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“Mama.”
Duncan left the horse tethered to the tree and stood by the saddle. He lifted his foot and placed it in the stirrup to give her something to leverage herself up. Surprising him with her ability, Mara stepped on his foot and climbed into the saddle. Patting the horse’s neck, she seemed as much at home on the animal as he might be. After a moment of adjusting her skirts around her, she held her arms out for her daughter.
And she smiled.
The corners of her mouth curved up and the whole countenance of her face changed. Her appearance brightened and he discovered another woman instead of the stern one he’d met. This one seemed younger than the other and there was a mischievous glimmer in her eyes that made him question his first, second and third appraisals of her.
“You have ridden?” Although a statement, it came out as a question.
“Aye, sir. But, it has been many years since then.”
Her body adapted to the horse’s shifting as though she were born to it, regardless of her claims. Duncan reached down and took Ciara up in his arms and then handed her to Mara, who settled the girl before her. Their heads bent together and they whispered words he could not hear, but could guess. He stood back and watched them for a few moments and the tightness in his chest returned.
Marian dared not meet his gaze, for his eyes had taken on that soft look of yearning that she’d glimpsed before. He stepped away from them and, after a few minutes of letting the horse accustom itself to their weight (though together they did not weigh as much as he did) and presence, he tugged the reins free of the tree and turned to face her.
“Shall I walk you or would you like the reins?” he asked.
It was a quiet question but it caused a yearning of her own to creep into her heart.
When she lived here those years ago, a daughter of the laird surrounded by all the honor and comforts of such a position, riding had been her passion and her talent. Her brother told her she rode better than any man he knew and that had been a source of pride to her. Now, though, owning or riding a mount such as the one she’d had or one such as this would bring too much attention to her and would remind too many of her past. So, she exercised the self-control that had served her this long and wrapped her arms around her daughter.
“We would be pleased if you would control the horse, sir,” she said softly.
“Oh, yes, Duncan,” Ciara said. “Please?”
Her daughter knew nothing of her past, and she intended to keep it that way now. ‘Twas safer for all involved. Mara held on to her and watched with a feeling of pride as Ciara sat confidently before her, reaching out to pat the horse’s mane and to ask the Peacemaker an unending string of questions. So many in fact that he finally laughed a loud at them.
When they reached the end of the lane to her door, he turned, thankfully, not toward the rest of the village, but away and down the path that led to the bridge and off into the forest. He walked quietly at their side, guiding the horse to a slow and even gait. He continued across the bridge and down the road and then stopped just out of sight of the bridge.
“How was that, Ciara?” he asked. “Did you enjoy riding my horse?”
“Oh, yes,” she said in that soft, childish tone. “And Mama did, as well.”
“Did she now?” he asked her daughter while shifting his gaze to hers.
Marian swallowed and then swallowed again, trying to clear her throat of the tightness that had taken control. She did not understand the how or why of it, but a glance from this man made parts of her feel alive and awake. Parts that had never been tempted to feel anything, now pulsed with some sense of anticipation. Regardless of her past, regardless of her lack of experience in such things, she had the urge to touch her mouth to determine why it tingled so. Finally she blinked and freed herself from his gaze.
“Aye, sir. And my thanks for such a pleasant ride.” She smiled and kissed the top of Ciara’s head before handing her over to him. “‘Twas an uncommon treat for us.”
Ciara babbled on to him as he lowered her to the ground, nodding or shaking his head in quick succession as the questions and comments flowed unabated. Ciara, as much as she, was unused to the presence of such a man in her life. Pretending to be a widowed cousin of the laird extended a certain protection and excuse to their lives and, except for the occasional incursion of someone like Laren, the men of the clan gave them no troubles or even attention. What Iain had said, or what orders he’d given, she knew not. But, the result was that Ciara knew very few men at all.
Duncan stood and held out his hand for a moment before dropping it to his side. Marian shook her foot free of the straps on the other side of the horse and was preparing to climb down when his words stopped her.
“In spite of his sometimes-brutish behavior, the horse is usually well-mannered,” he began, reaching out to stroke the horse’s head. He held out the reins to her. “If you would like to ride him down the road a bit, he wouldna mind.”
Of all the things he could offer, this one was truly temptation. She forced her hand to stay on the edge of the saddle and shook her head.
“I could not do that, sir. But I…” She was about to thank him when he interrupted.
