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“I am bought and paid for. What happens next?”
“I continue to visit your bed or you mine until you bear me at least one son—though more would be better. Then you can go back to your family if you’d like.”
Jocelyn clenched her teeth against his words. Never had she felt so inconsequential before. Yes, she’d asked him for candour, but this brutal assessment was more than she’d expected or deserved.
With pain still tightening around her heart and soul, she lashed out.
“Did you make the same offer to your first wife?”
He reached her in the blink of an eye, his hands on either side of her face and his body against hers. His gaze burned into hers and a fury she’d never seen before blazed within his eyes. But it was his voice, almost a whisper, that struck the deepest fear.
“Do not speak on a subject about which you know nothing.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her cheek. “Do not say her name to me or anyone else here. Do not even refer to her in your words.”
He released her and she stumbled. Her legs would not hold her steady and her knees shook. Jocelyn fell before him.
She had dared the Beast and would not live to tell of it.
Praise fo r
Terri Brisbin
‘A welcome new voice in romance…
you won’t want to miss.’
—Bestselling author Susan Wiggs
THE DUMONT BRIDE ‘Rich in its Medieval setting… Terri Brisbin has written an excellent tale that will keep you warm on a winter’s night.’ —Affaire de Coeur
THE NORMAN’S BRIDE ‘…a quick-paced story with engaging characters and a tender love story.’ —Romantic Times BOOKreviews
THE COUNTESS BRIDE ‘Wonderful Wind-up For A Terrific Medieval Trilogy… Terri Brisbin began this wonderful trilogy with THE DUMONT BRIDE, trumped herself with THE NORMAN’S BRIDE and ends it with a bang withTHE COUNTESS BRIDE.’ —The Best Reviews
Terri Brisbin is wife to one, mother of three, and dental hygienist to hundreds when not living the life of a glamorous romance author. She was born, raised and is still living in the southern New Jersey suburbs. Terri’s love of history led her to write time-travel romances and historical romances set in Scotland and England. Readers are invited to visit her website for more information at www.terribrisbin.com, or contact her at PO Box 41, Berlin, NJ 08009-0041, USA.
Recent novels by the same author:
LOVE AT FIRST STEP
(short story in The Christmas Visit) THE DUMONT BRIDE THE NORMAN’S BRIDE THE COUNTESS BRIDE THE EARL’S SECRET
Terri Brisbin
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Prologue
Scotland, 1352
He knew his wife was dead when her body hit the fifth step below him with a sickening thud. Connor MacLerie watched as the awareness and acceptance of her fate was replaced in her eyes by the dull glaze of death. Kenna never screamed as her body fell, and now all he heard was the bone-breaking thump as she landed at the bottom of the tall stairway of stone steps.
She may not have made a sound, but he did—roaring out his fury in a burst that brought family and servants from the great hall. They gathered below him, staring and pointing, already certain of the way things had happened here since undoubtedly some had heard the argument from the beginning. Connor closed his eyes for a moment and then he turned and walked away.
And, in that moment when his wife died, the Beast was born. His reputation spread through the Highlands—his wife’s last words pleading for his pardon and his refusal to attend her burial only added to the tales of his cruelty. Mothers feared for their daughters, fathers wondered about the rumors and maidens from all the neighboring clans prayed nightly that they would never be part of any treaty or bargain that placed them at his questionable mercy.
Less than a year after his first wife’s death, Connor took over the high chair upon his father’s passing, becoming laird of the clan MacLerie. A bride was now a necessity. And so the Beast prowled the Highlands searching for a mate.
Chapter One
Three Years Later
“Is there no other way then?”
She fought not to let the trembling show in her voice. Jocelyn clenched her hands together tightly and pressed her nails into her skin to keep herself from fainting at the news.
“Nay, lass. He specifically asked for you. ’Tis the only way to save yer brother’s life.”
Her father would not meet her gaze now. ’Twas over. The Beast had made his wishes known and since refusal to agree to his demands was impossible for her clan, she would be sacrificed to save another.
“Mayhap, he will fill ye quickly with a son,” her mother whispered from her sickbed. Turning to face her, Jocelyn felt the blood drain from her face as she realized the result of this agreement would give her, body and soul, to a man whose physical desires and cruelty was rumored throughout the Highlands. “If ye give him the son he craves, he may be merciful to ye.”
She fought to maintain some sense of calm, but the soft sobs that followed her mother’s words made it impossible. The tremors shook her and she feared fainting, something she swore she would not do in front of the MacLerie’s emissary. Dragging in a deep breath, she turned back to her father and his councillors.
