When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) (24 page)

The mist seemed to part as the
first torches came near. Three tall men led the line, their heights and steps
matching, making them seem almost as one person. Their plaids flapped with the
force of their strides as they walked. The man in the center moved ahead of the
others and reached Iain first.

“Brother,” his voice, though deep,
was crisp and clear. “It’s good to have ye back. And Rory Mac, as well. And
Neil,” the man said in surprise, then looked quizzical. “And is that Bridgette
MacLean?”

Bridgette moved to Marion’s side,
dropped into a curtsy, and gave the man a coquettish smile. “Yer eyes dunnae
deceive ye, Lachlan MacLeod. ’Tis me.”

“It’s good to see ye, Bridgette,”
he said politely and turned his attention to Archibald, who stood behind
Marion. “And who are ye?”

Iain stepped forward and clasped
Lachlan on the forearm. “Ye remember Archibald, Alex’s cousin?”

“Aye. Welcome, Archibald.”

Archibald offered his greetings,
and then Iain quickly presented Angus without much explanation, which Lachlan
accepted without protest, but Marion could hear murmurs from the men behind
him.

“It’s good to be back,” Iain
exclaimed. “I missed home.”

A look of mischief swept across
Lachlan’s ruggedly handsome face. “Did ye now? Are ye getting soft, then?”

Iain chuckled. “Nay, but the food
in England is awful—”

“Worse than here?” Lachlan asked
with a chuckle.

Iain scowled, but it gave way to a
smile. “Aye, I ken it seems hard to believe.”

“And the women, were they too ugly
for ye to bed?” asked the man on Lachlan’s right, the only one with light hair.

As Angus growled behind her, Marion
stiffened at the comment and at the laughter that erupted from the group of men
that she suspected were Iain’s brothers. These men—the blond-haired one,
Lachlan, with his deep russet locks, and the dark-headed man—matched Iain in
height and had eyes of the same shape.

“Cease talking, Cameron,” Iain
snapped at his fair-haired brother, even as he reached out and clasped him
affectionately by the forearm.

“Why? Is it nae the truth?” the
Scot demanded, laughter in his voice. “Are yer bollocks now aching for a
highland lass’s touch?”

“If they are,” the man with the
shoulder-length brown hair said, as he stepped forward and gripped Iain by the
arm Cameron had just released, “then I say
finally
.”

Iain’s three brothers nodded as
one, and the dark-haired man grinned. “Fiona has done naught but annoy me
constantly about when ye may be returning. She’s fairly itching to take her
sister’s place as yer bride.”

“Then she will be disappointed to
hear what I have to say, Graham,” Iain said, his voice cold.

“What?” Graham asked, clearly
startled.

“What do ye mean?” Lachlan
demanded, appearing more irritated that he didn’t know of the news already than
he did surprised.

“What do ye have to tell us?”
Cameron asked and grinned as his gaze came to rest on Marion.

She drew herself up to her full
height and squared her shoulders, just as the first wave of MacLeods bearing
torches reached them. A woman with bland brown hair and small beady eyes smiled
before casting her gaze down. Another woman, beautiful and dark-haired with
golden eyes, stared straight at Iain with a more-than-welcoming look.

Marion narrowed her gaze as
Bridgette briefly squeezed her hand. The golden-eyed woman had to be Fiona.

Iain looked behind him and held his
hand out to Marion. Holding her head high, she stepped forward and slipped her
hand into his. He drew her to his side in a way that seemed to be proud. She
could not stop her smile. “This is my wife, Marion, of the house de Lacy,” he
announced in a loud voice that instantly silenced all talk around them.

Marion heard several sharp
inhalations of breath, and then the beautiful woman spoke.

“Were ye forced to marry the
Englishwoman?” she demanded, her gaze settling on Marion and filling with
disdain.

Iain slid his arm around Marion’s
shoulders and hauled her to his side as she held the woman’s gaze. Iain gave
Marion a squeeze. “Fiona, ye ken better than to ask such a foolish thing. No
man could ever force me to do anything I did nae wish. I wed Marion of my own
free will.”

Marion would have kissed him for
his proclamation if it would not have shocked everyone.

The woman tossed her long dark hair
over her shoulder. “I dunnae believe it,” she mumbled under her breath, but
loud enough that Marion heard her. She was sure others had, as well, because
she saw several men stiffen. The woman shook her head as she glared at Marion.
“Catriona must surely be wailing in her grave.”