“You have the skills. Any man with eyes in his head could see that.” He held the leather straps up closer. “I will keep watch on the lass while you go a bit down the road and back.”
How could she fight this? How could she resist such a simple and innocent pleasure? Ciara, once more, decided her answer before she could.
“Oh, Mama!” she exclaimed from the ground, where she stood safely at the man’s side. Marian noticed that he kept her close enough to shield her from any such movements by the horse. “Ride the horse, please!” That expression of awe filled her face again and Marian was unable to refuse and make that look go away.
“May I?” she asked, just to be certain she did not misunderstand. “And you will wait here with Sir Duncan for a moment or two, Ciara?”
Her daughter, fearless as she was, slipped her hand into Duncan’s larger one and nodded. “We will watch you.”
Marian nodded and took the reins from him. The two of them stepped back, still hand in hand, but now her daughter stood silent. Wrapping the leather straps around her hands, through her fingers and on her wrists as was her custom when riding, Marian brought her knees forward and leaned down to gain a better balance. With a touch on its sides, the horse began to trot down the pathway.
It felt familiar within scant moments: the feel of being atop of horse and using her legs to control it and the motion as they moved along the road. Glancing back, she saw the two standing there, waving to her and a wild thought entered her mind.
But, did she dare?
She laughed then, something of the old Marian filled her and then, with more pressure and a flick of the reins, she gave the horse its head and held on as the black stallion took it. The trees raced by her. The wind tore her kerchief from her head and loosened her hair from its bonds, but she cared not. Leaning down closer to the horse’s head, she whispered words of encouragement as it sped up even more. It was a glorious animal.
Marian soon realized she must go back. The daylight was dwindling and tasks lay before her. And she should feel guilty about leaving her daughter with the MacLerie’s man, but she knew down deep inside that he was trustworthy or would not be who he was.
Still, this small pleasure would sustain for years. Now, she must return before anyone witnessed her behavior. Gathering the reins in and drawing the horse to a slower speed, she guided it back toward the bridge and her daughter. Retrieving her kerchief from the branch that captured it on her passing, she returned a bit slower than she’d ridden away.
Marian arrived at the bridge and slowed the horse to a walk, allowing it to cool from the run. Looking around, she could not find either the Peacemaker or her daughter. Tamping down the urge to panic, she guided the horse back toward her cottage, looking ahead as she rode. When she saw them standing at the edge of the trees, she slowed the horse to a walk and approached them slowly. Once more Ciara surprised her by waiting at Sir Duncan’s side and not running up to the horse.
Her cheeks held color now, whether from exhilaration or the pleasure of the ride, he knew not. Duncan watched as she changed before his eyes, from a vibrant young woman who obviously enjoyed riding to someone much older and more staid. As she wrapped the kerchief back over her hair and tied it, Mara became a different person.
He’d only seen glimpses of it before and those had heightened his curiosity about the woman. Ranald would give no more information about her than that she was a widowed cousin of the laird’s, recently returned to live there with her daughter. His reticence gave Duncan pause and now, after watching this, he knew there was much, much more going on here.
Mara tugged the horse to stop and he walked over to help her down. Her waist was slight in his hands, narrower than her clothing gave the appearance it would be. He guided her to her feet and would have let go, but she stumbled and he grabbed her to keep her from falling. This time, his hands did not land on her waist, but higher, where he could feel the fullness of her breasts.
Breasts she hid from the rest.
Breasts that would fill his hands, if he but moved them a wee bit higher.
His body shivered then and he grew hard at the feel of her womanly curves in his grasp. Mara stilled in his hold and he knew that she felt the growing hardness positioned between them. In that instant, an awareness of her as a woman took hold of him that shocked him in its simplicity. He’d been intrigued by her, amused by and interested in many things about her. But, now, on a more visceral, more primitive level, he was aroused by her.
It may have only been a moment, but it stretched on for a piece of forever, broken only when the girl’s voice called his name. Releasing her from his hold, Duncan stepped away from Mara and turned to her daughter.
“Mama, look what Sir Duncan gave me!” Ciara squealed. Holding her hand out, she showed her mother the horse that Tavis had carved at his request.
“What is this?” Marian asked. Her gaze met his and he saw a myriad of questions in it. Then she took the horse from Ciara and examined it.
