Terri Brisbin Read online

  “I love ye, lass,” he whispered as he kissed her cheek and eased his body from hers.

  A tear trickled from the corner of her eye and she reached up to wipe it away as she moved to the other side of the bed. Tugging the bedcovers over them, she said nothing in reply. He settled in behind her, pulling her close and resting his head near hers.

  “And I you,” she whispered, though the sadness in her voice tore him apart.

  He did not like this. She hid something from him and he hated not knowing. Connor could order her to speak on the matter, but he’d faced Jocelyn’s stubbornness before and understood he’d meet with failure if he did that.

  As her breathing leveled and he felt her relax into sleep, her body resting with abandonment against his, he tried to find the patience within himself to wait for her to tell him the truth. And he tried to remember she would never betray him.

  The birds of morn began their waking song, but he still lay awake pondering the matter of his wife and her problem.

  * * *

  Whether he’d done it deliberately or not, Connor’s passion had pushed her over the edge to sleep. Between trying to see to the plans for the wedding feast and consulting with Connor’s sister Margaret over arrangements and taking care of her children and husband and deceiving that same husband into believing that nothing was awry, she’d slept little. Now the sun rose on the day that would see her first match-made couple married, she realized that she woke alone.

  Sliding her hand across the bed, she felt the warmth of his body that yet remained there, so she knew he had not risen too much earlier. Jocelyn dressed quickly, making a list in her mind of all the tasks to be seen to before the festivities began at noon. Glancing over to the alcove and then at the closed door, she decided that this might be the only time she had to search for information about two clans that seemed to be gathering favor in Connor’s eye and in his plans for alliances. Clans that would be perfect, in his opinion, to forge bonds with through marriages.

  Searching through the keys she carried, she found the one for the strongbox and inserted it into the lock, turning it slowly and as quietly as she could. The sound of the metal scraping seemed to echo through the bedchamber and she kept her gaze on the door for any sign of Connor’s return. After two tries, Jocelyn knew the key did not work. Pulling it out and sliding it in once more made no difference.

  Jocelyn examined the key and knew it was the same one, for she’d scratched a mark on it. As she lifted the lock to look more closely at it, she knew then that it was a different lock! She dropped it and stood back, searching for another explanation. None was possible. And if the lock had been replaced, the only person with the key to open it was…

  Standing at the doorway to their bedchamber.

  The expression on his face reminded her of his earlier reputation as a beast, for his gaze darkened and his brow gathered into a furious frown. He strode to where she stood, and from the way her heart raced and sweat beaded on her neck, she discovered that he could yet intimidate her.

  “Jocelyn,” he growled as he walked toward her. “You will tell me what this is about now.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking like the formidable warrior he was. Worse, he looked like a husband who would brook no delays in getting an explanation from a reluctant wife.

  Though she knew she was not in danger, her body reacted to the threat in his voice. If she revealed her deepest fears, would he laugh them off? As laird, he was used to not being second-guessed about his decisions and she’d observed his reactions in the past to such actions.

  “Are you the one who has been searching through the strongbox these last months?”

  He knew? He’d known all along?

  “Connor, I can explain this,” she began. Clasping her hands together to make their shaking less obvious, she stepped back to give herself a bit of space. “I…”

  “Jocelyn!”

  Startled, they both looked toward the door, the opened door, as both Margriet and Marian called to her.

  “The cook has changed the recipe for the cakes,” Margriet complained. “I think them too sweet now.”

  “Gair thinks to sit Ailsa and Angus next to their parents at the high table,” Marian added. “He will not relent without your permission.” Both women stood with their hands on their hips and met her gaze as they spoke.

  They were rescuing her!

  Connor’s gaze narrowed and he glanced from her to them and back again to her. She tried to remain calm and raised a brow in question. Would he allow her escape?

  “Connor?” She waited for his permission before stepping around him and heading to the door. Just as she moved around him, he grabbed her arm and pulled her close, close enough that no one would hear his words.

  “We will have this discussion and you will tell me the truth of this, Jocelyn.”

  Before he released her, he searched her face and then nodded at her. “See to your duties then.” This time he spoke so the others heard.

  Chapter Three

  Jocelyn walked away, aware of every second of his silent and accusing scrutiny, and joined her friends at the door. Even as she did, she felt strong misgivings about this plan, but her friends motioned to her to follow quickly and she left Connor behind. When they reached the hall below, Jocelyn stopped.

  “We must stop,” she said to the two. Leading them over to an empty alcove, she shook her head and crossed her arms. “Connor saw me.”