Iain’s body went rigid against
Marion, and he inhaled a long, deep breath before he spoke. “Yer sister is nae
wailing in her grave because she’s dead.”

The barely controlled anger in his
voice made Marion bite her lip. She wanted to do something to diffuse the
building discord, so she stepped forward and dipped a quick curtsy. “I’m
pleased to meet you.”

Fiona raked her gaze over Marion.
“Ye will nae take the place of my beautiful, sweet sister.” Fiona took a deep
breath, preparing to say more, Marion suspected, but then Iain spoke.

“Hold yer tongue, woman,” he
growled. “I’ve nae the patience for such nonsense tonight.”

She grimaced and turned as if to
leave, but the homely woman beside her gripped Fiona’s arm. “Ye should make yer
greetings to the laird’s wife,” she said, finally looking up once again. Her
brown eyes rested momentarily on Marion, but then settled on Iain, who smiled
at her.

“Elspeth is right, Fiona,” Iain
agreed.

“Welcome,” Fiona said bitterly.

Marion smiled and prayed it
appeared gracious. “I hope we can become friends.”

Fiona stared at her in stony
silence, flicked her gaze to Iain, and then turned and shoved her way through
the silent crowd. The whispers started immediately afterward, and would have
likely grown to a dull roar, but Elspeth moved toward Marion and said in a loud
voice, “I’m glad ye’re here, my lady. I can see by yer beauty why the MacLeod
wed ye.”

From somewhere in the thick crowd a
woman called out, “I guess ye won’t last through yer first highland winter.”

Iain made a disgusted noise from
his throat, and Marion caught his gaze, beseeching him with her eyes not to
punish whoever had spoken. He inclined his head in understanding, and she spoke
in a loud clear tone. “I’m half-Scottish. My mother was a MacDonald, I’m not
weak, and I
love
the cold.”

Bridgette poked her in the side at
the bold-faced lie about the cold, and behind her, she was fairly certain Angus
was coughing to cover up his laughter.

Iain leaned close to Marion and
whispered in her ear, “Ye did well. That was Alanna who spoke out from the
crowd. She is Fiona and Elspeth’s cousin and Rory Mac’s wife. She was also
Catriona’s closest friend. The rest of them should be more pleasant.”

“The rest of them?” she asked, suddenly
afraid he meant she was to greet the whole gathered crowd. Pray God, not each
one of them. She was exhausted.

“Aye.” He waved a hand toward the
crowd. “They’ll be expecting to meet ye now that they ken of ye.”

“Now?” she whispered. “I likely
look horrible.”

“Nay.” He brought her hand up
between them and kissed her fingertips. Sparks shot from the point of contact
through her entire body. His hot breath caressed her skin as he spoke again.
“Ye look like ye could make a man a fool.”

Before she could respond, he
abruptly dropped her hand and stepped forward. “It’s good to be home!”

A deafening cry arose from the
crowd, and by their happy faces, she knew Iain was beloved. When the noise
faded, he spoke once more. “As I’m sure ye heard moments ago, I’ve married.
This”—he swept his hand toward her—“is my bonny bride, Marion.”

More cheers, but these sounded less
enthusiastic. She lifted her chin a notch and kept her gaze on Iain, who raised
his hands to quiet the crowd. As he was waiting for them to quiet, Bridgette
surprised Marion by stepping around her and whispering in Iain’s ear.

Iain grinned and nodded his
agreement, then said, “In honor of Marion, we will have a feast tonight!”

Cheers and thundering applause exploded,
and as Bridgette came back to Marion’s other side, Marion gave her a look of
thanks, to which Bridgette winked. Marion did not have time to catch Iain’s
gaze to thank him, however, as his brothers came forward and greeted her one by
one with welcoming, crushing embraces. If they were not happy about Iain’s
marrying her, she could not tell. She could not say the same for the rest of
Iain’s clan. The men were generally friendly, except for a few of them, but the
women were cool at best.

Marion dragged herself up the
seagate stairs a good deal later and followed a stone-faced servant to Iain’s
bedchamber. Hers would need time to be prepared, for which she was actually
quite glad. She eyed the enormous bed sitting on a dais in the center of his
room, and a physical ache to lie down and sleep came over her.

Marion’s eyes burned, but as the
servant woman promised to bring up water for her to bathe, she surveyed the
room and dazedly took in her husband’s bedchamber. A beautiful tapestry hung
over his bed, and there were two matching chairs in the right corner with a
table between them. Marion stared at the table where something lay, and her gut
twisted with the realization that she was looking at an unfinished tapestry of
embroidery.

