miriam. How could things possibly be any worse?

“So, which is it?” His deep voice dragged her from her dire thoughts.

“Which is what?” she stammered, her throat suddenly dry.

“The look on yer face, lass. Ye’re either about to faint dead away from fright or prepare yerself to meet yer doom. Which is it?”

She blinked at him, completely taken aback. Scared to death she might be, but she wouldn’t disgrace herself no matter what he said about the matter.

Just then, she caught sight of an enormous canine ambling from behind the laird and her mouth opened in astonishment at the sheer size of the hound. It approached her with a swaying tail and ears perked forward in interest. Mary cautiously held out a hand for the dog to sniff.

Her husband’s jaw dropped as the hound leaned forward to inspect Mary’s proffered limb. For reasons known only to the dog, it did not offer to tear her hand from her body. She sniffed every inch of Mary’s hand and even a portion of her arm before allowing Mary to rub her chiseled head.

Eaden grunted, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “She doesnae often take to strangers,” he admitted gruffly. “Her name is Sorcha. She is usually not far from me.”

“
Sor
uh kha,” Mary repeated softly as she stroked the dog’s fur, marveling at the coarse hair that was crisp, yet surprisingly silky to the touch. “She’s beautiful.”

Eaden cleared his throat. “Tell me exactly what ye told Ranald.”

Mary glanced apprehensively at him, taking note of his forbidding face and piercing dark eyes. Sorcha leaned against her legs, offering unlooked-for strength.

She inhaled sharply. “Miriam and I grew up almost as sisters. She asked me to sleep in her bed that night. I don’t know what mischief she was about, but she said she would explain the next morning. We look enough alike, especially in the dark and tucked under the covers, and she’d told her father she wasn’t feeling well. I was supposed to be there in case he decided to look in on her.”

“And who would ye have me believe ye are?”

Mary flushed. Obviously, he didn’t trust her and she was growing weary of explaining herself over and over again. “I am Mary Marsh, Miriam’s companion. You can ask Laird Barde. Miriam is still there.”

Eaden moved a step away. “Actually, Lady Miriam isnae at Bellecourt.” He turned slowly to face Mary, his eyes going to her face. “Word is she left Bellecourt to be married. But no one can say where, or who she is to marry.”

He advanced on her. Mary’s heart leapt in her chest as she took a hasty step backward.

Sorcha whined and Eaden’s face grew dark. “Two weeks ago I brought ye here and married ye at the insistence of the king,” he growled. “Three days later Barde mustered his soldiers and advanced on the border, where he waited for reinforcements to join him. As my men remained on alert for them to cross the border, he abruptly changed his mind and went home. Now my men tell me he is upset with his daughter’s marriage. Can ye tell me why?”

“I have no idea,” Mary whispered. “Truly I don’t.”

“If ye are no’ Miriam, why did Barde ride on the border?”

Mary stared helplessly into his furious eyes and wracked her brain for any clue to Miriam’s or her father’s actions. “Though we were close, it is true Miriam had been secretive lately. I can only assume she’s met someone Laird Barde wouldn’t approve of and decided to marry him.”

“Someone less desirable than myself?” Eaden’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

Mary tossed her head, her patience with this interrogation growing thin. “Laird Barde thought Miriam was perfect. There would not be many men he would approve of as a husband for her. Miriam had her own standards as well.” She lifted her chin. “Neither approved of you.”

Eaden sighed. “Is there any way ye can prove who ye are?”

“Without returning to Bellecourt?” Mary shook her head. “No one here knows me, Laird,” she reminded him with a frown. “They all believe I am Miriam. You’ll have to accept my word.”

He eyed her narrowly. “And if I decide to believe ye, just what d’ ye expect to happen?”

Mary’s heart raced, but she replied bravely, “I expect you to have our marriage annulled and send me home.”

“Annul the marriage and send ye home? To Bellecourt?” Eaden repeated, surprise coloring his voice.

She nodded emphatically. “Of course.”

“If ye are Mary Marsh, Miriam’s companion, then Barde, by turning back from the border, has indicated ye’re no’ worth coming after. Think ye have a home there still?”

“I believe so, yes.” Mary willed her voice to be firm. But to know she meant nothing to Laird Barde and to hear it told to her as fact was disheartening. What
would
be her place at Bellecourt if she returned?

“If ye are Miriam, yer father has gone home to sulk, leaving ye here with me.”

“You have given me an impossible task.” Mary stomped her foot, frustrated and dismayed in equal measure. “I cannot prove anything from here. I am trying to be honest with you and you are being so difficult!”

Eaden shrugged. “Ye have every reason to lie to me. ‘Tis well known ye swore ye wouldnae be forced into marriage with me. And now ye are, forbye, and I know ye will try to find a way out of it. ‘Twas a good effort. Ranald is all but convinced of yer story. But until I have proof, ye are my wife and will behave as such.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Ye willnae dress as a servant and become one of them.” His derisive glance raked her dusty, threadbare clothing.

“I will not sit around all day and do nothing!”

“Then have Ina give ye duties befitting the lady of the castle.”

“You’ve married me!” Mary raged, furious about many things, and now being criticized for her hard work. “You’ll just have to put up with me!”

Eaden eyed her, astounded and somewhat impressed despite himself that she hadn’t backed down. Her eyes flashed and her chest heaved with anger and he felt an unexpected stirring for this woman who’d caused him such trouble.

“You have other wifely duties, too,” Eaden reminded her as his body responded to her nearness. He flicked his glance to the sturdy bed a few feet behind her.

Mary drew back, her eyes wide. “No!” Her voice filled with more than a little dread.

Eaden raised an eyebrow at her. “Ye think to defy me?”

She fanned her hands out behind her and carefully backed away from the bed’s proximity. “No. We cannot get an annulment from the church if we . . .” Her gaze slid to the bed before snapping back to him.