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,