“That was my lady Catriona’s,” the
servant quickly supplied. Marion had been concentrating so hard on trying to
determine what she’d been looking at that she jerked at the woman’s words.

The woman hurried past Marion and
stopped at the tapestry. “I’m sorry, my lady. If I’d known the MacLeod was
going to bring home a new wife, I’d have cleaned the room. I did try afore, but
he forbade me clearing any of her possessions.” The servant snatched up the
tapestry. “I’m sure he’ll want me to gather them now, though.”

“I’m not so sure,” Marion replied,
a mixture of hope and insecurity flowing through her. She certainly did not
expect Iain to remove Catriona from his room and heart, but if he could make
space for Marion she could bear it. Still, the clearing of Catriona’s things
would be his to do—and only when he was ready. “You should leave them.”

The woman’s eyes rounded, but she
dropped the tapestry and hurried from the room, mumbling that she’d be back
shortly with water. Marion eyed her surroundings. She knew Catriona had been
dead two years now because she had asked Angus, but it was painfully obvious
standing among her things just how greatly Iain still mourned his dead wife.
What else of Catriona’s remained? Suddenly, Marion had a burning desire to
know. She strode over to a trunk and, with some effort, opened it. Gowns, dainty
slippers, and a hairbrush and hair combs filled the trunk. A short inspection
of the rest of the room revealed that the tapestry had been the only thing left
out. Everything else of Catriona’s appeared to be in the trunk.

Marion walked slowly to the table
and picked up the embroidery. Two intertwined hearts had been stitched on the
fabric, along with the Gaelic word
daonnan
, which meant
always
.
She knew the word because Angus had taught her a bit of the language.

Marion swallowed the large lump in
her throat. Had Catriona known she was dying and wanted to leave something
behind for Iain to look upon and think of her? It seemed likely so, but the
woman must have known she didn’t need to leave anything. Iain would never
forget his first wife, and Marion would not wish it to be any other way.

Before she could contemplate it
more, a knock came at the door, and Marion opened it to find two young
servants. She quickly directed the boys to bring in the wooden tub and buckets
of water they carried. Once everything was set up, they informed Marion supper
would be served shortly and told her where the great hall could be found.

Marion hastily bathed, washed her
hair, and combed it out, and then she sat on the bed to rest her eyes for a
moment. A few minutes later, she was lying on her back and snoring soundly.

Marion woke with a start and a yelp. Bridgette
loomed over her in the darkness that filled the room, except for the candelabra
Bridgette held, which lit her face in an orange glow. “Well,” Bridgette said,
eyeing Marion with a smile, “this certainly explains why ye’ve not come for
supper.”

Marion glanced down and gasped as
she realized the linen she’d wrapped around her body when she’d gotten out of
the tub had slipped down to her stomach. She snatched it up. “You could have
said something,” she grumbled, heat making her cool skin instantly burn.

“I just did,” Bridgette replied
with amusement. “I’ve the same parts as ye. Now, be quick. Supper has been on
for some time now, and your absence has been noted.”

Marion leaped to her feet. “Did
Iain send you to get me?”

“Nay. Angus did.”

Marion frowned. “Surely Iain sees
I’m not there.”

“Well, Lachlan does nae seem to see
I’m there at all, so maybe it’s a problem with all MacLeod men. He’s nae even
given me a proper greeting, and I dressed in one of my finest gowns for him. I
had some created in a fashion I saw at a fair, more like the one ye were
wearing when I met ye but nae so loose. It does nae seem to matter, though. I
could prance through the hall naked and Lachlan MacLeod would nae see me,”
Bridgette grumbled.

“You look lovely,” Marion offered,
eyeing the rumpled, travel-worn gown that lay out on the bed, the one that
Bridgette had loaned her at the MacLean hold. Her skin itched with the thought
of putting on the gown so stiff with dirt.

Bridgette snickered, and Marion
looked at her friend, who was motioning to the chair in the corner. “I brought
ye a clean gown. I thought ye might nae wish to come down in the other one.”

Marion hugged her. “You are so
kind.”

“Come.” Bridgette waved her to the
chair. “It’s one of my new gowns, I like ye that much.”

Happy tears pricked Marion’s eyes.
She had a friend. She had a husband that was kind, brave, respectful, and
seemed to be softening—she hoped—and now she had a home where she would, with
good fortune, never feel like an outlander again.

