﻿“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

TAMING THE HIGHLANDER

Terri Brisbin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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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.

“He is well. Now, wash up and make haste.” Now that he had made the decision to wed and found the suitable bride, he was tired of waiting. The long day in the freezing wind above the keep did nothing to soothe his mood. And now she questioned him?

She took a step closer, bringing all the odors with her. “I would see him now, my lord.”

His people gasped at her insolence. She questioned his word before them. She must have realized her mistake for she seemed startled and blinked several times as she looked at those around her. Her gaze moved back to his and she was bold enough to meet it directly.

“Disrespect seems to run within the clan MacCallum, I see. You would question my word?”

“Aye, my lord. I would see my brother before any vows are taken.”

He took in a breath, ready to lash out at her for her challenge to his honor and his orders, but Duncan’s expression warned him off. Putting her in her place, as appealing as that might be at this moment, was not the way to begin her life here in the clan. Connor knew there would be plenty of time and opportunity to correct her ways once she was completely his. He motioned to one of his men and whispered an order to him. Stepping back, he crossed his arms over his chest and waited, giving her the full weight of his gaze during the time it took to fetch her brother from the dungeon.

He took advantage of the waiting to make a more thorough examination of his soon-to-be wife. Connor tried to see beneath the layer of mud, but could determine nothing other than the color of her eyes. They were green.

Kenna’s had been green.

He felt the bile surge in his stomach as it nearly reached his mouth and fought to control it. Another wave of nausea flowed through him and he almost lost the meal he’d eaten that afternoon. He had not thought of Kenna in a long time and wondered why it was now that she invaded his mind and his memories. Probably the upcoming marriage had stirred things better left alone.

He brought his thoughts back to the woman who stood before him and realized that she was staring at him with the same intensity of his own gaze. Had his discomfort been apparent to all? He shifted his stance and turned towards the door of the keep. Two of his soldiers stood there, each one grasping one arm of Athdar MacCallum. The young man, his left arm in a sling and bruises covering his face, looked dazed and confused as the men held him in place there.

Connor heard Jocelyn’s gasp and caught her arm as she tried to run past him to her brother. She struggled against him, but she was no match for his strength or determination in this.

“I must go to him. He is hurt,” she said as she tried to pull free.

“You said you wished to see him and you have. Now, you will fulfill your part of the bargain,” he whispered through clenched teeth so that only she could hear.

“Fine, my lord. Let us marry now so that I may see to my brother’s injuries.”

Connor yanked her back to her place before him. “You were told the provisions of the agreement, were you not?” He looked to Duncan for confirmation of that fact. At Duncan’s nod, he continued, “Once you are wedded and bedded and the agreement fulfilled, the boy will be released.”

He couldn’t be certain, but he thought she blushed under the filth. Duncan coughed and choked at his words and the others around stood with their mouths gaping at this news. So much for discretion.

“Then, my lord, let us find the priest and have done with it.”

“You should wash and change before…”

“I can take my vows dirty or clean, my lord. I would prefer to do it as quickly as possible.”

She was insufferable! Standing before him and his clan, she was the obvious loser in this agreement, and yet, one would not be able to tell it from her stance, her words or the demanding tone of voice she used to him. Well, he was not one to back down from a challenge, especially one from a woman who should learn her place as quickly as possible.

“Duncan, fetch the priest to us.”

“But, Connor,” Duncan stepped forward, already arguing.

“You heard the lady. She wishes to take her vows now. I would accommodate her in this. Get him now, Duncan.”

Duncan had been his friend for too long not to recognize the fury that even he could hear in his own voice. The lady under discussion knew him not, but must have realized her mistake for she took a step back away from him. He held her fast, not allowing her to escape the fate that she had hastened. Turning to his men on the steps, he ordered her brother returned to his place in the dungeon. When she would have contested his orders, he squeezed her arm tightly, drawing her attention.

“Not only his life, but also his comfort depends on your behavior, my lady. Think you well on it before the words spill from your mouth.”

He watched as she started to speak and then stopped, clamping her lips shut. She used her free hand to move the long tangled mass of her hair out of her face and over her shoulder. Globs of mud and muck dripped onto her already-sodden cloak.

And they waited in a silence that grew even more uncomfortable as the minutes passed until finally a stirring among the crowd opened a path for Duncan and the priest. The priest walked to him and bowed.

“My lord, this is very unusual.”

“Aye, Father, ’tis that.”

“Should we not allow the lady to prepare for the ceremony and hold it on the morrow?”

“Nay. My betrothed has requested, nay demanded, that we speak our vows now. If you will be good enough to hear them and say the words?”

He knew Father Micheil was confused by his actions, but he also knew he would do whatever Connor wanted him to. So, a few minutes later, he found himself married once again. And if he felt overwhelmed by it, he could only imagine what his bride felt. The tremors he felt in her arm and her chattering teeth told him that she was not reacting well to the honor of being his wife.

“Ailsa,” he called out to one of the women who served him. “Take the lady to her chambers and see to her.”

He relinquished his hold and watched as Jocelyn wordlessly followed Ailsa into the keep. Turning to Duncan, he motioned him to his side. Connor waited until the crowd had dispersed and the activities in the yard resumed their natural noises and pace.

“Come inside and explain why you and my bride are covered in the same mud.”

It was only by sheer determination that Jocelyn was able to remain standing throughout the wedding and to follow the woman through the keep and up several flights of stairs in the far tower. Every step was a challenge. Every moment brought pain to her. She knew if she faltered or hesitated she would collapse in a heap on the floor. So, she focused on the hem of the woman leading her to her chamber and prayed it would not be long in coming.

After witnessing the extent of the disregard of her newly acquired husband, she was not certain what she should expect at the top of the stairs. Ailsa opened the door to a chamber and waited for her to enter first. Dragging her sopping garments across the threshold, Jocelyn was stopped by the sight of the comforts before her.

The room was a large one, facing east, with several windows of glass. A large hearth filled one part of one wall and an alcove set below the larger of the windows. Cushions made the wooden bench look very appealing. Even more appealing to her was the huge bed in the far corner. Hesitant to dirty the fresh rushes with the filth she carried, she looked to Ailsa for guidance.

“Here now, lady,” Ailsa said as she approached. “Let me help ye out of those clothes.” Jocelyn had neither the desire nor the strength to resist the woman’s efforts. “I have called for hot water for a bath for ye.”

Jocelyn fought back the tears that had threatened ever since she discovered her fate was in the hands of the MacLerie. She blamed it on her exhaustion and her fear for her brother’s safety and well-being. She stood and allowed Ailsa to peel the soggy layers of gown and chemise and plaid from her shaking body. When the noise outside the chamber signaled the arrival of the promised bath, Ailsa guided her behind a screen and continued to undress her, removing the mud that had found its way inside her garments. After a few more minutes, Jocelyn found herself sinking into the overly large tub of steaming scented water.

She later remembered Ailsa lathering her hair with a pungent soap and rinsing it at least twice and helping her to wash the rest of herself. Then Jocelyn remembered being wrapped in heavy towels and sitting on the bed as a tray of food was delivered. And that was the last thing she knew until the rays of the rising sun flooded her room and roused her from a deep sleep.

Panic filled her as she realized in an instant that she had not fulfilled the second part of the bargain. For unless bedding was an incredibly overrated experience and could be done on someone sound asleep, she doubted her husband had exercised his marital rights during the night.

Climbing from the center of the bed and still wrapped in the towels from her bath, she searched through the trunks lining one wall for anything she could wear. Jocelyn did not know where her own small bundle was and she could find nothing suitable for her. A sense of dread engulfed her as she realized that without the consummation of their vows, Connor could still seek retribution on her brother. Unable to locate anything but bed linens in the chest, she slammed down the lid and shook her head. She was a prisoner until one of the servants came to her. Grabbing a brush from the table next to the bed, she pulled it through her hair and braided it quickly.

