On a Highland Shore (29 page)

But of course no one did. No one stepped forward to argue that the ceremony could not go forward, no one raised his voice in protest.

“Kneel, child,” the monk said, and she did.

She answered all the prompts that he gave her. The ceremony seemed strange to her, but she’d only seen a few marriages and had hardly listened to the words. Perhaps everything would seem strange just now. She repeated what the monk said, then heard Lachlan do the same, his tone smug and carrying across the room. The monk finished his prayer, made the sign of the cross on her forehead, then on Lachlan’s, then pressed their hands together and folded his hands over them, saying words in Latin that she hardly listened to, his voice fading into the background. She concentrated on the small things, the monk’s frayed sleeves, Lachlan’s golden cuff resting on his wrist, the scuffle of dogs under a table somewhere behind her, Nell’s sniff that let her know her sister was crying. The shadows that crossed the rays of light and let her know someone was now standing near the door. She thought of Somerstrath as she’d last seen it, destroyed, desecrated, of all she owed to the memory of her family.

“It is done,” the monk told her. “Ye are married now. Greet yer husband.”

She stood slowly, lifting her gaze from the floor to Lachlan’s. He gave her a tight smile, then placed a perfunctory kiss on her cheek, holding her hand in his, raising them together as he turned to face the others. She let herself be turned, heard them announced as husband and wife, heard the polite cheering.

Some of the women were crying, some smiling, some wore worried expressions. Uncle William watched with a stern expression next to a frowning Rory O’Neill and a somber Dagmar. Rufus nodded when she met his gaze, as did Rignor, his satisfaction obvious. She could not look at Nell, could not search the crowd for the one face that would undo her. He was gone, and that was for the best.

He was too late.

He’d expected to return to find Margaret’s marriage a day old, and she and her husband perhaps even already gone. He’d not expected to have to walk in just as the ceremony was ending, just as their vows were sanctified, just as he lost her forever. The watchers gave a tepid cheer and sat down, ready for their meal.

He cursed himself for a fool for wanting her so much, for not having spoken to her of his feelings earlier, for not having known their intensity until now, when he knew her pledged to another. Why had he not thought of stealing her away to Ireland with him? But how could he? There had been no admission of anything between him and Margaret; he had no claim on her, nor she on him. They were strangers, the bond between them temporary and formed by the shared experience of death. And desire. Nothing more. Still, if she’d given him one sign that that was what she wanted, he would do it, even now. But she did not look up, did not see him standing there like a stone, his throat tight.

Her head had been bent as she repeated the last words the monk intoned, her voice quiet. Her dark hair had caught the light, flashing blue and black and a deep red in the sunbeams. Her lashes had been lowered, casting shadows on her cheeks, her hands pressed together. She looked calm and beautiful. She must want this. And how could she not? Lachlan Ross was a wealthy man; her life would be secure, and how could she not want that now more than ever?

Rignor watched with a contented smile; Nell bit her knuckle, her distress obvious. The monk blessed their union, asking Margaret and Lachlan to kneel and ask God’s blessing as well. The sense of loss, of despair, he felt was absurd, unreasonable. He told himself that it meant only that he was lonely for a woman, which was easily solved. He’d return to Haraldsholm and see whom Erik had chosen for him. If she pleased him, he’d marry her; if not, he’d find his own woman. And think of Margaret MacDonald for the rest of his life.

He was greeted then by the Inverstrath men and brought to a table for the meal. The bride, who look dazed, spoke only to those in front of her, accepting their congratulations with a tight smile. She did not look across the room, did not see him where he and his brother sat with their men in the shadows. Which was as well, for he would need time to school his emotions and be sure they did not show on his face.

The meal was interminable, the feast adequate but not festive. When men were rising and stretching and obviously ready to leave, Lachlan stood, raising his cup for a toast. The ribald jokes, begun long ago, surfaced again. Lachlan waited for them to subside with a stiff smile, then raised his cup higher.

“To my bride.”

There were murmurs of approval and a repeat of the toast. Lachlan waited for silence, then continued.

“To my bride, who will sleep alone this night. And every night for six months until I can be sure she does not carry another man’s child.”

Margaret stared at him, hardly hearing the outraged protests and exclamations around her. Rignor shouted something, but it was lost in the din.

William rose to his feet, his face scarlet. “What do you mean by this?”