Bridgette held up the gown, and
Marion slipped into it. With Bridgette’s help, she was laced quickly, and then
Bridgette stepped back.

“Ye look stunning!” she exclaimed.

Marion was about to thank her, but
Bridgette’s sudden fierce frown stopped her.

“What is it?” Marion asked,
reaching for her friend.

“Ye look so bonny that Lachlan will
likely stare at ye the rest of the night and still nae see me.”

Marion could feel the blush on her
cheeks. She waved a hand at Bridgette. “That’s silly. You are a vision.”

Bridgette quirked her mouth. “I ken!”
she said with a giggle. “Which is why I kinnae understand why the one man I
want to see me dunnae. All these other men fall over themselves to be near me,
except Lachlan. It’s as if he does nae even ken I’m there.”

“You poor, poor thing,” Marion
cooed sarcastically. “It must be difficult to be wanted by many.”

Bridgette scowled. “I ken how I
must sound, but having a pretty face has nae been to my benefit, as much as ye
may think. No one pays me any heed when I speak, and what benefit is a pretty
face if the only man ye want does nae seem affected by it?”

“I understand,” Marion replied. She
linked her arm through Bridgette’s. “We will simply have to come up with a plot
to get Lachlan to see you. But right now, I’m starving and I don’t want to miss
my opportunity to eat supper.”

Bridgette’s eyes grew wide. “We
must make haste! Once they put the food out, Scots—men and women both—tend to
fall on the trenchers as if they’ve nae eaten in a year. If we’re fortunate,
they’ve nae brought out the rest of the food yet.”

“And if we’re not fortunate?”
Marion inquired.

“Then there will likely be nothing
left and we’ll have to either ask the kitchen women for more, or if it’s like
my home, we’ll go to the kitchen later and slip our own food out of the
stocks.”

“If there’s none left, I’d rather
procure my own food than put anyone to any more trouble,” Marion said.

“I feel the same way. Come.”
Bridgette tugged her out the door and toward the stairs. “Let us hope that
tonight we are fortunate.”

Marion nodded and hurried down the
stairs with Bridgette to the great hall below.

With the general merriment in the great hall, combined
with Iain’s growing concern that Marion had not yet shown for supper and the
fact that he could see Fiona and Alanna whispering at the long table to the
right of the dais, he missed what Lachlan had said to him. He only knew Lachlan
had addressed him at all when his brother gave Iain a half-exasperated,
half-amused look.

Iain took a long drink of his wine,
trying to force himself to attend to his surroundings as he usually did. “What
did ye say?”

“I asked if we should be expecting
trouble from the knight yer wife was supposed to marry.”

Iain didn’t need to ponder his
answer. “Aye. And from her father, as well.”

“Her father?” Lachlan asked,
incredulity saturating his words. “Should we nae call her father an ally now
that ye married his daughter?”

Iain shook his head. “Baron de Lacy
wanted her to wed Froste and would have defied the orders of his king to make
it so.”

“But why?”

Iain sat back as a serving wench
appeared before him. “Laird, it’s good to have ye home,” she said.

“Thank ye.” He nodded as she set
the trencher of meat before him. She leaned forward, licked her lips, and
batted her eyes in invitation. Iain turned away only to find Lachlan eyeing the
wench. Iain gave his brother a hard kick under the table.

“What was that for?” Lachlan
demanded, his face flushing red.

“Do ye nae think it’s time to
commit yerself to one lass?” he hissed.

Lachlan’s jaw tensed. “I would if
the right lass were willing.”

“I’m willing,” the serving girl
said with a giggle.

“Return to the kitchen, Lillias,”
Iain said evenly.

“Why’d ye do that?” Lachlan
demanded, as Lillias walked off, swaying her hips. “Are ye jealous because she
turned her sights to me so quickly?”

“Nay. I dunnae wish for anyone but
my wife. And ye ken as well as I do that Lillias is nae the right lass for ye,
so dunnae trifle with her emotions.”

Lachlan drummed his fingers on the
table and smiled devilishly. “If I trifle, I’ll make sure she knows I dunnae
wish to marry her. Will that suffice,
laird
?”

Iain grunted. “I suppose. Why do ye
nae find a lass who ye could care for?”

Lachlan scowled. “Who says I have
nae but that she’s nae willing?”

“What do ye mean?” Iain asked.

