Authors: Victoria Roberts
She wandered the halls and ended up in front of MacGregor’s chamber. Perhaps if they could have a few words before the ceremony, she could alleviate some of the tension between them. She knocked on his door and waited. When no one answered, she pushed open the door.
A single candle lit the room. MacGregor’s tartan of red and green was thrown carelessly upon the bed, and his bow leaned in the corner. She had started to back out of the room when a thought struck her. She grabbed the tartan from the bed and closed the door.
Robert greeted her on the steps of the cathedral. “MacGregor is already within,” he said, escorting her in by the elbow. “You look lovely.”
Her only response was a wicked glare.
Rows of pews lined the floor. The cathedral ceilings depicted Christ held by archangels. Several statues of the Holy Mother were displayed alongside the pilasters. It was all rather beautiful and grand. A lone figure stood at the altar—MacGregor. He did not bother to turn around upon her approach.
Liadain stepped up beside him. There were no flowers, no rings, no songs of praise and glory, and besides the priest before them, only Robert was in attendance. This was not how she had imagined her wedding day. Although she did not have a clan pin to attach to MacGregor’s tartan, she had hoped that wrapping it around her shoulders would show a strong gesture of peace for the beginning of their marriage.
But MacGregor had yet to even turn her way. He remained as still as a statue. He did not bother to cast a single glance at her—even when he spoke his vows. She had to make a truce. She gently touched his arm. Nervously, she moistened her dry lips. He raised his eyebrow questioningly, looked down, and then his expression darkened.
***
The healer gazed upon him with her head held high, proudly displaying
his
plaid—the MacGregor tartan. Declan was breathless with rage. A damn Campbell wore his clan colors. This woman asked too much of him and was clearly daft. Well, she was a bloody Campbell. What else did he expect? Not only was he forced to take the chit to wife, but now she expected him to accept her willingly in the clan. She was clearly mistaken.
Her speech to King James continued to hound him. Declan was not thrilled at the prospect of marriage either, but the healer’s words stung. How kind of her to remind him that he was insignificant and would never amount to anything. In truth, he did not want to wed at all. Women already flocked to him in droves. Besides, having Ciaran and Aiden constantly reprimand him was bad enough. The last thing he needed was a nagging female added to the mix.
He assumed the healer spoke her vows because all he heard was the priest announcing they were man and wife. His eyes came up and he studied her face. Tears swam in her eyes. He was glad to see she was just as tortured as he was. He must be such a disappointment to Lady Liadain Campbell, being only a third son and all.
“Pack your bags. We leave on the morrow,” Declan said, his voice emotionless.
He kissed the lass quickly on the cheek and left her standing alone at the altar. He stormed down the aisle, his fate sealed. Cranborne called his name, but he didn’t acknowledge the arse. Viscount or not, the man could go straight to hell for all he was concerned.
As he thundered through the halls of court, Declan realized he would not miss a damn thing about this cursed place. Everyone could take their pretenses and their politics and shove them up their bloody arses.
Finally reaching his chamber, he whipped open the door and banged it shut. Approaching his sack, he grabbed his brother’s ale and pulled it out. Enough of this watery piss these English let pass for ale. He required a man’s drink, now more than ever. He took a long, hard drink, the fiery liquid burning his throat. He reveled in the numbness it brought. He would stay this way until it was time to take his leave on the morrow or he would simply pass out—either way, he cared not.
***
Liadain tossed and turned well into the night. MacGregor had avoided her for the remainder of the day, and he’d practically spit in her face for attempting to make peace between them.
She understood his hostility, but on the other hand, the man had to discern that she had no choice or voice in the matter. The fact that he would blame her for this marriage was ridiculous. Surely, he could see that—well, eventually she hoped that he would.
As she lay abed watching the shadows of her candle dance on the ceiling, she resigned herself to the fact that her new husband would not be coming to her bed. So why was she even agonizing over it? She threw off the blankets and wandered around the room aimlessly.
Living most of her existence with Archie, unnoticed and alone, had been difficult, but how cruel it was to have the second part of her life beginning very much the same. She and MacGregor had to find a way to reach a compromise. She refused to have it any other way.
She threw on her cloak over her nightrail and walked quietly into the hall, gently closing the door behind her. The rogue had had all day to come to his senses, and enough was enough.
Her knock on MacGregor’s door seemed much louder this late in the eve. When no one answered, an unpleasant thought came to mind. What if her new husband had taken his leave without her? She had almost given up when the latch lifted from the inside. She pushed open the door and walked in.
Liadain jumped as the door made a banging sound behind her and she was embraced by darkness. Turning around blindly, she fumbled for the latch on the door. Something cold and sharp poked her throat.
“Donna move lest I spill your blood,” slurred MacGregor, his breath reeking of ale.