“You do not need my consent for this, Father, so do as you must.”
Nodding to him and the MacLerie’s man, she drew herself up as straight as she could and walked slowly from the room. The urge to run and hide almost overwhelmed her as her mother’s crying became louder. But, she was the daughter of the MacCallum, and she would not disgrace herself in this, even if he had. A few more steps and she was out of the solar and in the great hall. Looking around, she noticed a few servants at work, cleaning the tables from the noon meal. Jocelyn realized that word of her betrothal would spread quickly once the meeting was ended and she knew that she had to be the one to tell Ewan.
Taking the shorter way through the kitchens, she left the keep and walked to the practice yards. Shading her eyes with her hand, she searched through the various groups of men until she found him.
Ewan MacRae. Her first love.
The man she thought she would marry.
Now, she was faced with the task of telling him they would never be husband and wife. He met her gaze with a smile and a wave as he walked to meet her.
“Good day to you, Jocelyn,” he said, his deep voice so familiar to her.
“Ewan, we must speak,” she said, motioning to him to follow her.
Ewan climbed over the fence and walked silently at her side until they were away from the training yards. She turned to face him now with the news that would change both of their lives. Her throat and eyes burned with tears that threatened to spill, but she gathered her control and looked at him.
“Jocelyn. What is it? Your face has lost all its color and you are shaking.” He took her by the shoulders and pulled her close. Improper as it now was, she stayed in his embrace, savoring the warmth and protection and affection that she knew she would never feel again. After a few moments, she stepped out of his arms and faced him, her face now wet with the tears she’d fought to keep inside.
“My father has betrothed me to someone else, Ewan. We cannot be together as I’d hoped. I’m to marry the… Connor MacLerie.”
“The Beast?” he asked in a whispered voice full of dread.
She could only nod as she was filled with even more foreboding. The MacLerie’s reputation was known throughout the Highlands and although she wished that it was simply silly women’s gossip, that hope could not lessen her fear.
“Your father has agreed to this?” Disbelief was clear in his expression.
If she had not been in the room earlier, she would not have believed it either. There had been no formal agreement between her and Ewan about their future together, but they had grown closer and closer during his time fostering here and Jocelyn knew he planned to offer for her as soon as he visited his parents in the spring.
“He has. I’m to accompany the MacLerie’s men back and the wedding will take place when I arrive there.” She said the words, but they did not feel real to her.
“You will be married there? Without even your family around you? The man truly is a beast!”
“Of all the titles he carries, the MacLerie has no liking for that particular one.”
Jocelyn whirled around to find the MacLerie’s emissary standing behind them. How much he had seen and heard, she did not know. She watched as Ewan’s expression turned to stone and he stepped in front of her in a protective motion. Crossing his arms over his chest, he faced the stranger.
“Who are you?” he asked in a challenging voice. “What right do you have to speak for the MacLerie?”
“I am Duncan MacLerie,” he answered, sliding his hand down to rest on the sword hanging at his side. “I am his man and represent his interests in this matter.”
“This matter? You mean his betrothal to Jocelyn?”
“Aye. I carry out his wishes in this matter.” Duncan’s voice was low and even, but she knew by his stance that he did not take this challenge easily.
“She is not ‘a matter’,” Ewan said. “Jocelyn is…”
“The MacLerie’s betrothed and none of your concern from this time forward.”
Jocelyn gasped at the cold announcement and started to step around Ewan when Duncan spoke again, directing his words once more to Ewan.
“Unless there have been promises made between you before witnesses?”
Ewan turned his head and spit in the dirt. Without looking at her, he answered for them.
“Nay.”
“Unless she carries your bairn?” Duncan pointed at her as he said the words. The insult to her honor and Ewan’s was a shocking one. So much so that she pushed around Ewan and slapped the MacLerie’s man on his face as hard as she could.
“How do you dare insult my honor?” She stood before him with her hands on her hips.
“I will not bring back a bride to my laird who carries the seed of another within her.”
“Oh, we all ken that your laird wishes to plant the seed himself.”
As soon as the words escaped, she wished she had not said them. Duncan’s face darkened in rage, his gaze burning into her as he stepped forward.
“Aye, my lady,” he said through clenched teeth. “We all ken his feelings on that.” Looking from one to the other, he continued, “Make your farewells for we leave in two hours, whether you be ready or not.”
She watched in surprise as the MacLerie’s man turned and strode away, fury evident in his every step. This was not how she wanted to begin her life as the MacLerie’s wife. Insulting him to his own retainer was a bad move, one that he would surely be informed of upon their arrival in Lairig Dubh.