Her activities must have alerted the servants that she was awake for soon a knock came on the door of the chamber and a young girl entered with a bucket of steaming water. After curtsying, the girl poured an amount of it into the basin by her bedside and sat the bucket near the hearth. With an efficiency born of experience, the servant had the fire within the hearth burning brightly with just a few adjustments to it. Then the girl turned to leave, but stopped once she’d pulled the door open.

“Milady, the laird asks that ye join him in the hall to break yer fast.”

“I fear I cannot do that…what is your name?”

“Cora, milady.” The girl curtsied again.

“Cora, please tell the laird that I cannot do as he asks—”

Before she could finish, the girl was gone. Jocelyn did not think a body could move that fast, but in a blink of an eye, she was alone once more. Hoping that someone would seek her out and discover her need for clothes, she decided to wash up. Rearranging the towels around her, she leaned over and dipped her hands into the hot water. Splashing it onto her face, Jocelyn reached for a cloth to wipe the water off. The noise behind her startled her into turning and losing control over the layers of toweling around her until it loosened and slipped down her. Grasping it before it fell to her waist, she looked up expecting Cora.

She found her husband. Connor MacLerie.

And from the dangerous look on his face, she knew why he was called Beast. All the words she thought she would say to him froze in her throat as his gaze moved down her and settled on her breasts. She longed to slap the now lustful stare from his face, but as her husband, she knew she must submit to not only his gazes but also his touch, his possession of her body. She could not control the shudder that moved through her. Finally, he met her glare with one of his own.

“I see that even the night of rest I allowed you has not sweetened your disposition. You would disobey even my smallest request?” He crossed his arms over his chest as he took several steps toward her. Although she would have liked to back away, she had nowhere to move.

“Laird,” she said, looking around the room once more. “I did not disobey you.”

“I called you to the hall below and you refused me. What else is it, but disobedience, plain and simple?”

This was no way to begin their married life. A simple misunderstanding, but it could become something larger if she did not handle it well enough. Looking at him, she realized that she had not really taken his measure on her arrival. Exhausted, soaked through with icy muck and fearful for her brother’s well-being, she had stumbled through their meeting and their vows. Now, in the full light of the sun, she found she had married a wildly attractive man. Taller than her father, taller than even Ewan, Connor towered over her. His black hair was pulled back from his face and tied in small braids at his temples. Shaven clean of any beard, the rugged angles of his face proclaimed his masculinity. Eyes nearly the color of bronze glowed back at her, full of fire at her challenge to his authority, both as her husband and now as her laird.

“My lord, I have no clothes.” She lowered herself into as deep a curtsy as she dared before him. With her head bowed, she could not see his reaction, but heard the cough he let loose.

“No clothes?” he asked.

“None, my lord. And there seem to be none in this chamber that I could cover myself with to answer your summons to the hall. Unless you want me to appear naked before your clan?”

She heard his choking cough again and the sound of laughter from outside her chamber. She looked up just enough to see his booted feet move to the doorway. A scuffle ensued and a few moments later a bundle was dropped on the floor next to her. Jocelyn looked up to find him staring down at her, and staring down the loosely held towel at her chest again. When she tried to stand, she lost her balance and toppled backward. His hands around her arms prevented her from hitting the stone floor. She found herself being pulled in close to his chest until she was steady on her feet.

“Get yourself dressed and down to the hall now.” She felt his gruff voice as he whispered the words into her ear.

“Aye, my lord,” she answered.

He released his grasp of her and walked away. But she could not let him go until she discovered her brother’s condition.

“Laird?” she called out. He stopped, but did not turn to face her. “Did my brother suffer for my failure to consummate our vows last night?”

Another strangled cough erupted, this one from the hallway, but Jocelyn could not break her gaze from him as he turned and met hers. Rising even taller and looking as dangerous as a beast could, he stalked over to her, clenching, tightening and opening his fists with every step. Standing as close as possible but without touching her, he looked down at her from his height and spoke through clenched teeth. She could feel the waves of anger pouring from him as he spoke.

“I hold your brother accountable for his own behavior as I hold you accountable for yours. Now, get you dressed and get you down to my hall.”

She stood frozen by the cold fury in his voice until he turned and left, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the windows in the room and her head. A muffled argument outside her chamber drew her attention for a few moments, but when it quieted she knew he was gone. She sank to her knees as the tremors of fear shook her to her core.

Jocelyn did not know how long she stayed on her knees, but she soon became aware of whispered voices outside her door. Rubbing her hands over her arms and face, she roused herself and climbed up onto still-shaking legs. Rummaging through the bundle at her feet, she found a clean shift, gown and stockings. With a few minutes of struggling with the laces, she was dressed. Jocelyn decided to use a length of plaid as a shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders tightly, trying to ease the trembling that still filled her.

After a few deep breaths, she felt ready to answer Connor’s call. Pulling open the door, she was surprised to find Duncan and Ailsa standing before her. Ailsa curtsied as Duncan bowed to her, a far cry from the disrespect he had showed her every leg of their trip here.

“The laird asked me to escort you to the hall.”

“Fine,” she answered, waiting for him to lead the way.

“Mayhap shoes would make the walk a bit more comfortable?” He pointed to the floor and her shoes that now lay cleaned and brushed. “I do not think the laird would want his bride appearing in bare feet.”

“Fine,” she answered once more as she bent down to pull her shoes on.

“Here, my lady. Let me help ye wi’ these.” Ailsa said.

It took the efficient servant but a few moments to secure her shoes on her feet and then she was ready. Well, she was dressed now, but she doubted she would ever truly be prepared to face what awaited her in the hall below. She had drawn Connor’s fury in questioning her brother’s safety. Honor required that a hostage be unharmed during their captivity, but there was unharmed and there was alive and she knew that many were mistreated, even beaten or starved while held. The thought of her younger brother being ill-treated while she had been bathed by servants and had slept the night undisturbed in a huge and comfortable bed brought tears to her eyes. And there was only her honoring her part of the agreement to keep him alive.

Duncan held out his arm and she placed her hand on top of it, allowing him to guide and support her as she walked down the stairs. Unable to keep from trembling, she focused her attention on the steps below her, counting each one silently as she passed it. A terrible thought entered her mind as she reached the lower landing—were these the same steps where Connor’s first wife met her death?

Her momentary pause drew Duncan to a halt. He must have sensed her curiosity for he shook his head even as he answered her unspoken question.

“Nay. ’Twas not there.”

“I…heard…” She did not really know what to say. Duncan had made his displeasure at her use of the name, the Beast, quite clear when she’d used it before. How would he react now that she had revealed her knowledge of the rest of the sordid tale?

“He would not put you in her chamber. No one has used that since her death.”

“Is it true then? Did she die at his hands?”

Duncan stared at her and the sight of his anger took her breath from her. Lifting her hand from his arm, she stepped back, in truth a bit fearful of his next action. Before another word could be spoken, a different voice broke in.

“I asked you to bring my wife to the hall, Duncan, not to conduct her on a tour of the stairway.”

Chapter Three

Connor stood watching them a few paces away. His arms crossed over his chest once more, Jocelyn was certain he was still angry over her words questioning his honor. He held out his arm to her and she walked silently to his side and accepted it. Turning with him and following his lead, she took her first good look at the great hall and the people in it.

’Twas much larger than her father’s hall, and in much better condition. The changing fortunes of the clan Mac-Callum could be seen in the deteriorating keep and the lack of decorations and comforts in their hall. That approach to poverty was what had made her father vulnerable to the MacLerie’s offer. They entered from the back and she could feel the gazes of those there to break their fast. No one smiled at her, no one called out to her, she recognized no one. Trying to read their expressions was impossible for they turned from her as soon as she came close.

Never had she felt so unwelcome in a place. Was it their fear of their laird that kept them silent? Did they hold her in the same lack of esteem that their laird did? She shivered and clutched at her shawl more tightly as they finally approached the high table. If her husband noticed her discomfort, he gave no sign. He ignored her even as he walked beside her, greeting various men among those present. Once at the table, he waited for her to take her place next to the large carved chair that was obviously his as laird and then dropped his arm to his side. The low murmurings throughout the room quieted as he waited.