The sight of her fingers following the smooth curves of the wood sent alternating waves of heat and ice through his body now, which seemed to recognize the pleasure that would be gained if such a caress slid over it instead of the wood. Duncan inhaled sharply trying to break the growing spell that surrounded him now.
“One of my men makes them for his wee sisters and brothers. I thought Ciara might like one,” he offered.
“You are kind, sir, but we cannot accept this.”
Her eyes hardened in that moment and she shook her head. Ciara gasped and then reached out for the toy.
“Mama!” she cried. “Please!”
He tried to figure out what had happened and how this innocent gesture had gone wrong. Then the truth struck him. A gift given to a woman who lived without the protection of a man meant one thing.
“It is only a small toy for the child, Mara. I meant no disrespect by it,” he explained in a low voice. He neither wished to make the situation worse, nor did he wish to undermine her authority in her daughter’s eyes.
Mara looked at her daughter for a moment and relented. She handed the toy back to Ciara and motioned with a tilt of her head.
“Thank you, Sir Duncan!” Ciara chirped. “Thank you!”
Before he could answer, Mara interrupted. “Ciara, take the horse in and let it meet your other toys.”
Ciara laughed aloud and left them both, as she skipped back to the cottage and her other toys, intent on introducing a new plaything to the existing ones. He watched her path for a few seconds before turning back to face her mother.
After the physical reaction his body had shown to her nearness, Duncan suspected that his gift had not been all that respectful. Not the carved toy, but the chance to ride his horse.
He’d read her desire to ride free of his presence and even that of her daughter in her face whenever she glanced at his horse. It was like seeing a secret past flitting over her features, moments and memories of pleasure and happiness now held deep inside and only let loose when she thought no one saw or recognized them.
But he had.
His years of reading expressions during negotiations and interpreting them, ascertaining weaknesses and strengths, had not stopped simply because she was a woman and not involved in the meetings. He’d seen the desire and the aching want there on her face, in her eyes, and allowing her that short pleasure seemed an easy thing.
But his body had interpreted the basic, raw part of the offer and she had, too. In spite of his inability to see it, both gifts came with an expectation. He should apologize. ‘Twas the right thing to do. But the awareness between them made it difficult to deny its existence.
“Mara,” he began, but she stopped him with a shake of her head.
“Sir Duncan,” she said quietly, “let me be candid with you. I returned here with the laird’s permission and have tried to lead a circumspect life with my daughter.”
He thought her choice of words strange, especially since she sounded much more educated than a poor widow living on the laird’s beneficence. But he waited for more.
“You are an honored guest of the laird’s and I would not offer insult or be inhospitable to you or in any way threaten the success of your work here, but…”
She glanced at him and then away, taking in and letting out a deep breath, as though fortifying herself for the rest of it. Still he waited.
“But your presence here and your attentions to me and my daughter, regardless of your intentions, can bring only problems to us all.”
Well, at least she’d allowed that his intentions might be simply innocent ones. Practicing the patience he was known for, Duncan let the silence go on, knowing she had more to say. It was her touch, her hand placed on his arm, that nearly undid his control.
“There can be nothing more between us, sir. If you seek only a fleeting amusement, there are others in the village who would gladly provide it to such a man as you.” She paused then for another breath. “And I know that you cannot seek more than that, for your duties to your clan and your laird will call for your return and you will be gone from these lands. And a woman like me has nothing to offer you.”
Part of him wanted to argue each point with her. He did not seek only amusements of the flesh. His actions did not ask for that. He would not simply engage her in something meaningless and then return to Lairig Dubh and she insulted him with such an accusation. However, his pride stung with the truth of her words and he took a moment to think a bit before speaking.
“I did not mean to insult you, mistress,” he began, as he stepped back and added some space between them. Her hand dropped from his arm, but the heat of the touch still pulsed through his skin. “In all candor, I did not think of the consequences of my visits to you or my gift to your daughter. Since I have no wish to cause trouble for either of you, I will not seek your company again.”
Duncan turned to leave, but she stopped him—again with her hand on his arm. Facing her, he now read fear in her expression. And he did not like it.
“Your pardon, sir, for my boldness. I did not mean to insult you or your kindness to my daughter,” Mara said, bowing her head in a gesture of submission that did not fit her and that he wanted not to ever see her perform.
He knew as she did, that she would not, indeed, could not refuse him any request he made. Duncan had the laird’s welcome and they both knew it extended to anything or anyone in the laird’s control. And that meant her. If he’d wanted her in his bed, naked and there for his pleasure, she would be there with the laird’s blessing.
