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