“This is the lady Jocelyn MacCallum, now my wife,” he called out in a loud voice.

She waited for the rest of her introduction to his people, but there was no more. She turned to look at him and found he was already sitting in his chair. Jocelyn did not know what she had expected in his words, but she knew that this brief statement was disappointing at best. She glanced at those at the table, but none would meet her gaze. Realizing that she drew more attention by her actions, she sat down and pulled her own stool in closer to the edge of the table. At his nod, the servants brought forth trays of bread and cheese and pitchers of water and ale. Next, bowls filled with steaming porridge were delivered to each of them. The aromas wafted through the air and her stomach grumbled in anticipation of eating.

If her husband noticed, he gave no sign for he tore a loaf of bread apart and began eating. Jocelyn waited, her hands clenched on her lap until the others had followed Connor’s example. Aware of their indirect scrutiny, she took a small spoonful of the thick porridge and lifted it to her mouth, savoring the taste and consistency of it as she swallowed. Her stomach made even more noises and she held her hand there, trying to cover them.

“You did not eat enough last evening?” Connor asked without pausing from his own meal.

“Nay, my lord.”

“Ailsa was told to see to your needs. Did she not bring you food?”

“She followed your orders, my lord, but I fear I was too tired to do anything save bathe and sleep.”

He grunted at her words and asked no more questions. Her thoughts were suddenly filled with her brother and her appetite fled. Her spoon clattered on the table as images of him in some filthy cell, injured and hungry, raced through her mind. Her distress must have shown for she gained Connor’s attention.

“Are you ill? The blood has just drained from your face.” He leaned over and stared at her.

Jocelyn did not know how to respond. She had already challenged his honor about her brother once today and he would without a doubt see any more questions as another attack. Given his reputation for taking offense and defending his name, she feared what would happen to her if she asked the questions that burned within her.

She never knew what revealed the truth to him, but in the next moment, he stood with a speed belying his size and knocked over his chair. As it toppled behind him, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her from her stool. Without a word of explanation, he dragged her from the table, out of the hall and down a corridor toward the back of the keep. Her struggles lasted all of a minute since his advantage in size and strength and intentions overwhelmed her efforts to resist their motion. Yanking open a door in the wall with such force that the door banged against the stone and shook on its frame, Connor lifted a torch from a sconce and led her into a dark tunnel.

The air grew thicker and more humid as he dragged her farther and farther along the passageway. Jocelyn could not see past him and could not gauge how much longer they could travel along this corridor. Connor slowed momentarily and then he began to walk down some steps. Where did he take her? Had her defiance cost her her life? She struggled against his hold trying to slow his pace.

“I do not expect you to challenge my every word and action, lady wife. You are like a dog gnawing on a juicy bone. You will not give it up until you are forced to it.”

“My lord…” she began.

“Here now. This is the last time I will be so lenient with you.”

Grabbing her by her shoulders, he shoved her forward until she was looking into a small cell. The dungeon. Her brother. Pushing up onto her toes, she peered into the room until she saw her brother lying on a small pallet in the far corner. Even when she called out his name, he did not move.

“You may have five minutes with him, not one more. Duff,” he said to a guard she had not noticed before, “Bring the lady back to the hall when her time has passed. And she is to remain out here and not enter the cell.”

“Aye, Connor.” The tall man, rightly named for his dark hair and eyes, nodded at Connor.

Without another word to her, but with a glare that clearly expressed his aggravation, Connor turned and walked away leaving her where she stood. Jocelyn turned back to the door and called out her brother’s name once more.

Connor shook his head in disbelief at both his wife’s behavior and his own. When he’d summoned her to the hall, he had no intention of letting her see or speak to her brother. He intended to stand by his words and by their marriage agreement—her brother would be released as soon as Connor had wedded and bedded her. But something in her eyes as she challenged him and his honor made him change his mind.

He was mindful that she had literally given up her life to save her brother’s. He knew also that she was terrified of him. However, he realized that she controlled her fear and continued to push him on the matter of young Athdar. She might be more offended if she discovered the truth of how she came to be married to the Beast MacLerie and her brother’s part in it.

Reaching the main floor, he strode back to his seat and tore off another piece of bread. It was only a few moments before he noticed the quiet of the room and then saw the shocked faces of those staring at him. They thought he’d imprisoned her? Slamming his fists onto the top of the table, he rose to his feet and let his gaze pass over those in the room.

“You cannot blame them, Connor,” Duncan said. The humor in his friend’s voice did not please him. “You have cultivated your own reputation and use it when necessary. Do not hold it against them that they now believe the worst about you.”

“And you, Duncan?” he asked, taking his seat. “Do you not believe it? Do you think I have imprisoned my wife below, even as I hold her brother?”

“If she continues as she has begun, I think you may wish that you had locked her below.”

Connor nodded, understanding Duncan’s comment completely. In her first day here, she had already caused him to change his mind several times. When he sent Duncan to her father, he envisioned a marriage that would have her in his bed at night and out of his way during the day. He knew undoubtedly that he could never love another woman the way he had loved Kenna and so he accustomed himself recently to the idea of simply marrying to fulfill the clan’s need for an heir. If he did not let himself care for her, if he kept her at a distance, he could guard his heart from ever having to experience the agony of loss again.

Somehow he now knew that this wife was going to be more trouble than he bargained for. As if his thoughts had conjured her up, she entered the hall with Duff at her side. She kept her gaze on the floor as she walked back to the table. Her next action stunned him.

Stopping before him where all could see, she dropped into a deep curtsy with her head bowed and eyes still lowered. Her voice carried throughout the hall, filling the silence with her words.

“Your pardon, my lord. Please forgive my earlier rash behavior in questioning your honor.”

Connor felt his throat tighten and he could not swallow the mouthful of ale he had just taken. He did not sense anything but a sincere apology in her words. That this was done for show was obvious to him, but he knew with a feeling of certainty that it was honestly meant. He swallowed forcefully.

“Join me, lady, and break your fast.”

She rose smoothly to her feet and slid onto the stool next to his chair. He held out a loaf of bread to her and she took it, her fingers brushing his as she lifted it from his grasp. Connor watched as she moved the bowl of now-cooled porridge away and broke off a chunk of cheese instead.

“Ian? Bring the lady another bowl of porridge. Hers has cooled.”

“Nay, Ian. I do not need any more.”

She challenged him again, even while the words of her apology still echoed through the hall. He closed his eyes for a moment and then let out his breath. Glaring at her in her defiance, he repeated his order to the servant once again.

“Is this to be the way of it, then? I give an order and you disobey it?”

Part of him wanted to laugh—at the least, she was no empty-headed ninny as he feared he would be forced to marry. Although his well-developed reputation served him, it also caused women, and some weak-nerved men, to lose their wits around him. If he had to be married, he was inwardly pleased that she did not shrink from him and his every word. But, as laird, he could not, would not, have every order he gave undermined by her.

Jocelyn finally met his gaze and he watched her expression change from defiant to something less disobedient. She pursed her lips and looked as if she was fighting to keep her words in. Good. Let her consider her actions before she took them. He knew she understood him when she moved her bowl over to the side where Ian stood waiting for the outcome.

“Please, Ian,” she said in a quiet voice.

He nodded, satisfied. This could all work out. He finished his meal and engaged Duncan in a discussion about their duties for the day. Connor also took advantage of the time to make a more thorough study of his wife as she sat next to him eating her meal.

She was plain in appearance; her face, eyes and hair were neither exceptional nor unattractive. After Kenna’s extraordinary beauty, Connor did not want another comely wife. She did move with a certain grace as she walked and her form was definitely the better of her attributes. When the sheet she’d held around her had dropped, exposing her bare shoulders and the slopes of her breasts to him, he knew, and his body’s reaction told him, that consummating their union would not be difficult for him. Shifting now in his chair as the memory of her creamy flesh stirred him once more.

As if she felt his scrutiny, their eyes met. Mayhap he had been premature in his assessment of her features, for when her eyes flashed as they did now at him, they were quite attractive. Turning back to face Duncan, he tore his gaze from hers. Aye, ’twould not be difficult after all. Thoughts of her naked beneath him, soon, filled his mind with images that would be better left until later.