“What I mean, my lord,” Lachlan said, “is that two nights ago my bride-to-be was found in the hallway with Gannon MacMagnus. He was half-
naked. She was kissing him. I cannot share her bed until I ken whether she carries his seed.”

Rignor turned to Margaret, his eyes blazing. “What have ye done?”

“I have done nothing,” she said.

“I’ll kill him!” Rignor shouted. “I’ll kill him!”

“Then do it!” Gannon’s voice came from the back of the hall, and all turned, craning to see, as he strode forward. “Here I am, Rignor!”

Lachlan watched Gannon’s progress with visible surprise, then turned to Margaret, speaking loudly so that all could hear. “I care not whether ye are a virgin, Margaret, nor whether ye’ve had one man or ten. But I’ll not share yer bed and have a child come of this night—or two nights past—and wonder with everyone else who its sire is. Ye’ll sleep alone tonight, and for six months. If ye dinna have a child on the way by then, I’ll accept ye into my bed.”

Margaret rose to her feet as Gannon came to a stop before their table, his chest heaving and his expression murderous. She met his gaze and smiled; he quieted, his puzzlement obvious. She picked up her cup and held it high, waiting until the murmurs subsided. She did not look at Lachlan as she spoke, only at the tall blond man before her. She met his gaze and smiled again.

“To my husband,” she said, and saw Gannon’s eyes flicker. “To my husband in name only, who has now publicly shamed me twice. Who, after the first time, promised to be faithful, yet broke his word again the same day. Who holds me to a standard he himself will not meet.” She turned to Lachlan now. “I will not share yer bed this night, nor any other, Lachlan Ross. This marriage will never be consummated. It will be annulled.”

Dagmar’s laughter broke the silence that followed.

“No.” Rignor’s hoarse whisper was horrified. “Ye dinna mean it.”

“But I do, Rignor.”

“Ye promised,” he hissed.

Lachlan grabbed her arm. “Ye dinna deny that ye were with Gannon MacMagnus two nights ago, do ye?”

“Let go of her,” Gannon cried, moving forward, his hand hovering above the hilt of his sword. Behind him the Irishmen came to their feet.

Margaret was calm. “It’s a’right, Gannon.” She turned to Lachlan. “I kissed him in the hallway. Nothing more happened.”

“I kissed her,” Gannon cried. “One kiss. There was nothing more than that. There will be no child. Margaret, I apologize again.”

“There is no need,” she told him. “I was not forced.”

“Enough!” William roared. “We will talk of this in private! Rufus, surely ye have a room to which we can withdraw.”

Rufus, obviously distressed, nodded. “Of course, my lord. Come.” He led them to a small room near the door to the kitchen courtyard.

They closed Nell out, not even answering her when she asked why she could not stay with her sister. Rignor scowled at her; Margaret, already in the middle of the circle of men, must not have heard. When the door closed, Nell hit it twice with her fist, then stormed back to the hall, throwing herself on the first bench she found, her arms crossed over her chest. Behind her the people were buzzing with talk of it, Lachlan’s men defending him, the Somerstrath people and Rufus’s men defending Margaret. The Irishmen were wise enough to stay quiet. Nell, miserable, stared at the wall and fought her tears.

“May I join ye?”

She looked up at Tiernan and nodded.

“They wouldna let ye in?” He sat next to her, leaning forward, dangling his hands between his knees.

“No! They even let Rory O’Neill in, but not me!”

“Nor me.”

She watched him look across the hall, then back at her, and her anger faded. “What will happen now?”

He shrugged. “We’ll find out together.”

“I hate Lachlan.”

“I’m not so fond of him myself.”

“He planned this. He meant to shame her.”

“Aye. And he did. But she did well.”

“She’s scared,” Nell said.

“She’s angry. That will see her through.”

“Gannon shouldna have kissed her.”

“She should have stayed in her room.”

“Rignor’s furious.”

“Aye, well, yer brother is always angry about something, isn’t he? He’ll get over it. They’re still married.”

She stared at him. “But they’re not. Margaret said she’d get it annulled.”

“That’s for the bishop to say, not her. She’ll have to apply to the bishop; if he agrees, the marriage is annulled. If not…”

“Surely no one can expect her to live with Lachlan now!”

“I dinna ken what they’ll expect of her. Or of Gannon.”

“What d’ye mean?”

“They could annul her marriage to Lachlan and yer uncle William demand that Gannon marry her.”

“Would that be so bad?”