“I will speak to your father, Jocelyn. I fear for you in this marriage,” Ewan said softly, still standing behind her as they watched Duncan walk away and take up a position near the training yards.
“Nay, you cannot, Ewan.” She turned to face him for the last time. Remembering her brother’s dangerous status, she knew there was only one path she could take. “There is more to this, I fear, than either of us ken.”
“So I am supposed to stand here and simply wish you well as the MacLerie’s wife?”
Tears clogged her throat once more as she nodded. “Please?” she asked.
He took her hands in his and drew her closer in spite of the obvious scrutiny of the man across the yard. Gently, he smoothed her loosened hairs out of her face and touched her cheek.
“I wish you a long and happy life, Jocelyn. And if it must be with him, then may God go with you. I pray that he will not crush the spirit in your heart and soul.”
Ewan kissed her on the forehead and stepped back. His comment about her spirit was meant to lighten her, for her temper was well-known among her family. Then he walked away without another word. Her tears flowed freely now as she watched the man she thought she would marry walk away forever. She wiped her cheeks and took a deep breath. She did not have the luxury of grieving for what might have been between them. There were many things to be done if, as Duncan had told her, they would leave in two hours. Turning her thoughts to packing and preparing for her journey instead of the misery she felt tearing at her inside, she walked back to the keep.
Although she knew she should apologize to Duncan for her insult to his laird, a spark of pride would not let her do so as she passed him. Instead, she met his gaze and glared at him. All he offered was a nod in return. Puzzled over his meaning, she entered the keep to begin her work.
Duncan fought to keep a smile from his face as Jocelyn walked past him. He felt some measure of sympathy for the lass, one minute believing she would marry one man and the next finding out she would leave home and hearth to marry another. Although it was to be expected of a laird’s daughter, he had no doubt that this could have been handled in a better way.
Turning, he leaned against the fence and watched her enter the keep. She had gumption—his face still stung from her well-delivered slap. And other than that blow, even in the face of her mother’s pitiful sobbing, she’d kept her control intact before him. And her mother’s ranting made him nearly cancel the arrangements. Connor would have his balls if he did that, but the terror in her mother’s voice did give him a moment’s pause. Jocelyn slammed the door behind her as she entered and Duncan finally gave in to the smile that had threatened.
She would do. Neither fair of face nor a terrified twit were Connor’s instructions to him. He shook his head at such an order. The “not fair of face” was easy enough to determine, but how did one ascertain whether a lass was a terrified twit when they all trembled at the mere mention of his laird’s name?
Connor MacLerie, the Beast.
Duncan kicked the dirt at his feet in disgust. Even though he knew most did not speak freely before him, he could not believe the extent to which this frightful name and reputation had spread through their allies and enemies. He could have fought the rumors…if he knew the truth of Kenna’s death. But he had not been in the keep during that terrible night. All he knew were the tales told afterward, for the laird who was also his friend never again mentioned Kenna’s name after her death.
His thoughts were interrupted by the approach of the man who Jocelyn had run to at the news of her betrothal. Ewan MacRae, son of Dougal. The MacCallum told him that no agreements had been made to marry Jocelyn and this man, but their mutual affection and their understanding of a joint future had been clear to him when he watched them. Duncan stepped back from the fence and faced the man.
“Will you tell your laird of what you saw?”
“Do you mean that his betrothed ran to you at the first chance?” Duncan slid his hand down once more to rest on the sword at his side.
Ewan broke free of his gaze and looked off in the distance before answering. “She is loyal to a fault. She wanted me to hear the news from her own mouth and not from another’s.”
“Loyalty is an admirable trait,” Duncan said, not answering Ewan’s question.
“Aye, ’tis that,” he replied. He turned back to face Duncan and continued, “I would not want to see her punished or mistreated because of that loyalty.”
“And, you think the MacLerie would do that?” Duncan moved a step closer to him.
“I have heard the same tales as you. If I cannot be with her, I only want to ken that she is safe.”
Duncan nodded and took a step back. “My laird will simply ask if the arrangements have been made. He will not care who she spoke to on her leaving.”
He watched the younger man accept his words and nod to him. This Ewan did not have any choice in this and Duncan respected his attempt to protect Jocelyn. Here was another life inexorably changed by the events that caused his laird to become the Beast. He turned and walked to where his men stood waiting for his orders. How many others, he wondered, would be caught up in the fear before the truth was known? Shaking his head at the entire situation, he called out to his men to prepare to leave for home.