Lachlan scrubbed a hand over his
face and glanced to his side, where Graham sat in conversation with Cameron.
When Lachlan turned back to Iain, he wore a guarded expression. “Nothing. I
mean nothing.”

Iain was about to question his
brother further when a frenzy at the entrance to the great hall captured his
attention. Whistles came from a table near the front, and one of the benches
scraped the floor as several of the younger, rowdier of Iain’s men seemed to be
good-naturedly fighting among themselves to get to whomever was coming into
supper. Within seconds, Broch, one of the larger of his fighting men, walked
through the crowd, Bridgette on one arm and Marion on the other.

Iain’s breath caught deep in his
chest as he stared at his wife. Her pale blond hair framed her creamy face, and
her eyes shone blindingly green like two luminous stones. Her red lips beckoned
to be kissed, and her gown… He clutched the edge of the table as desire raged
through him. Her rich blue gown clung to her curves and pushed her breasts
upward, invitingly and teasingly. He’d never seen a gown cut as low and tight
as hers. Lust and jealousy seized him in an iron grip. He shoved his chair back
and ignored Lachlan’s gaping stare.

Iain circled the table in one
stride and stood before Marion in three more long steps. Holding out his hand
to her, he said, “Ye’re late.” Jealousy, which he rationally knew to be
misplaced, was there and getting the better of him.

Marion’s brows dipped together. She
released Broch’s arm while thanking him and slipped her arm into the crook of
Iain’s elbow. “So you did see I was not here.”

“Of course,” he replied. “If ye’d
nae appeared in a minute, I was going to go ensure ye were fine.”

Marion grinned.

“Come sit by me,” he said. “I’m
sure ye must be hungry.”

Marion eyed the seats at Iain’s table. All of them
were taken by his brothers. Broch was seating Bridgette at a table. There was
one seat empty beside her. The seats around Bridgette were occupied by
Catriona’s sisters, Rory Mac, and a woman Marion assumed was Rory Mac’s wife,
Alanna.

Marion took a deep breath. This
could be the perfect time to get to know Catriona’s sisters and extend an olive
branch. “I’ll sit by Bridgette.”

Iain frowned. “It’s traditional for
the laird’s wife to sit at the head table.” Iain’s jaw set with obvious
determination, making Marion smile. She was pleased he wanted her near him. If
it were not for the fact that she believed earning the friendship of Catriona’s
sisters and cousin would ease her entry into Iain’s clan, she would have gladly
taken the seat beside him.

“All the seats are full,” she
replied.

“Cameron knows to move now that
ye’ve arrived. They were simply telling me about what happened in the clan
while I was away.”

“Iain, I’d like to sit with you,
but I think it will help me with the other women if I can win the favor of
Catriona’s sisters and cousin.”

“Ye’ll never do that with Fiona and
Alanna,” he replied grimly, but then quickly added, “nae by fault of yer own,
though, ken?”

“Well,” she hedged, nibbling on her
lip, “perchance I can prompt at least Elspeth to like me.”

He looked doubtful, but he nodded.
“Possibly. Since Catriona died, Elspeth has been the most sensible.”

“Was Catriona very sensible?”
Marion asked, pleased he felt momentarily comfortable enough to talk about his
first wife.

“Aye. Until the end when she
decided she was ready to die.”

He’d said it with no emotion, yet
his eyes held a depth of pain and regret he’d not shown her thus far. It
twisted her heart. She squeezed his hand, wanting to ease the hurt she knew
still throbbed within him. “Perchance she was weary of being ill?”

His eyes widened a fraction, and he
stood in silence for a long moment. “Do ye ken, I never thought of that? Only
of how she seemed to simply decide she was finished with life.”

Tears welled in Marion’s eyes at
the idea of how desperately weary Catriona must have been to welcome death.

Marion took in the powerful man
before her, so battle-hardened yet with such a tender heart. Having been Iain’s
wife the short time she had, she knew with every beat of her heart, with every
breath that she took, that she’d fight death with all her might not to leave
his side. The revelation stunned her. It blossomed and moved like fire through
her veins, making her skin prickly and the hairs on the back of her neck stand
up. Everything around her disappeared. The noise faded, except for the faint
sound of the inhalation and exhalation of the man facing her. The smells of the
mutton and freshly baked bread vanished, and all she could smell was Iain. His
scent of pine, the sweat of his labors, and a faint trace of wood smoke and
sweet wine surrounded her. She inhaled deeply.