Tiernan grinned at her. “Aren’t ye the fiery one, Nell? I’m not saying it’s good; I’m not saying it’s bad. That’s for my brother and yer sister to say, isn’t it?”

M
argaret took a deep breath to calm herself. Rignor glared at her. Rufus watched her as though she’d grown a tail. Rory O’Neill was amused at something, but blessedly silent. Lachlan’s color was high, his fingers rubbing his chin and betraying his agitation. The monk held his hands pressed together before his mouth, as though to keep from speaking. Gannon, at her side, still looked murderous, but had not spoken.

William stood before her, holding both hands up to quiet the mood. “We’ll go through it again,” he said calmly.

Margaret hardly listened. She should have known how foolish it was to talk with Gannon that night, should have stayed in her bed, or run back to her room when she saw him. But she did not regret a moment of it. And if this—not consummating her marriage, perhaps nullifying it—was her punishment, she was delighted. She fought the wave of laughter that kept bubbling up within her. Had she known that it would be so easy to end this sham with Lachlan, she would have done so sooner. And more publicly.

Gannon was defending her ardently, telling William again that he had acted without her permission. When she tried to comment, William had waved her words away. And each time she’d started to say that the kiss had been mutual, she’d felt the pressure of Gannon’s elbow on her arm. At last she said only that yes, he had kissed her, then she’d returned to her room, that both Lachlan and Rory O’Neill had been there.

William ran a hand through his hair. “I can see no harm here.”

“No harm!” Lachlan cried. “She went walking with him to the next glen, alone! We can none of us be sure what they did there. Or whether there were other times that I’ve not even been told of. She’s tainted goods!”

“Tainted goods?” William’s tone was glacial. “Ye’ll not speak of my niece that way again. Margaret, ye’ll come home with me while we await the bishop’s answer.”

Rignor looked at William in disbelief. “Ye dinna mean to apply for annulment? Tell me ye’re not. We can wait the six months…”

William’s eyes narrowed. “Why is it me defending yer sister’s honor, Rignor, and not ye?”

Rignor reddened. “She promised…”

“Aye,” William said. “And she fulfilled that promise. Ye canna ask more of her. Ye willna ask more of her. Go on home to Somerstrath and start the rebuilding. Lachlan, we’ll talk later, ye and me. Gannon, ye’ll not bother my niece again, aye? I will no’ have ye near her.”

Gannon stiffened. “Ye have no authority over me.”

“Swear to me,” Lachlan shouted at Gannon, “that ye’ll not touch her again! Ye owe it to me!”

“I owe ye nothing,” Gannon told him.

“Ye owe me the civility of not taking my woman.”

“I dinna ‘take’ her, Ross. I…”

“Men have been killed for less,” Lachlan growled.

“If ye stayed out of other women’s beds…” Gannon said.

O’Neill spread his hands wide. “Let’s be calm. We’ve no need for this now.”

“I find it interesting,” Margaret said, “that ye’re all telling me what ye think and what I should do now, but none of ye have asked me what I think.”

Gannon threw her a glance, his eyebrows raised. She turned away from him to look first at her uncle, then Lachlan and Rignor.

“I kept my promise. I married Lachlan. I never promised to be a virgin, though I am. I never promised my heart, which I have not given to Lachlan, nor will I. I never promised not to kiss another man before marriage, nor do I regret that I did. I was willing to be a good wife, willing to spend my life with ye, Lachlan, but ye could not accept that gift graciously. I have now withdrawn it. I will write to the bishop immediately and ask for this travesty to be annulled. Dinna fear, Rignor—William has told me he would not withdraw his support from ye even if I were not to marry Lachlan. Uncle William, I’m holding ye to that.”

“Ye have my word,” William said.

“Thank ye,” she said. “All my life I have done as I have been told, by my father, my mother. Now my family is dead, and my dutiful days are over. There is nothing any of ye can do to convince me to be Lachlan’s wife. What we need to be discussing is how to get Davey back and whether we’ll be attacked again, whether we’re on the edge of war, whether the very future of Scotland is in jeopardy, not whether one vain man has had his pride wounded.”

They all stared at her. She looked at each man in turn. Rufus nodded. Rory O’Neill grinned at her. Rignor looked away when their gazes met. Lachlan flushed and clenched his jaw. William watched her with a thoughtful look. And Gannon held her gaze, his smile slowly widening, his eyes bright.

“Good for ye, lass,” he whispered. “Good for ye.”