  “When we saw him return to your chambers, we thought you might need help,” Margriet said. “Did you search for the documents?”

  “About the MacQuarries?” Marian asked. Her daughter would be of marriageable age soon and her parents, with Connor’s would be preparing to choose an appropriate husband. Unfortunately, the girl’s inherited wealth attracted many interested suitors and their families, and Marian worried about the possible matches. It was the only reason she’d become involved in their attempts to find more information about potential matches now.

  “I never got to them. He has moved the documents from the strongbox.”

  “He knows?” Margriet asked.

  “He suspects.” Jocelyn shrugged. “I have been sloppy in searching.”

  “Mayhap we should wait?” Marian asked, though Jocelyn could hear the concern in her voice.

  No one said anything for several moments, each one, no doubt, thinking of her own child who would be approaching marriageable age soon and on their fate if the laird could not be swayed toward what they thought were more suitable matches.

  “I am not certain we can,” Jocelyn said, “so many are attending this wedding, and I know Connor and Duncan will begin talks.”

  She would have continued, but soon all three of them were drawn into the final preparations for the wedding, and Jocelyn carried out her duties as the wife of the laird in spite of receiving several dark glances from that man. When they spoke to others, there was no sign of discord between them, but Jocelyn’s heart felt a growing chasm between them.

  As their guests arrived through the day, she saw to their welcome and comfort and tried to meet as many of the people whose names she had collected from the clan’s documents as she could, pointing out several to Marian when she thought them promising.

  By the end of the afternoon, she and her friends gained a good understanding of possible candidates for husband for Marian’s daughter Ciara. Now they could begin to influence that choice.

  The sting of tears in her e
yes as Angus and Ailsa spoke their vows made Jocelyn look at Connor, remembering their own ceremony and how far they’d come since. She expected to see that same dark expression, so the love that shone at her surprised her. The tears that threatened now flowed and Jocelyn decided that she must tell Connor the truth—that her efforts had resulted in this marriage and that her friends planned to make even more matches from within and without the clan.

  But it would be some time before they had a moment of privacy, so Jocelyn put her concerns aside and decided to enjoy the festivities. Ailsa looked lovely in her new gown and Angus had given her a necklace, a family heirloom, to wear, and she kept touching it and smiling at him.

  So innocent. So much in love. A good family. A successful match to be sure.

  When the meal finished and the dancing began, Jocelyn joined in, dancing first with Connor and then with other family and friends. Even her eldest son, visiting for this family wedding, took her hand and led her through a dance that left her breathless. She wanted to clutch him and hold him tight, but there were certain expectations for the son of the laird and being fostered by another clan was one of them. Though she cried many nights since Connor sent him away, she was proud of the young man he was becoming.

  Marian and Margriet joined her at table to laugh over the children’s antics and to watch the others as they greeted the young couple and teased them about the coming night. Ailsa blushed and Jocelyn saw her slip her hand into her new husband’s, seeking comfort.

  She would do the same thing with Connor when they stood together, and the feel of his strong hand surrounding hers gave her strength. They’d overcome so much over the years and had forged a good marriage. Now she hoped her efforts for others would continue for the next generation of their family and friends.

  Pushing aside the softer feelings, she began to point out various families and men to Marian and they divided up then, each going off to speak with those under consideration. They would meet back in the solar before retiring to discuss any promising matches and then their own introductions on the morrow before their guests left…and watch the way Ciara interacted with the young men they’d chosen. That was the crucial step before making their final determination and beginning their earnest efforts with both families.

  It had worked with Ailsa and young Angus.

  It would work again for Ciara and Jocelyn’s own Aidan and Lilidh and Margriet’s Isobel, all of whom were approaching marriageable age.

  It would work.

  Chapter Four

  “Do not laugh,” Connor warned Duncan and Rurik. “Your own wives are somehow involved in this.”

  Connor swallowed down the last mouthful of the potent uisge-beatha in his cup and motioned for the servant to fill it again. He’d watched Jocelyn all through the day and witnessed the bout of conscience she suffered—it was in her eyes each time their gazes met. Jocelyn was keeping something from him and felt guilt over doing so.

  Then when her friends arrived so fortuitously at their bedchamber door this morning at the right moment to save Jocelyn from his further questioning, Connor understood that this was a venture of the feminine kind and all three were involved.

  And that did not bode well for any of their three husbands.

  In his heart he knew she would never betray him, but watching as she spoke endlessly with every young man at the feast—most he knew but some he did not—made his blood boil. He swore countless times to himself that he was not a jealous man, however the blood heating and racing through his veins said otherwise. Combining her suspicious actions about the strongbox with this odd, overfriendly behavior now—and that of her friends—and Connor knew something strange was afoot and Jocelyn was at the center of it.