That was one thing he would never do. One limitation he had set for himself early on in his experience. He did not use women for his comfort no matter that he could. Reaching over he lifted her chin with his fingers and waited for her to meet his gaze.
“You have nothing to fear from me, mistress. Truly. I take my leave of you and hope you will give my farewells to your daughter.”
He offered a slight bow and turned away then, even as so many unspoken words entered his thoughts. Some of them would explain his actions, some would simply muddy the waters between them now. Duncan listened as he walked to his horse and mounted it, hoping deep inside that she would call him back.
But she did not.
The pragmatic man within who’d never before been distracted from his duties understood and accepted her actions for what they were—the sensible thing to do for both of them.
Marian watched him leave before returning to her own duties that waited inside the cottage. Dinner, some mending and sewing, taking care of Ciara and more. The strength drained from her and she struggled to complete even the simplest of tasks. Ciara seemed to know she was out-of-sorts and did not press her for too many songs or stories before sliding under the blankets on her pallet and into the sleep of the innocent.
But sleep did not come to Marian.
She tossed and turned, feeling every bump in the pallet beneath her. Deep in her heart, grief and anger grew until she could no longer deny that it raged within. The only warning was the burning in her throat and eyes before the tears began pouring out. Marian tugged the end of the blanket up and held it against her mouth to capture any noise that might wake Ciara.
Once the grief was loosed, it would not go quietly back under control. The years of loneliness, the ongoing humiliation, the loss of family and friends broke through and she sobbed at the pain. The worst of it were the feelings that this stranger had caused, feelings that could never be part of her life. Desires and yearnings for a life of her own, buried these last five years, now tore free. For a husband and children.
Some minutes later, when the tempest calmed, Marian turned over and looked at the one thing that had made it all worthwhile. Ciara was the one joy in her life and made every moment of suffering and every lost possibility bearable. Reaching over to smooth her daughter’s hair away from her face, she knew she would bear this sorrow as well.
Iain nodded to the villager to come forward. Leaning over he listened to the man’s words and then sent him on his way with another nod. Turning to his steward, Iain grinned with the smile of the vindicated.
“So, his interest in my sister grows then,” he commented.
“Aye,” Struan answered. “Do you think ‘tis wise not to interfere?”
“The MacLerie’s man has done nothing that needs my intervention, Struan. At least not yet. And especially since not many know she is my sister.”
Struan bowed and moved away, leaving Iain alone. Glancing around the room at the others present, he realized that so much had changed since that terrible night five years before. His brothers had grown, he had inherited the clan leadership from his father and had instituted many changes that were beneficial to them. These negotiations were only one of them.
Still, the guilt that Marian carried the burden of his own actions had weighed on him lately. He’d allowed her to return, hoping that a solution would come to him about her future. None had until just these last days.
The Peacemaker’s interest in her was intriguing. He was not known to turn his attentions from his work while negotiating. He did not seek out the company of women while traveling on his laird’s business. So, the turning of his attentions to any woman was remarkable. That the woman was Iain’s own sister made it even more so.
Iain drank deeply from his cup and thought on the possibilities. A few hours later, as the fire in the hearth burned down to only embers and the chamber emptied around him, he still sat deep in thought.
Chapter Five
Duncan listened but could not believe the words he heard. The Robertson’s man had just relinquished his objections to a primary clause in their treaty and given in to Connor’s demands on several other issues as well. They’d made more progress in hours than they had in the days since their arrival there. And if there was a reason, Duncan could see it not.
Still, he found himself pleased by the concessions made so far and he felt the temptation to continue to press for more. If the Robertson was feeling generous, why ever not? When Hamish nodded at him, Duncan knew his friend noticed the same thing.
“…and I have ordered a feast for tomorrow eve to mark our progress,” Iain finished.
“A feast? Pardon my inattention, Iain. A feast on the morrow?” he repeated.
“Aye. Many of my people have voiced an interest in meeting the MacLerie’s emissary and his men, so I thought a feast would give them that opportunity.”
Something in this offer made Duncan prickle with unease. “Truly, Iain, though I, and my men, appreciate this sign of friendship, this will distract us from our purpose.” He turned and looked at the others in the chamber. “Mayhap we should finish our work and celebrate the results then?”