“Do ye think,” Margaret said to the monk, “that the bishop will grant the annulment?”

“I will recommend that he does.” He looked at Lachlan, then continued with that same strange smile. “I’ve never known the groom to be the one shrinking from the marriage bed. I’m sure the bishop will find that interesting.”

Lachlan flushed, threw a heated look around the room, and stormed out.

“There doesna seem to be any more to say, does there?” William asked with a sigh. “We’ll need to hear about yer trip to Skye, Gannon. What did Leod tell ye?”

“Leod told us verra little. We heard the same name from one of the Skye women and from Leod’s men. Nor Thorkelson, an Orkneyman.”

The monk stepped back, causing a tray full of cups to clatter to the floor.

“D’ye ken this Thorkelson?” William asked him.

The monk shook his head. “No, my lord. The name itself is frightening, is it not? A man with a name like that could be capable of anything.”

William turned back to Gannon. “And?”

“He’s said to visit Skye often,” Gannon said, “but no one else would talk about him. We searched along the coast. There was no sign of them, but we did find an abandoned camp, not far from Leod, so I’m thinking he was there. And that we need to go to Orkney.”

“Did ye hear aught of Davey?” Margaret asked.

Gannon shook his head. “No, but I’d wager that if we find Nor, we’ll learn something of Davey.”

“Go and tell the others,” William said, gesturing at the door. “Ye’ve a hall full of people waiting for the news. Margaret, a word with ye.”

He waited until they were alone, then closed the door with finality and leaned against it, his expression stern. “Ye shouldna have been with Gannon. Ye shouldna have kissed him.”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“Aye, so am I. God help us, what a mess! Why isn’t yer Aunt Jean here? She’d ken what to do.” He smiled ruefully and shook his head. “I canna tell ye how glad I am that I have sons and not daughters.”

“Thank ye for believing me that nothing happened.”

“But it did, did it not?”

“I am still a virgin, Uncle William.”

“I never once thought ye werena. But dinna tell me nothing happened between ye. Something did, and we all ken it.”

“One kiss. If we were at court, no one would even have commented on it.”

“Not true, lass. The married women do what they like, but the unmarried ones are held to a different standard. And ye ken that.”

She nodded. William sighed again.

“Och, dinna fret, Margaret. It’s done and might be for the best after all. There are other men in the world. Let’s remember that we have bigger problems than yer marriage just the now. But dinna tell me ye’re no’ pleased.”

She smiled. “I won’t.”

“Lassie, if I dinna ken ye better, I’d wonder if ye planned it.”

“I dinna. But I am pleased.”

He laughed and left her alone then.

But Rignor didn’t. He was waiting outside the room, stepping out of the shadows to stand before her.

“Ye promised, Margaret. All ye had to do was wait.”

“For Lachlan to determine whether I’d been with another man? Why is my word not enough? He shamed me twice. There willna be a third.”

“Why not wait? There’s no harm to it.”

“Because I willna be Mother! I willna be married to a man who hurts me and expects me to endure it simply because I must. I’m sorry, Rignor, truly I am.”

“Ye had no intention on ever seeing it through, did ye? Bravo, sister. Yer plan worked.”

She stepped back. “I dinna plan this.”

“I think ye did. I think ye waited for Gannon. Or would any man have done?”

“Rignor, how can ye think this of me?”

“Did he help plan it all?”

“Why would he?”

“He has no land, Margaret. No wealth of his own.”

“Neither do I, Rignor. I bring nothing to a marriage but myself.”

“Ye have a brother who’s a thane, and land that can be reclaimed. Was that yer plan, the two of ye, to wrest Somerstrath from me?”

“No! Why would I? Why would we?”

“It was ye who talked of rebuilding! Ye who told me ye’d be there. I just dinna understand what ye intended. Ye mean to take it from me, d’ye not?”

Something ugly flickered in his eyes, and she realized that Rignor was serious, that more than simply anger powered him, something so distasteful that she had to look away. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. “I dinna want Somerstrath, Rignor. It’s yers. But I would like my brother back. Where have ye gone that ye should think such things of me? We ken each other too well to do this. Please!” She spread her hands wide in supplication. “I dinna plot to take it from ye. If it had been my plan to stop the wedding by being with Gannon, it would have been I who talked of it. I would have shouted it from the rooftop. And I wouldna have stopped at a kiss.”

“Ah, the slut reveals herself.”