  “I have seen nothing amiss with Marian,” Duncan said. “She has just been helping Jocelyn and Ailsa’s mother with all the work.”

  “As has Margriet,” Rurik added.

  Connor waited for them to put it all together. As they looked through the people, searching for their wives, he knew it would not take long for them to feel the same thing he did.

  “Why is Marian talking to that young whelp? Is he not the MacQuarrie heir?” Duncan drank up the last of his whisky and watched more closely.

  “Margriet and Dougal MacKenzie have something of common interest?” Rurik asked. He crossed his arms over his chest and Connor recognized a warrior’s stance. “Why is she standing so close to him?”

  “What is going on?” Duncan asked, not taking his eyes off his wife as she spoke enthusiastically with the brash young man who would follow his father as clan chief.

  “I caught Jocelyn trying to open the strongbox last night and again this morning.”

  Both men looked at him as though he had three heads and he understood their disbelief, for it had been his at one point. But Jocelyn’s guilty gaze had confirmed it for him.

  “What was she doing?” Duncan asked first.

  “Did she take anything?” Rurik followed.

  “Nay. But she did not have the chance.” Connor drank another mouthful from his cup and shrugged. “There is nothing in that box, not the documents or anything else stored in there from time to time, that she could not see if she but asked. So what is she looking for that she does not want to admit?”

  Now their wives left those to whom they spoke and seemed to change places, each one speaking to one to whom the others had just spoken.

  “’Tis time to find out the truth,” he declared.

  “Past time,” Rurik said as he slammed his cup down on the table. Flexing his shoulders and stretching his arms, he readied for a battle.

  “They are my guests, Rurik. Remember that.”

  “Hospitality can be stretched a bit, can it not?” Duncan asked with a jealous glint in his eyes. Duncan had nearly violated the Highland practice once in his past when it came to defending Marian, so Connor did not doubt he would do it again if she was offered insult. Connor put his hand on Duncan’s shoulder and squeezed it.

  “She does not look in need of defense now, so be wary and slow to act in my hall, Duncan.”

  He put his cup down and stood, lining up next to his friends. The women looked at one another and, with a nod from Jocelyn, they all walked toward her solar. Now was their opportunity.

  “It is time to find out what is going on between them,” Connor said. “Get your wives, take them somewhere and find out the truth.”

  “And you?”

  “Jocelyn is about to discover that the Beast of the Highlands yet lives.”

  The three stalked their wives across the hall and reached them just as they reached the chamber Jocelyn used for all manner of things. The women noticed them at the same moment and lined up, facing them. Connor watched as both guilt and nervousness filled their expressions—as though caught sneaking into Cook’s store of sweets—and as though they knew the moment of reckoning was at hand.

  “Marian,” Duncan began as he held out his hand to his wife. “Come with me.”

  “Margriet.” Rurik said nothing more and waited for his wife to walk with him.

  Jocelyn watched silently as her friends were drawn away and then turned to him. He looked over her shoulder at the solar and realized he needed more privacy than what this chamber offered if he was to succeed in his plan.

  “Come, wife,” he said, offering her his hand. “I would speak to you.”

  She stepped back, opening a path into her chamber. “We can speak inside, Connor.”
br />   “We can but will not,” he explained, shaking his head to refuse her offer. “I will be neither interrupted nor disturbed while this matter is settled between us.”

  She swallowed once and then again, took a deep breath and then accepted his proffered hand, walking at his side toward the stairs to their chambers. He waited, hoping she would just admit the truth to him on her own, but the words never came. He guided her up the stairs to their rooms and gave orders to the guard at the bottom there that no one be allowed up.

  With the wedding feast still continuing, they could not remain away for long, but Connor had two separate plans to persuade her to explain herself and her actions to him. If the first did not work, the second surely would.

  He knew everything about this woman at his side, every inch of her body, every facet of her soul, and he would use that knowledge to show her she could confide in him over this troubling matter. If not as her husband, then as her laird.

  They stepped into their chambers and he released her hand, turning to drop the bar across the door. Another way to ensure there would be no interruptions. He waited for her to face him, which she did from several paces away, but when she would have spoken, or looked as though she would, Connor shook his head at her.

  “I think, wife, you have forgotten the danger in rousing the Beast of the Highlands.” He smiled at her and she blinked rapidly as though trying to figure out his meaning. Connor did not let her wait for long. Striding across the distance between them, he pulled her into his arms and lifted her face to his.