Chapter Two
The winds whipped his hair and clothes as he stood waiting on the parapets. Shielding his eyes with his hand, Connor searched off in the distance once more and did not find what he sought. They were late. Duncan’s message said they would arrive by midday and ’twas well past that time already.
Striding to a different location on the highest tower of Broch Dubh Keep, the MacLerie peered towards the horizon again as fear nagged at his mind. Duncan would keep her safe on the journey here—his man for years, his cousin knew and carried out his duties with a dedication unmatched by any other in the clan MacLerie. Late or not, she would be safe with Duncan. Startled by the sound of a clearing throat, Connor turned to face another of his men.
“What is it, Eachann?”
“Do you wish me to send out more men to search for them?”
Connor followed the path of the road leading away from the village of Lairig Dubh once more and then shook his head.
“Nay. Duncan has his orders. He would not fail me in this.”
Eachann nodded in agreement and stepped away, not bothering him with more words or questions. Standing at his side in silence, the captain of his guard crossed his arms over his chest and awaited further orders. With a nod of his head, Connor positioned himself near the stone wall to watch and wait.
He cursed his own foolishness under his breath. He was always one to take advantage of an opportunity presented, but demanding the young MacCallum’s sister in marriage in exchange for sparing his life was not an opportunity. It was a disaster.
After spending so much time and effort cultivating the horrible rumors and stories that kept him safe from marriage’s grasp, his father’s death now necessitated it. Unfortunately, with the Beast’s cruel ways whispered widely, no one, ally or enemy, would offer their daughter to him. In spite of his personal and clan wealth, his title and the wide expanse of the Highlands that the MacLeries claimed as their own, a bride was not in the offing.
Shifting his weight, he leaned over the edge to watch his warriors train in the yard below. He would like nothing more than to continue to train with his men and have them ready for battle at a moment’s notice. The MacLeries boasted of well over five hundred warriors of their own and when combined with the numbers of their allies, their fighting force was unmatched in the Highlands. But one of his duties as laird was providing an heir to follow him.
Although he had several cousins and uncles who would lead the clan well, the elders favored more and more following the Sassenach custom of primogeniture. And so, he was under a great deal of pressure to find a suitable wife and get an heir.
A call from one the guards alerted him of someone’s approach and he looked at the road leading to the castle. A small group on horseback left the cover of the forest and approached the main gate. Squinting into the setting sun’s rays, he tried to make out Duncan’s form in the group. Unable to identify him from this distance, he trotted to the steps that would take him to the ground floor of the keep. Never slowing his steps, he made his way through the great hall and out into the yard just as the group was cleared for entry.
Realizing that his hurried pace could be misinterpreted by those watching him, he slowed and walked out to greet his friend…and his betrothed. As they rode closer, boys from the stables stood ready to take their mounts. A crowd gathered around waiting to get a look at their new lady. The interested murmuring turned to snickers and guffaws as a woman was revealed to them.
Duncan reached up and assisted her from her mount and Connor found himself leaning forward to get a better view and to see if his orders had been followed. A plain bride, one who was not a mindless twit, was what he had asked for. Duncan was not to sign the documents on his behalf and with his seal unless she met those conditions.
It was difficult, nay impossible, to determine her appearance since she was covered from head to foot in a thick layer of mud. Not even her hair color could be seen through it. He was tempted to join in the merriment until he remembered that this woman was to be his bride. Then he realized that Duncan was also covered in the same muck. An explanation was required. Now.
“Duncan?” he called out above the noise of the crowd. As he expected, everyone quieted and waited for his reaction to the sight and the woman before him.
“Aye, laird,” Duncan answered, guiding the woman to the bottom of the steps before meeting his gaze.
“Do you have the betrothal agreement?”
Duncan reached inside his sodden leather jacket and pulled out a packet of parchment. Holding it out to him in a way not to soil it, Connor was certain he saw a hint of a smile on his friend’s face. He took the packet, peeled it open and looked over the words inside. Content that they were exactly as he’d ordered, he nodded to Duncan.
“Welcome…” he looked to the parchments once more for his bride’s first name. “Welcome, Jocelyn MacCallum, to the clan MacLerie. Clean yourself up for the priest waits for us in the chapel.”
He noticed Duncan’s glare and then the one his betrothed gave him. She knew the arrangements were for an immediate ceremony. Her brother would not be released until her vows were said and consummated, although that act felt much less attractive now as she stood before him dripping odious globs of mud at his feet. His clan stood around them watching every movement, hearing every word.
“I would see my brother before we wed, my lord.” Her voice was clear and indignant. She did not want to offer herself to him for naught.