“You should see the seamstress today and have some clothes made.”

“I can sew, my lord, and I have clothes…just not with me. Your orders did not allow me time to pack my belongings.”

“Then I will replace them with new since I cannot have the Lady MacLerie wandering through keep and village as I found her this morn.”

Her mouth opened and shut and a becoming blush crept up her cheeks. So, she could be quieted.

“Ailsa will make arrangements for you. If you will excuse me—” he rose and nodded to Duncan who stood next to him “—we must see to our duties.”

They walked quickly from the hall, the heat in his body cooling even as the distance between them grew. Tonight should prove interesting. Tonight she would be his and the marriage would be consummated.

Tonight.

Darkness had fallen some time ago, yet Connor had not shown himself within the keep. Each time she asked one of the servants if this was his habit, she was met with various grunts or nods and she knew no more than before she asked her questions. Realizing that they would not be cooperative with her efforts to learn more about her husband, she finally gave up and sought comfort and privacy in her chamber.

The day had been a frustrating one for her. She visited the seamstresses within the keep and then the cobbler in the village, all under Ailsa’s watchful eye. Her excursion was successful for a few garments were available for her and an additional pair of shoes was found that needed only a few minor adjustments to fit her well enough. Returning with her new possessions, Jocelyn was surprised to find that Connor had not arrived back from his duties. Dinner came and passed and his absence from the hall made her too uncomfortable to eat under the scrutiny of his people. She asked for a tray to be delivered to her in her room and that was where she had spent the last few hours.

Waiting.

Jumping at every noise.

Anticipating the coming night…and him.

She knew that the reprieve granted her last night was over and she would be held to the bargain made. Could she do this? Expecting to marry Ewan, Jocelyn had welcomed and even enjoyed his occasional but fervent kisses. She knew what was expected of a wife in the marriage bed, just not the details of the act itself. She just could not imagine now submitting to this stranger and his desires. She shivered as waves of fear and confusion and curiosity pulsed through her.

Cora, the young girl who had precipitated her misunderstanding with Connor, was back, this time straightening the room and tending to the fire in the hearth. Jocelyn stood by the window, gazing out over the yard. She could see the guards moving up on the main wall in their slow progression around the perimeter. No other movements were apparent to her as she tried to calm the emotions within her.

A soft knock at the door brought her around quickly. Cora opened the door, but instead of her husband, Ailsa entered carrying a pile of linens. The older woman whispered something to Cora and the girl was gone from the room in a few moments. After laying her bundle on the bed, the servant approached her.

“Here now, my lady. I’ve brought ye a fresh gown and a robe. After ye change, I’ll brush out yer hair, if ye’d like?”

Moving without thought, Jocelyn did as Ailsa directed and soon found herself wrapped in a heavy robe and sitting before the fire. The long, slow strokes relaxed her frazzled nerves as she awaited her fate. Would he arrive soon? Would he simply take her and give her no choice in the matter? She shifted nervously on her stool as more and more doubts and concerns came to mind.

“My lady, is there anything ye would like to ask me?”

Jocelyn was startled by the offer and turned to look at the servant. “What do you mean, Ailsa?”

“I thought that mayhap yer own mother did not prepare ye for yer wedding night.”

“Nay, Ailsa, I have no questions for you.”

“Good then. Yer mother told ye what to expect?”

“Well, actually she told me that my husband would tell me what I needed to ken,” Jocelyn whispered, not certain now of the wisdom of such a thing. If it had been Ewan, mayhap, but now that Connor was the one, she wished she knew what was to happen between them.

“If ye’re certain?” Ailsa asked again.

“You heard the lady, Ailsa. Her husband will answer her questions.”

Jocelyn gasped and turned. The sight of Connor, his height and breadth filling the doorway, took her breath from her. She clutched the edges of the robe more tightly and watched as Ailsa nodded at him and moved around him to leave. He stepped farther into the room and closed the door behind him, dropping the bar into place with a noisy thump. She could not move as he approached, her throat tightened and her chest would not take in the air she needed. After no more than three steps, Connor stood before her and she finally raised her gaze to meet his.

“So, lady wife, what is it you wish to ken?”

She fought against the urge to jump up and run across the chamber, seeking some measure of protection and shelter on the far side of the large bed. Jocelyn instead forced her fingers to relax their grip on the handle of her hairbrush. Placing the brush carefully on the table before her, she slid her hands onto her lap and tried to form an answer in her mind.

What did she wish to know? Everything? Nothing? She knew the mechanics of the coming act; that was not what had bothered her since she’d heard the news of her impending marriage. Finally, the question pushed itself forward.

“Why me?”

She did not meet his gaze. Jocelyn was not certain that she wanted to see what would be revealed there. His manner toward her so far had been less than welcoming, even bordering on hostile and contemptuous, but the reason behind their marriage had plagued her.

“I had need of a wife and you were available.”

His voice carried no sign of hostility, no sign that this was more or less than the truth. His explanation spoke of a thing common to lives like theirs—marriages were not made with any regard for the tender feelings of those involved. And the tender feelings that she bore for another had even less importance now.

Jocelyn sensed his movement forward for he made no sound as he approached. Only the crackling of the wood in the hearth broke the tense silence. She turned to face him.

“You do not wish to be married?” She thought ’twas clear from his words and from his treatment of her.

“I have no feelings one way or the other on it. I am laird—I need heirs. For that, I must have a wife.”

“And any woman would do?” She closed her mouth, but the words had escaped. He blinked at her tone and even she could hear the sarcasm in it. This was truly not the time to anger him. His reaction surprised her. His laughter filled the room. Connor looked almost approachable when he smiled.

“Nay, I am more discriminating than that. I asked for a wife who was plain of face and not an empty-headed ninny.”

She gasped in surprise—both that he would think of such requirements and that he would admit them to her. It took only a few moments for her to realize the insult to her appearance in his words and she looked away before he could see the hurt she knew would be there.

“I meant no insult, lady,” he said walking closer. His voice dropped to a whisper as he crouched next to her stool. “I did not want a wife who cowered from me or cringed at my every word. I wanted a wife with gumption.”

“And a plain face?” She lifted the brush from the table, mostly to distract herself from the pain she felt.

“I confess ’twas more of a jest than a true requirement.” Connor reached out and took the brush from her. “Can we move onto something less argumentative?”

The skin on her neck tingled as he lifted some of her hair and pushed it over her shoulder. Would it be now? Was it time?

Chapter Four

“I do not know what to do.”

Horrified that she’d let the words escape her mouth, Jocelyn stepped away from him. His size and strength and nearness unnerved her in so many ways and she needed some distance to keep her fears under control. That he allowed her to move from his grasp surprised her. Once a few paces away, she turned back to look at him.

“I would not expect it of you, lady. Someone who had never milked a cow or slaughtered a hog would not know how to do such a task when it was asked of them.”

Taken aback that he was comparing what would happen between them to the duties of a butcher or milkmaid, Jocelyn felt her mouth drop open. He held out his hand to stop any reply she would make and took a step toward her.

“I can see the argument building within you. Is this to be the way between us in all matters, then? I say something and you contest it?” His gaze grew dark as he spoke and his expression changed from smiling to intense.

Jocelyn considered his words before speaking. It had been that way since their first meeting, then in the hall at their meal, even now. She closed her mouth and found she had no words to answer him. Oh, there was an argument within her as he’d said, but the warmth of the room and his scent crowded around her and she remembered once more what awaited her. The heat of a blush flooded her cheeks and she touched them as she felt it.

“Ah,” he said, walking now to a small table at the bed’s side. He lifted the jug of wine there and poured some into two goblets. “I suspect that the true problem here is an innocent’s fear and not a wife’s challenge to her husband.”

He turned and held one out to her, waiting for her to take it. Jocelyn crossed to him and accepted it. Wine might soothe her nerves a bit and make the rest somehow easier to allow. Not that she had a choice. Her brother’s life, even the very life of her clan, all depended on her agreement to this bargain. If she were sent home in disgrace… She nodded in acceptance of the cup and then realized that she was inadvertently agreeing with his words.

