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