“’Tis me.” She froze in place and the blade remained at her throat for a moment too long. When MacGregor moved, she felt a sharp pain and gasped.
He lit a candle as she raised her hand to her throat. A small stain of blood brushed her fingers. When she cast him a quick glance and he did not notice, she thought it was in her best interest not to mention that he had cut her.
He stumbled into a chair and grabbed what she presumed to be ale. He gulped a healthy amount, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression one of disgust.
“Is this what I can expect of ye? Roaming the halls late in the eve and sneaking into a man’s chamber?” he asked with heavy sarcasm.
She straightened her spine. “I wasnae sneaking into any man’s chamber. I came to speak with my husband.”
His eyes blazed with sudden anger, and a cold, congested expression settled upon his face. “What the hell do ye want?”
“Please donna speak to me that way.” She approached the bed and sat down hesitantly on the edge.
He smirked and took another drink of ale. “What do ye want,
healer
?”
“My apologies that—”
“Ye shackled me?” he slurred.
Her fingers tensed in her lap and she fought to maintain from throttling him. “MacGregor, I cannae change King James’s command.”
“King James’s command? Donna ye mean to say your past lover’s
recommendation?
”
She was glad the semi-darkness hid the flush on her cheeks. “’Tis done. I cannae change the past. I thought mayhap we could start anew.”
“I donna want to start anything.”
“MacGregor, please see reason.”
“See reason?” he bellowed, throwing his hand up in the air.
She began to think this was not one of her best ideas. He was clearly in his cups, so there was no discussing this intelligently with him. She jumped to her feet. “My apologies. I thought we could speak. I was wrong. I will be retiring to my chamber.”
“Why did ye even come here?” he snarled.
She paused. “In truth? When ye did not come this eve, I thought to make amend—”
He threw back his head and laughed, hoarsely and bitterly. “Ye actually think that I would come to your bed, healer?”
A war of emotions raged within her. “’Tisnae what I meant.”
“I donna need to take ye on your wedding night…” Pausing, MacGregor took another drink of ale and then his mouth twisted into a cynical smile. “Ye have already been taken.”
There. That ought to do it. Another nagging female removed from his presence.
Women
. They were good for one thing at best, and as long as they kept their mouths shut, he cared not.
Declan took another gulp of ale and stared blankly at the closed door. Knowing the lass was not to blame for her brother’s treachery did not lighten his mood. Nor did it change the fact that she was the woman who had forced him to the altar—a Campbell by blood—well, a half-Campbell. Frankly, it did not matter. A Campbell was a Campbell.
The ale had begun to make his senses spin. He knew he had better seek his bed and gain a few hours’ sleep before he traveled to Glenorchy—
home
. He pulled himself to his feet and swayed. Pausing to steady his body before he keeled over, he staggered over to the bed and collapsed. He swore he had just fallen into blissful splendor when he dreamed that a pesky voice was calling to him.
“MacGregor!”
Declan felt a firm push on his shoulder, the realization washing over him that he was no longer slumbering. He moaned into the pillow. “What the hell? Cannae ye see I sleep?”
“MacGregor, I need a word,” the irksome voice reiterated.
“God’s teeth, Cranborne, ye cannae leave a man in peace. I married the wench. What else do ye want from me?” When Declan made no attempt to move, Cranborne gave him another hard shove. “All right! Cease your prodding!”
Declan rolled over reluctantly and then sat up, running his hand through his hair. “Ye have my attention. What the hell do ye want now?”
Cranborne stood over him with his hands on his hips, a probing look coming into his eyes. “Liadain’s care of Elizabeth has fallen back upon my ears and more question me of witchcraft. Are you still planning on taking your leave this morn?”
Concern for the healer’s safety was like a splash of cold water in Declan’s face. “Aye.” He rubbed his hands over his eyes.
Cranborne walked across the room and sat down in the chair. “I know this was not what you wanted.”
“Ye think?”
“Liadain was not at fault. She should not be held responsible for Archie’s actions, nor should she be blamed for your union. Archie and I were acquainted for years. I knew he was determined to make a position for himself within the realm. What I did not know about were the unconscionable attempts he would make to achieve such status.
A certain amount of tension remained in Cranborne’s voice. “After Liadain’s mother died, she lived with her father and Archie, neither one of them caring for her welfare. She resided there unseen and overlooked. I didn’t even know Archie had a sister. When I met her, she was so young and beautiful. It was hard for me to believe something so angelic could be a part of Archie’s blood.”
Declan shook his head. “Aye, so angelic that she would be forgotten. Ye deflowered her and promised her marriage, only ne’er to return.”
“I have no excuse for my behavior. I speak the truth when I say that traveling to Spain changed me. It forced me to mature—quickly. I truly had every intent to come back to Liadain…and then I met Elizabeth. What can I tell you? The clouds parted, the sun came out, and I just knew we were destined for each another. I loved her from the moment our eyes met.”