He held his goblet up and drank it down in one mouthful. Over the rim of his cup, he watched as she tilted hers to her lips and drank it down as well. The wine slid into her stomach and she felt its warmth spread out to her limbs. Mayhap more would help ease the fear she did feel? Jocelyn held out her cup.

As he poured more of the wine into her goblet, Connor looked closely at her face. A deep pink filled her cheeks and a bead of sweat trickled down her brow. Aye, the fears of the innocent. In consideration of those fears, he poured a small amount in and handed it back to her. Wine to soothe her nervousness was one thing; a puking woman in his bed was another.

Connor put his own cup down and took a step toward her. The sooner started, the sooner finished, he thought as he reached out and lifted her hair in his hands. The woman nearly stopped breathing so he waited for her to swallow the last of the very strong wine before he came closer. Her cup had just settled on the table when he grasped the belt of her robe and, tugging her closer, pulled it loose. The garment fell away revealing a thin linen gown and her lush figure.

Jocelyn stiffened at first as he slid his hands inside the robe and took hold of her hips. In spite of her stance, she was soft in all the right places and he breathed in the scent of the oil she’d used in her bathwater. She was breathing, a good thing, but she stared off into the room above his shoulder.

“Put your hands on my waist,” he said.

She startled again but met his gaze. “What?”

“You said you knew not what to do. I am telling you. Put your hands on my waist.”

He wore a plain shirt and plaid, but he could feel the heat of her touch through it. And the trembling, which he forced himself to ignore. His body, tempted by the curves so close beneath his hands, readied itself admirably for what was to come. He waited for a moment and then drew her closer, sliding his hands behind her and pressing himself against her.

Her nipples tightened, whether in fear or anticipation he knew not, and he turned her slightly, rubbing his chest over hers. The gasp that escaped left her openmouthed, but he would not touch her there. Instead he leaned in to her and kissed the edge of her chin, and then kissed along the line of her jaw until he reached her neck. When her breathing became ragged and her fingers clutched at his waist, he knew he could proceed.

Connor released her from his grasp and lifted her hair from her shoulders. He kissed her neck and her ear and wrapped her hair around his fist, turning her head for easier access to the sensitive areas he discovered. He took the edges of the robe and slipped them off her shoulders. When she let her hands drop to her side, he pushed the robe to the floor.

Whether instinctual or simply protective, Jocelyn tried to cover her breasts as his gaze moved over her from top to bottom. She most likely had no idea of what the flickering light of the candles set around the room did reveal to him. The dark triangle at the top of her thighs enticed him to reach for it, but he waited. Stepping behind her, he began again at her neck, kissing and touching with his tongue and nipping gently with his teeth.

Waiting for some sign of resistance and receiving none, Connor moved the linen of her shift away from her neck and kissed the heated skin of her shoulder. She trembled now beneath his touch and her breathing became a series of gasps as he slid his hands around her waist and up until they rested just below her breasts. She leaned back against him and he took advantage of that movement to cup her and draw her back tightly. Jocelyn’s head fell back against his chest and he suckled there, on the sensitive skin of her neck as he touched her breasts.

She’d been kissed before. Aye, she’d even allowed Ewan to touch her breasts once, but nothing that had happened between them could have prepared her for this. In spite of the lack of love or even familiarity between them, this man was teasing and tempting her body in ways she’d never imagined. Her head had fallen back on its own to rest against the hardness of his chest once he covered her breast with his hands.

The sensations that his mouth created against her skin simply intensified the tightness in her breasts and the heat between her legs. The heat and the aching between her legs. And the wetness there. His fingers now teased the tips of her breasts to a tautness she’d not felt before and he cupped her in his hands and used his thumbs over them, rubbing and rubbing until they were hard.

It made her want…something. Something more. Jocelyn waited and hoped he would reveal the more of what they did before she asked him about it. Not knowing what to do now, she twisted the fabric of her gown and held it in her fists.

His hands were moving again and she held her breath as they slid down her thighs and caught the end of her shift. He tugged it higher and higher until she felt the touch of his fingers on her bare skin. He moved one hand back up until he held her firmly against him, over her stomach and cupping her breast. The other he used to caress the skin of her thighs and she bit her lip when he touched her belly just above.

The roughness of his tunic and plaid against her naked bottom and back and the strength in his arms and chest and legs as he held her in place intrigued her, for they were so different from the touch of his hand and his fingers as they approached the place that ached now. She could almost forget that this man was a stranger to her. That she was forced by obligation and need to marry him and not Ewan.

Ewan!

It should be him touching her so. She should be giving herself in this intimate touching and joining to the man who loved her and cherished her. Not to this stranger.

Everything within her tensed as she realized that by the end of this night all of her dreams would be gone. All hopes for a marriage made in love with a man whom she chose were gone. All hopes for living a life within a family who cherished her and appreciated her were over. Once this man, her husband, claimed her body, there was no hope.

She realized that he felt the change within her, for his hold on her tightened around her. His hands, which she now clutched in hers, stopped their sensual strokes and, although he kept his mouth near her neck, she could feel only the warmth of his breath and not his lips now. Jocelyn waited for his response.

“Hush now,” he whispered. “I mean you no harm.”

She allowed him to turn her to face him and met his intense gaze. His eyes flickered gold in the candlelight and the flames in the hearth threw shadows across the hard angles of his face. After feeling the strength of his arms while in his embrace, she knew that everything about this man was hard. Only his voice and his plea came softly to her.

“Come, let me do this the right way for a bride,” he urged in a velvety tone as he lifted her hand in his and led her to the side of the bed.

Once there, he leaned over and, with little effort, picked her up and laid her on the bed. As she watched, he loosened his belt and let his plaid fall to the ground. Jocelyn could not help herself as she looked down at the strong thighs now exposed below his tunic. She leaned against those thighs while he…touched her and knew the feel of them. Swallowing nervously, she returned her gaze to his face just as he climbed into the bed with her.

He had not bothered to pull the covers from the bed, so they lay on top and Connor moved over until he could stretch out next to his now-unwilling bride. She had not voiced her objections, but her body had told him with a certainty that they had reached an impasse in their trek toward consummation. Connor now faced the difficult task of stirring her passion anew so they could accomplish this duty and get on with their lives.

“Easy now,” he whispered to her as he put his hand on her leg and began to push her shift up inch by inch. He shifted onto his side so that he could lean up on his one hand while he rubbed her thigh with the other. When she did not soften beneath his touch, he changed his approach. She had liked the attention he’d paid to her breasts as much as he had. He would begin there.

Connor leaned over and touched his mouth to the tip of her breast, nuzzling it through the thin shift. He took her fullness in his palm and rubbed his thumb over the damped tip again and again until it formed a perfect bud against his mouth. Then he suckled it until he felt the tension in her begin to seep away.

“Aye, lass. Just think on the pleasure you feel and let me lead you in this,” he urged as he moved against her hip with the hardness between his own legs. Although at first she gazed at him with a haunted expression in her eyes, then she closed them and nodded.

Her body slowly responded to his touch now and soon he gauged her ready for more. Connor knew he was certainly ready and at the edge of his own control. This time when he eased her shift up and moved between her legs, she seemed to welcome his presence there. He slid his hands beneath her knees and lifted her legs up, bringing himself to the opening of her body that was now hot and wet and ready.

It was at the moment he entered her that the absurd thought struck him—this was the first time he’d made love to a woman that mattered in his life since he’d made love to Kenna more than three years before. Pushing past his new wife’s maidenhead, he could hear the voice inside of him begging for Kenna’s forgiveness for this act. His heart and soul screamed out that he was somehow being unfaithful to the vows they’d exchanged even as he moved to claim his wife’s body.

And he needed Kenna’s forgiveness for so many things and now it was too late. Too late for all of them.