She slapped him across the face, then stepped back quickly as he raised his hand to strike her back.

“Ye’ll no’ be doing that,” Gannon said, his hand clasped around Rignor’s wrist. “If ye hit her, I’ll hit ye tenfold. Understand?”

For a long moment the two men stared at each other, then Gannon released Rignor, who glared at him as he rubbed his wrist.

“I dinna want yer Somerstrath,” Gannon said, his voice low and menacing. “We neither of us planned this. If we had, we’ve have done a better job of it, and she wouldna have wed him. Ken this: if ye touch her, ye’ll pay. D’ye understand?”

Rignor stalked away.

Gannon looked after him, then turned to Margaret, his expression still thunderous. “Can the man not simply walk away for once? Must he always stalk away as though he’d murder the world?” He shook his head. “Are ye a’right, lass?”

“Aye. I will not stay married to him, Gannon.”

“Are ye still that angry? Maybe ye care more for him than ye think…”

She made a scoffing sound. “It’s not just Fiona, not just that he lied to me. He’s a weak, vain man who thinks only of himself. He has lands, but he doesna manage them. He spends all his time at court, preening and flirting and decorating himself. I told myself I dinna see the things he was, that Rignor was wrong when he told me about them. Now they are all that I can see. Lachlan will never be content anywhere but at court. I’ve been there. It’s not the life I want, playing games for power. We’re only on this Earth for a short while—some shorter than others—but it should mean something, should it not? Life at court with Lachlan would be a kind of death to me.”

He laughed softly. “A woman without opinions, I can see.”

She flushed, but he put his hand on her cheek and leaned closer.

“Gannon.” Rory O’Neill stood silhouetted at the end of the corridor.

Gannon pressed his eyes closed, then opened them as though praying for patience. “Rory, will ye give us a moment?”

“Laddie,” O’Neill said quietly, “the two of ye need to come out into the light.”

“We’re fine where we are,” Gannon said.

“No, ye’re not. Get her free of Lachlan, then do as ye wish. With my blessing.”

“I thank ye for that,” Margaret said.

“And if the annulment is not granted?” Gannon asked.

“After hundreds of people here witnessed what happened?” O’Neill laughed. “Ye saw the people out there. They’re all yer people tonight, lassie; not one of them is siding with Lachlan. Dinna give them a reason to change that. Lachlan left, by the way, took his men and rode off with nary a word.”

“Lachlan’s gone?” she asked, surprised.

“Did ye really expect him to stay?”

They did as O’Neill asked, but they did it separately, she sitting with O’Neill, Rufus, Nell, and Rignor. And Dagmar, whose neckline seemed to have slipped even lower. Gannon sat with his brother and his men, playing dice, their laughter comforting. She memorized the fall of his hair against his cheek, the shadow his long lashes made, his intent expression as he watched. She took a deep breath. Her brother might be missing, there might be madmen beyond the breaking waves, but somehow Gannon made her think that all would be well eventually. She talked with Nell and O’Neill, ignored Rignor’s anger, and faced the close appraisal of Rufus and William Ross. The musicians that Rufus had had brought in for the wedding feast played, and the mood gradually lightened.

Tiernan danced with Nell, laughing as he learned the Scottish dances and laughing again as he taught her his own. Nell glowed with happiness, but Margaret saw the looks Tiernan threw at Dagmar over Nell’s head. And remembered, with a start, that this was her wedding feast. She was a married woman, wed in a very strange ceremony, but wed nonetheless. She stole a glance at the monk, who was drinking heavily and watching the dancing avidly. Perhaps, she thought with a laugh, that was why the man had had to go on a pilgrimage.

The Somerstrath people made their sympathy for her visible; they passed the table where she sat with the men and smiled at her, or nodded, or even stopped for a word, their attentions not unnoticed by Rignor, who spent his time, jaw grimly set, staring at Margaret as though his thoughts were of her. And not happy thoughts. She refused to acknowledge him, but watched him drink steadily, more heavily with every passing hour. How could she have been blind enough to ever think he could be the leader her father had been?

“What of me?” Rignor asked now. “I should come with ye as well, William.”

“I need ye to start the rebuilding at Somerstrath,” William said.

“And what of Gannon?” Rignor demanded. “Is he not to be punished?”

“Punished for kissing yer sister?” O’Neill asked. “In Ireland we encourage our lads to kiss lassies. No, Gannon willna be punished. He’ll come home with me.”