“Ye pledged your troth to Liadain.”
“And for that, I am regretful. I should have written and explained myself. If I could change the past, I would, but I would never change the time spent with my wife. I love her and our son,” Cranborne said solemnly.
“All this love for one woman?”
A soft rumble escaped Cranborne. “MacGregor, you surely have much to learn and obviously have never found love for yourself.” A glazed expression came over his face. “When Elizabeth is near, the very air itself is calm and serene. The woman simply makes me joyful to be alive, and I’d do anything to protect her…Hell, I’d give my life for her.” He looked back at Declan. “I cannot change your path and I merely look after Liadain’s welfare. I need to make certain she is safe.”
Declan raised his brow. “
Safe?
Shouldnae ye have thought of that before ye wed her off to me?”
“Whether you choose to deny it or not, I see the way you gaze upon her.”
“I gaze at all women that way,” Declan said dryly.
“I’ve watched you. I’ve seen you with Liadain—you care for her. You even remained at court to protect her. Once you resign yourself to the fact that she is indeed your wife, perhaps you will be able to see things differently. I understand that you were distraught after your vows, but you cannot treat her poorly.”
“God’s teeth, Cranborne, will ye speak your mind already?”
“I entrust her into your care…I need your word that you will not lay a hand on her. I know she is sometimes difficult and speaks her mind—”
Declan laughed as if sincerely amused. “On that, we are in agreement. I will not lay a single hand on her. Ye have my word.”
Cranborne stood. “His Majesty would never have awarded Castle Campbell without Liadain’s hand. I hope you both find…My apologies that this was not what either of you wanted, but you have my thanks for seeing to Liadain.”
The man was gone before Declan could think of another cold retort. Cranborne was truly daft—as if Declan would ever strike a woman. His mother would have castrated him. Cranborne need not worry. Touching the healer was the last idea that came to mind. He needed to take a piss. Where was the damn chamber pot?
***
Liadain rose early, assuming MacGregor would want to take his leave immediately. She was exhausted, hollow, and lifeless. Moving around her chamber in a sleepless daze, she gathered her belongings, piling them upon the bed.
Her mind drifted back to the last words her husband had spoken to her. He was a vile beast. Granted, she had been a fool to believe that Robert loved her and would come back for her. She would even concede that she willingly gave herself to him under the promise of marriage. But…MacGregor had no right to condemn her for one mistake. It was not as if she had shared her bed with hundreds. The more she pondered that, the more it fired her blood. The rogue had bedded countless women yet chose to pass judgment upon her.
There was no sense biding her time in her chamber. Before she took her leave, she wanted to peek in on Elizabeth and her bairn to see how they fared. She walked through the halls of the court for the last time, casting demure smiles in greeting as she passed a few men and women. Thankfully, it was still too early in the morn and not many wandered about.
Liadain reached Elizabeth’s door and knocked. When a maid answered, Liadain lowered her voice. “My apologies. I know ’tis too early to pay—”
“Ann, let her in. Liadain, come,” said Elizabeth. Still in her nightrail, Elizabeth sat in a chair near the window, holding her bairn. She let out a long sigh of contentment and smiled. “I never tire of him.”
Liadain placed her hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder and glanced down at her son and smiled. “Nor should ye. He is such a beautiful bairn.”
“Robert and I decided on a name. His name is William…after my father,” Elizabeth said proudly.
“William. ’Tis a verra strong name for such a handsome laddie.”
She sat down and watched Elizabeth cradling her child. An overwhelming feeling gnawed at her gut. How gratifying it must be to have a husband who loved you and wanted you, and a son who simply adored you.
“I will be taking my leave and I wanted to see how ye both fared,” said Liadain.
A momentary look of discomfort crossed Elizabeth’s features, and she cast her eyes to her bairn. “Robert spoke to me of your marriage.”
Liadain looked away. “Aye.”
“You are a beautiful woman and MacGregor is a handsome—well, he is very beautiful also.” Elizabeth giggled. “Even if you do not have a love match now, perhaps it will grow into one in time.”
“Elizabeth, with respect, I donna really want to speak upon it.”
“I only wish that one day you will find what Robert and I share.”
Liadain stirred uncomfortably in the chair. She wanted to see to Elizabeth’s well-being but did not seek counsel—especially from the wife of the man with whom she had shared a bed. Unfortunately, Elizabeth did not take her declaration seriously and continued.
“When Robert and I met, I knew we would wed. We loved each other from the first time our eyes…” Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I do not think it possible to love him any more than I do. I know you don’t want to speak of it, but have faith that everything will be all right. In time, you will grow to care for one another if you just give it a chance. Perhaps you will even be lucky enough to find that MacGregor is much the same as my Robert.”