Clenching his teeth as he filled Jocelyn’s body with his, he watched as a tear escaped the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek into her hair. Not daring to slow for a moment or risk humiliating himself by not being able to complete this duty, Connor pushed into her as far as he could and then slowly removed himself. Even knowing she was not enjoying this, he could not stop now. Finally after a few minutes, he felt his seed empty inside of her.

Out of breath from his exertions, he leaned over her for another minute or two until he could withdraw from her body. He wiped himself of the spent seed and her blood with the edge of the tunic he still wore and climbed from between her legs and off the bed. Gathering his plaid, he threw it over his shoulder leaving enough to cover the front and back of him, not taking the time needed to get it completely in place. He was only going to his chambers from here and no one would be in the corridor against his orders.

She lay unmoving in the large bed, her legs still spread apart until he touched her thigh while tugging the shift down over her. Her lips were clenched tightly together and her face was nearly as pale as the shift she still wore. All hints of the previous attractive blush were gone. The unexplainable and impossible urge to gather her close and soothe the hurt he had caused her was building within him, so he strode to the door of the room in three steps. Three very hurried steps.

He tried to speak but found his throat clogged with some emotion he chose not to try to identify. Clearing it, he spoke without looking back at her and with one hand on the latch.

“I will send Ailsa to you.”

“Nay,” she cried out, as she sat up, shaking her head at him. “Please send no one.”

“As you wish, my lady.” He nodded, accepting her words without asking any questions. Once in the hallway, he closed the door tightly and leaned his head against it.

Not certain what he was waiting for, Connor turned and left, deciding that he had much of the same strong wine awaiting him in his chambers that sat on the table within. He’d no sooner reached his chambers when the storm hit—bright flashes of lightning followed by loud crashes of thunder and torrents of rain poured from the skies over Lairig Dubh.

Somehow it felt right. He slammed the door behind him and found the jug where he’d ordered it left for him.

The door closed and she fell back on the bed, overwhelmed and exhausted by what had just happened between them. The hurried leave-taking and the grimace on his face told her of her failure without the need for words of recrimination.

Had she spoken Ewan’s name aloud? She thought not, but she’d repeated it over and over in her thoughts and in her heart to block out the identity of the man who truly claimed her body as his. When he ordered her to think on the pleasure, his voice and his face became Ewan in her thoughts. She imagined Ewan’s lips against hers and on her skin, suckling at her breasts, and his hands on her body, making her ache and throb as never before.

Only the piercing, burning pain had ruined the imaginary scene in her mind and the grim expression in her husband’s eyes as he plunged into her confirmed the truth—she belonged to him now and he was not pleased.

The place between her legs both ached and stung now and Jocelyn looked around the room to see what she could use to clean herself. Her robe lay on the floor where he’d dropped it so she picked it up as she made her way to the table near the hearth. As she took another step, wetness gushed down her legs. Without anything to use, she tore off the bottom of her shift and used it to wipe her legs of the blood and seed.

Realizing her shift was beyond saving, Jocelyn pulled it off over her head and dunked it into the jug of cold water on the table. Squeezing out most of the water, she washed herself as best she could, shivering as she did. Once clean, she rolled a piece of the shift up, soaked it in the water and then pressed it between her legs…there. Although a shocking feeling, it soothed the area and she repeated it a few times until the burning disappeared.

Finally, she slipped into the robe, wrapped it tightly around her and tied the belt to keep it in place. Jocelyn approached the bed and knew she could simply not climb back onto it. She would have to face it—and him—soon enough, but for now she wanted to avoid both, so she tugged the top blanket off and threw it aside. Then she pulled off three more blankets and two sheets and made her own pallet in front of the hearth. It would be warm enough for her and she would face the rest in the morning.

It was only later, when the storm raged outside and the sound of the winds and rain and thunder grew louder that she let out the emotions she’d been holding within her. The terror of being given to this man, the heartbreak of leaving her family and her one true love behind, and the hopelessness of her future all poured out of her even as the clouds poured their storming rains on the castle and keep.

Rolled in a cocoon of bed linens and exhausted by the physical and emotional price she’d paid for her brother’s safe release, Jocelyn drifted off to a sleep unbothered by the reality of her life now. And her dreams were filled with the face and the touch of the man she loved.

The darkness and warmth suited her, Jocelyn decided when she heard someone moving around her chambers. Tempted to lift the layers and layers of bed linens she’d wrapped around herself in the deepest, coldest part of the night, she remained still and kept her eyes shut tightly. She knew from the previous attempts to rise that her head would throb and the room would swirl uncontrollably and she would be forced to vomit again.

No, the dark and warmth and keeping her body still suited her just fine. But, the voice softly calling her name became more insistent.

“Lady? Lady Jocelyn? Are ye well?”

It was the old woman who’d assisted her in so many ways, but still, the aches and pain and unease in her belly tempted her to ignore the woman’s call.

“Lady? Should I seek out the laird?”

“Nay!” she called out, pushing the coverings aside. Spying Ailsa leaning her old, crooked frame over to nearly the floor to speak to her, Jocelyn shook her head and then paid the price she feared. She was fortunate that Ailsa was perceptive enough to recognize what was about to happen and grabbed the pot quickly.

It was some minutes before her stomach eased and she could lay back. Ailsa soothed her with soft words and a cool cloth to her brow.

“Lie back, lady. It will pass.”

“’Twas the wine,” she whispered, trying to explain to the servant.

“Spoiled?” The maid picked up the jug from next to her on the floor and sniffed at it suspiciously. Her decision was said with a shake of her head. “Smells fine to me, lady.” The woman turned the jug bottom up and not even a drop trickled out. “Mayhap the amount was the problem and not the quality?”

Jocelyn did not respond—there was no need. With the cloth back in place, the noise of the awakening keep seemed to recede. Ailsa coughed lightly, gaining her reluctant attention. There would be no way to stay here, cocooned away from everything, and everyone, that she wanted to avoid for the rest of her life.

“Lady, I called for a bath and it will arrive shortly. Mayhap I could help ye to the chair to wait for it?”

“I would rather stay where I am, Ailsa.”

The knock at the door told her that would not happen. Sliding the cloth from her face, she met the woman’s gaze for the first time. Old though the woman may be, Jocelyn had recognized Ailsa’s steel will at their initial encounter. Now, too worn out by the night before to resist, she accepted the hand held out to her and climbed to her knees and then to her feet. Her head complained with each move and her stomach felt as though it might rebel as well. Closing her eyes once more, she allowed the maid to guide her a few steps to the chair and sat down there.

As though she knew the effort it had taken her to manage even those few steps, the maid arranged the robe she wore over her lap and stepped away without saying a word. Jocelyn let her head tilt back and rest on the back of the chair. Ailsa’s gasp forced her to look.

The torn and bloodied chemise she’d left in the corner on the floor was now in Ailsa’s hands and a look of horror and piety filled her eyes. Jocelyn’s stomach twisted.

“Lady…” Ailsa began softly and then she paused, lifting the apron from her skirt and wrapping the bloodied garment and setting it aside. “Have ye need of our healer?”

Jocelyn could not find the words to answer. Other than the effects of too much wine, which had successfully blocked out the other parts of her that had hurt, she thought she simply needed more sleep and that promised bath. She shook her head.

The old woman looked around the chamber and tsked. It had the appearance of being the site of a battle. The bed torn apart. The linens spread on the floor. The jug on the floor. Her own disheveled condition could not help but add to whatever the woman was thinking.

At her gesture, Ailsa nodded and began cleaning and straightening the chamber, apparently ignoring the others who waited outside the room. Another knock and Ailsa crossed to the door, opened it, whispered some instructions and closed the door again, returning to what she’d been doing.

As Jocelyn watched, the bed was stripped and, with the efficiency of many years’ practice, made once more in a matter of minutes. There was a hesitation when she’d lifted the blanket stained with her blood, but Ailsa simply put it aside with the other bundle and finished the task. When the room had been brought back to some condition that pleased the maid, she stood back and nodded.

“Rest there, lady, until I return.”

“I am fine, Ailsa. Truly,” she said, although her tone did not even convince her of the truth of it.