God help her. Why must she be tortured? If Elizabeth did not cease her commentary, Liadain was going to lose her contents. The gods must surely be laughing at her expense. As if wedding the husband spawned from the devil was not bad enough, now she was forced to listen as Elizabeth chatted about Robert’s fine qualities.
Robert
.
The same Robert who had offered Liadain promises of marriage. The beastly man who had deserted her, ruined her, and ultimately sealed her fate by bonding her to a Highland rogue who bedded any female who glanced his way.
The thought crossed her mind to open her mouth and enlighten Elizabeth as to Robert’s true character—or lack thereof, but Liadain knew she was better than that. That was her father’s foul blood rising up. And she refused to follow in her sire’s or her brother’s footsteps.
When Elizabeth cleared her throat, Liadain realized her attention had been elsewhere. “Thank ye for your kind words.” Rising from the chair, she took a final glance at William. “It has been my pleasure to know ye, and I wish ye and William well. Good health to ye both,” she said as she smiled tenderly.
“Thank you for all you have done. I owe you much,” said Elizabeth. “Have safe travels.”
***
Declan secured his bags to his mount, anxious to take his leave. The stables were quiet that early in the morn with only a few men mounting up for an early ride. He hoped the healer had managed to gain a few hours’ sleep since he anticipated riding well into the night.
They needed to make haste. With the threat of witchcraft looming over the healer’s head, he would not leave anything to chance. Besides, not only was he eager to divulge his winnings to his brother—well, his winning of the castle, not his bride—but Ciaran needed to be warned about Dunnehl and Rosalia’s mother. Declan would not underestimate the English cur’s cunning. Ciaran and Aiden would know what to do. They always did.
“I heard you were escaping the confines of court.” Catesby made his way over to Declan’s mount with Percy in tow. “I’m envious.”
“Aye, ’tis true,” said Declan, adjusting the leather straps on his satchel.
“With a new lady wife as well,” interjected Percy, patting his horse on the rump and lifting his brow to Declan.
When he didn’t answer, Catesby leaned in closed and lowered his voice. “You won Castle Campbell fairly. The king had no right to force your hand and shackle you to Argyll’s sister.”
Declan smirked. “He has every right. He is our liege.”
“Be that as it may…he deliberately deceived you. I certainly hope you gave him a piece of your mind. You must be furious.”
“’Tis of nay consequence. What is done is done.”
“You know, MacGregor, there are some who believe His Majesty should be removed from the throne.” Catesby and Percy studied him intently, waiting for his response. Something behind their eyes cautioned him to tread carefully.
Declan masked his expression and softened his voice. “And saying as much will cost ye your head.”
“Only if such words fall back upon His Majesty’s ears. I do not believe I am mistaken when I say that you look like a man who would keep such confidences to himself.” Catesby lifted a brow.
This was the second time they had brought up this subject. “As long as it doesnae involve me, I donna care. Unless, of course, ye are planning on taking action and devising a plot to remove the king from the throne yourself.” He mirrored their expressions.
Percy coughed nervously and Catesby lowered his eyes. “Of course not, my dear boy. That would be completely outrageous. Percy and I just heard of your marriage and wanted to wish you safe travel.”
“Thank ye.”
“Ah, here comes your beloved now,” said Percy dryly. Upon the healer’s approach, Catesby and Percy ambled away. The two of them were up to something, and Declan was relieved that he did not have to remain at court to find out what they were conjuring. The less he knew, the better.
The healer hobbled toward him with a large sack that he could immediately see was too heavy for her to carry. But when he reached out to take her bundle, she pulled away.
“I am perfectly able to manage myself, thank ye.” The stubborn lass stepped around him and approached her mount. Readjusting her grip, she hefted the sack unsuccessfully and it fell to the ground with a heavy thump. She cursed and her horse shied.
“Move away before ye hurt yourself.” He did not give the healer a chance to respond before he tossed her bundle on top of her mount, tying off the leather straps. When he glanced down, she pulled her gaze away from him. “Are ye ready to ride?” he asked.
She simply nodded. When her eyes met his, he noticed a colored mark upon her skin. An angry, red line splayed across her ivory neck. Reaching out, Declan gently rubbed the injury and he did not miss her shiver under his touch.
When he pulled his fingers back, they were dry and free of blood. “When did ye cut yourself?” he asked.
“Mmm…let me think,” she said, tapping her finger upon her chin. “That would have been the second time ye placed your dagger at my throat. Rest assured, there willnae be a third.” There was defiance in her tone as well as a subtle challenge. Tossing her tresses across her shoulders, she boldly met his eyes.
He was too stunned to offer a response. When had he cut her?
“I donna—”
The healer’s shoulder bumped against his chest as she grabbed the reins to her mount. She led her horse over to the mounting block, then climbed upon her horse’s back.