“They will not enter until I give them leave to, so close yer eyes and rest. I will bring something to soothe yer belly from the wine. Then ye will feel stronger and ready for the bath.”

With barely a sound, she exited and Jocelyn was left alone in a room with no sign now of what had occurred the night before. Only the pain in her heart which would not be repaired as easily.

Chapter Five

Connor stared out the small window in his chamber and tried to gather his thoughts. He did not often drink the amount of wine he’d consumed after returning to his room last even. After the second jug of wine, he’d ordered the MacCallum boy released. After the third, he’d locked himself in his room and tried to block out what he’d done that sent him running from his new wife. The fourth jug seemed to finally work and he’d passed out in his chair.

The haze of the wine now helped him to block out Duncan’s droning on about some small matter about stolen cattle that needed to be found. He’d been ignoring him for several minutes when the door to his room opened with a crash and a small, old madwoman accosted him.

Although she could barely reach that high, Ailsa swatted him hard on the side of his head and then again a second time when he did not get out of her way fast enough.

“Ailsa! What has gotten into you?”

When she came at him again, looking not a bit regretful of her actions, he grabbed her hands and held her fast. Although Duncan gave a generous smirk, he offered no other help.

“How could ye? I nursed ye at my own breasts and know that no one ever mistreated ye.” She tugged one of her hands loose and swung at his head again.

“Tell me what has brought on this fit of madness. In spite of your past care of me, I will not permit this to continue.”

The woman backed away and took several deep breaths. Her furor kept her focus on him, so she had still not noticed Duncan standing in the shadows of the room.

“I ken yer feelings on marrying again. We all ken. But she is yer wife now and she was a maiden at that.”

He could feel his anger building from deep inside. He had no desire or intention of talking about the situation or occurrences between him and his wife with anyone, not even his old nurse. Before he could put her in her place, she whispered harshly.

“I just left yer ladywife’s chambers where I found her huddled on the floor in front of a cold hearth. She’d passed the night there heaving and wrapped in whatever she could pull from the bed.”

“What?” he roared. “That canna be true. She was in that bed when I left her.”

Now she stepped closer and poked him sharply in his chest with her finger. “She drank whatever was left of yer fine wine and slept on the floor, I tell ye. And this,” she shoved a bundle into his hands and shook her head at him with something in her gaze that resembled disgust, “This is what ye left her in.”

The sodden fabric fell open and he found himself holding a woman’s shift that had been torn and was red with what looked to be dried blood. His thoughts might be muddled by too much wine, but it took only a moment to realize what Ailsa had handed him.

Connor clenched his jaws together. Could it be hers? She had not seemed overly distressed when he left. Indeed, she’d been more upset by what he’d been doing than when he’d finished and moved off the bed. And her refusal when he’d offered to send Ailsa to her showed someone who was well.

“She was well when I left her.”

“Weel, she isna now.”

They stood toe-to-toe until Duncan made some noise that broke into their private conversation. Ailsa noticed Connor’s second-in-command standing near the door and stepped back from the confrontation.

Still unwilling to discuss what he did and did not do, unwilling to even think about it, he crossed his arms over his chest, signaling an end to any more talk.

“Ailsa, see to your duties and I will see to mine.”

“Aye, laird. As ye wish,” Ailsa said, her voice filled with anger.

“I did not harm her, Ailsa.”

The old woman muttered something which Duncan heard for his face bore the look of someone trying not to laugh. The only words he had heard involved not caring for her either.

“I think that someone of your years may not be the right maid for my new wife. Seek out and train one of the girls from the village to serve in your stead.”

If she feared the threat, there was no sign of it. If anything changed, her expression hardened and the anger in her eyes flared anew. Ailsa crossed her arms over her own formidable chest and met his glare with a more insolent one. He’d used the threat on many, many occa sions but had never rid himself of the woman yet.

Mayhap ’twas time?

“Connor?” Duncan’s voice interrupted the two-sided argument.

“Keep your thoughts to yourself, cousin. You have no place in this discussion.”

“Then I bid you good day,” Duncan replied. With a hard smile and narrowed eyes, a nod to both of them and a few steps, he was gone from the chamber as was any hope that Connor had of keeping the full wrath of Ailsa at bay. He would not let this escalate into something that had him examining his motives or his intentions about this new wife. Not even for Ailsa. He raised his hand in front of her and shook his head.

“Ailsa, go and see to the lady’s needs. I will speak to her later.”

“And when she asks of her brother?”

Damn! How did the woman discover so much so quickly?

“Say nothing. I will speak to her of it later.”

It could have been something he’d said or the tone of his voice, but Ailsa paused, sticking out her chin and meeting his gaze for a moment. Mayhap she’d sensed he had truly reached the limits of what he would accept from her in personal commentary or intrusion? Whatever had worked, he was glad of it. The servant nodded and backed away. When she’d reached the door and was pulling it closed as she left, the words escaped him.

“I did not harm her, Ailsa.”

“As ye say, laird,” she replied without slowing or looking back.

Pushing aside all thoughts of the woman at the center of discussion, Connor decided he’d been inside enough this day. He needed to get back to his duties as much as Ailsa did, so he strode down his tower chamber, through the hall of the keep until he left the tall, stone building. Following the path to the stables, he ordered a small troop of men readied to accompany him to the site of the most recent complaints of incursions onto his lands. A few hours later and miles away, only his clan and his lands and their defenses claimed his attentions.

Jocelyn’s respect for the old woman grew quickly as each of her offered remedies worked its magic on her—first on her head and stomach, both of which threatened upheaval at any moment, and then on the rest of her body. The hot concoction that Ailsa brought her soothed the swirlings in her belly and eased the pain in her head. A long, very hot bath eased the aches and coldness that seemed to have seeped into her bones during the night. Then, dressed in warm stockings, a clean chemise, a new gown and length of woolen plaid, Jocelyn felt as though everything that came before had been just a nightmare.

Never one to suffer from self-pity or bad humors, Jocelyn faced the rest of the day knowing that the worst was behind her. She’d lived through the arduous journey to this place. She’d lived through meeting and wedding and being bedded by the infamous Beast. It had not been a pleasant experience on the whole of it, though parts of it were. His touch made her feel things that she’d only heard hinted at by other women, things only sampled lightly with Ewan.

If he kept his word, and she had no doubts that he would, her brother would be free to return to their clan along with the aid and protection promised by the clan MacLerie. Jocelyn intended to ask about the arrangements as soon as she could find the laird. Athdar’s treatment at the hands of the MacLeries was uneven at best and she only hoped that his temper did not get him into more trouble than he already was. He would learn to control it, she was certain, as he grew closer toward manhood.

Soon though, according to the provisions of the marriage contract, Athdar would arrive home with the resources and men to rebuild their keep and village and feed the entire clan through this next winter. No more a target for the hungrier clans around them, her marriage insured her family’s survival. For now, at least as long as her heart ached over Ewan’s loss, she could content herself with the knowledge that no one in her family would die due to a lack of food or shelter this year.

The sun had fought its way through the thick clouds that lingered after the storms of the night, and now it beckoned to her. Jocelyn found her cloak and made her way down to the hall. Determined first to see to her brother and confirm the arrangements for his release. Then, mayhap with his company for she was certain he would welcome the chance to be out of the dungeon cell, she would explore the keep and castle. She made her way to the stairs that would take her deep underneath the keep.

Pushing on the strong wooden door, Jocelyn hit its surface when it did not give under her pressure. Stepping back, she turned the knob and still it did not open. Stretching up to peer in the small opening, she tried to remember the name of the man guarding it last night.

Two nights ago, she corrected herself.

So much had happened in the last few days, she| looked around to make sure she was trying to open the correct door.

It had not been locked when the laird had brought her to see her brother, but it was now. Finally remembering, she called inside to the guard.

“Duff? Duff, are you there?”

No one answered. Jocelyn lifted the latch again and pushed. It was locked and by the sound, or lack, of it, no one stood guard below.

“Duff?” she called out louder. “Is anyone there?”

“Does Ailsa know you are creeping around outside your chambers?”

She let out a scream as someone whispered in her ear—from just behind her. Turning quickly, she discovered the laird’s cousin Duncan apparently up to more of his mischief. Her bottom twinged as she remembered how his last scare had caused them both to arrive mud-covered from their journey.

The pace on their journey here had turned into a test of wills with her slowing to avoid and him hastening to arrive at the designated time. When Duncan slapped her horse to spur it and her on, she purposely slid from it, grabbing him to cushion her landing, never dreaming the wretch would drag her down, too.

“Duncan,” she said, not moving from her place in front of the door.

“Lady,” he replied, bowing and smiling that irritating smile he had. The one that said he had all the answers but chose not to share them with her. Why had the laird chosen him to come to her home and escort her here? “So, does Ailsa ken of your escape from your chambers?”

“Am I a prisoner then? As my brother is,” she looked at the door now and then back at him. The expression he wore in that instant spoke of spoiled eels…or too much wine.

“You are a wife, lady. No prisoner. Ailsa mentioned your state of…that is, that you were not feeling well this morn.” He would not meet her gaze now and she was glad of it. She did not need to know that others knew of her personal matters. Especially not this one who would use it to cause her discomfort.

“I am well now. And am seeking out my brother,” she said turning back to the door and knocking on it. “But Duff does not seem to be at his post.” She paused, hesitating to ask anything of him that would put her in his debt. “Can you take me to him?”

His face took on a more miserable pallor and she thought him the ill one, until he shook his head. “You must speak to the laird about your brother.” He stepped back and gestured her away from the door. “Come, I will see you back to your chambers.”

“I have no wish to return to my chambers. I want to see my brother and arrange for his freedom. You know the agreement—you negotiated on behalf of the MacLerie.” Jocelyn pulled the woolen shawl up higher around her shoulders. “If you say I must speak to the laird before I can see Athdar, then fetch the laird here.”

“Fetch the laird?” Duncan sputtered and choked on the words. “You speak of him like some animal to do your bidding. You must have had a coddled upbringing if such behavior was permitted of you. ’Tis no wonder that your clan lies in ruins if your father allowed his clan to speak to him or even think of him in that manner.”

His sharp words brought her to a stop. Although she thought he was putting too much meaning into her words, Jocelyn knew that this man had the laird’s ear and confidence. If he wished, he could make the difficult situation even worse between her and her new husband. She’d sensed honor within him, but he was, after all, the laird’s man.

“You mistake my words, Duncan. I will happily seek out the laird to ask him about Athdar, if you would but reveal his whereabouts to me. I mean no disrespect to him.”

He seemed to think on her words and then he nodded at her. “’Twould appear that you have not yet recovered from the journey here or the…events of the last few days. Your concern over your brother is understandable, even admirable, not unnecessary. Connor has said he is safe, and so he is.”

Only the Blessed Mother knew how she stayed her hand in that moment. Everything within her wanted nothing so much as to make a fist as Ewan had taught her and to swing it at the side of this fool’s head. But then she realized something—he’d never answered her question. He’d evaded and deflected, but never answered.

He knew something he was not supposed to reveal to her.

“Duncan, where is my brother?” Jocelyn stared at his face and watched the momentary search for words as he tried to piece together some explanation or excuse.

“Ah, look, lady. Here comes Ailsa now.” Duncan spun on his heels and called out across the hall. “Ailsa, your lady is here. You have arrived not a moment too soon for she needs to rest.”

Now that he had made certain that everyone in the hall or passing through it heard his words, she knew she could not allow this to become a confrontation. Fear struck her deep and hard as she worried that something ill had indeed befallen her brother. She would play his game and allow him to win this encounter, but she must know of her brother’s fate. As she nodded her acquiescence to him, she leaned in close so that no one else would hear.

“At least tell me he is alive,” she whispered. “At least that.” She clasped her hands together so she would not grab the plaid he wore over his shoulder. His mouth tightened into a grimace and she could see his jaws clenching and releasing. The bottom of her stomach dropped and bile rose hot in her throat.

“He is alive and well, lady,” he answered. “You must speak to the laird about the rest.”

Ailsa arrived at her side and glanced from one to the other. Someone as astute as this woman could not miss the tension between them. Instead of agreeing that she should rest, Ailsa took her by the arm and guided her toward the doors of the keep.

“Come, lady. I think a short walk would aid you more than keeping to your chambers.” The maid began walking, but Jocelyn paused. This was not done yet.

“Duncan, when can I speak to the laird? Where will I find him?”

“He’s ridden to one of the outlying villages. He will return late this night or in the morn.”

So, she must wait hours and possibly a day to find out Athdar’s fate. There was nothing she could do now, nothing but insult or provoke Duncan, which would give her much enjoyment but no favorable results. She did not doubt his words about the MacLerie’s return or that her brother was well.

“I will speak to him on his return then,” she agreed and followed Ailsa’s guiding steps away.

She looked back at Duncan once as she walked away, trying to read his thoughts. His face was filled with as much frustration as she thought hers must be, but for exactly the opposite reasons. However, she knew that Connor MacLerie was at the center of both of their situations.

Speak to the laird?

Oh, aye. She would speak to him.

Jocelyn discovered that Ailsa was in truth a tyrant disguised as a small, old woman. The rest of the day and even after dark fell, the woman nearly forcibly escorted Jocelyn from place to place within the keep and without, until Jocelyn was ready to drop. When the laird had not returned in time for the evening meal, she was tempted to curl into a ball and fall asleep in some secluded corner where Ailsa could not find her.

Her plan was not a success. Ailsa did relent and allow her to retreat to her room and eat her meal there. The lack of appropriate women and men for that matter would make it awkward for her to take her place alone at that table. So, she found herself in her room, with a well-blazing fire in the hearth, a tray of foods giving off the most wonderful of aromas, and, even more wondrous than the appetizing food, a book she’d discovered during her tour of the keep.

Although she tried to slow her pace, Jocelyn gulped down her food and finished one full goblet of ale before stopping. Not aware of how hungry she’d become, she shook her head in surprise over it. Now stretching and leaning back against the tall, cushioned chair that had appeared in her chambers just today, she spied the bed.

She would fall asleep the moment she laid her head down—she could feel the physical exhaustion dragging her down now. But, she wanted to be awake and ready when Connor arrived for she had many questions for him.

Questions that had begun simply about her brother and now included many about herself and her place here in Lairig Dubh and the clan MacLerie. Questions that had increased both in quantity and intensity as the day passed and her lack of position in the eyes of these people was made clear over and over again.

They didn’t need her guidance on matters of food nor the preparations for winter. The steward, in his position for decades, was quite competent, even creative, in handling those duties. They did not need her assistance in the duties of overseeing the keep or the woman who lived there, for other than the laundry maids, some of whom now assisted Ailsa, there were no women living in the keep.

So, she found herself in a nearly empty keep, with no sign of her brother or her husband, and exhausted from the miles walked this day. The bed, which she’d purposefully ignored, now beckoned to her. It looked so inviting—piled high with pillows and many layers of linen and blankets—Jocelyn soon found herself standing next to it.

“I just put some hot stones under the blankets, lady. Let me help you in.” Ailsa lifted the robe from her shoulders and helped her climb up. Then she adjusted the location of the flannel-wrapped stones until they were close enough to warm Jocelyn’s feet.

Sinking into the comfort and warmth undermined her plans to be awake to speak to the laird on his return. Her body allowed the cushiony softness of the thick mattress to pull it toward sleep.

“Ailsa,” she whispered, struggling to say the words before she drifted into the oblivion of sleep. “Tell the laird I wish to speak to him when he returns—whenever that is.”

“Aye, lady. I will tell the laird.”

She wanted to ask about the tone in the woman’s voice, but her body was settling into sleep. Although she could still hear the woman moving around the room, Jocelyn had not the strength to form and speak more words. And once more, her dreams were filled with images of Ewan.

And sometime in the dark of the night when the fires had burned down, he came to her in her dreams and warmed her body and soul.

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