Chapter Two
One year later
The Yuletide wish she had made more than a year ago had not come true. Having just turned nine and ten, Mariote nevertheless believed there was still hope.
She read the letter from Conner MacGavin once again, smoothing the parchment with a fond smile.
My Dearest Mariote,
My heart beats with love and adoration for you and only you. You have made me the happiest of men by accepting my hand in marriage. I feel as though I will not draw breath nor sleep again until I have you in my arms and as my wife.
I shall meet ye in the glen near the stream at dawn in exactly six days, just as we have planned. Until then, I am and always will be,
Your humble servant and future husband,
Conner.
With care, she folded the parchment and slipped it into her satchel. Her heart skipped a beat or two—more out of fear than any other emotion. If she were caught, her father would certainly lock her in the south tower until she turned forty. Oh, she knew he would not really lock her away, but one could not be entirely certain what one’s father might good and truly do were he pushed to the ends of his patience. And she had pushed him thusly on more than one occasion over the past few years.
Quietly, so as not to wake her sisters, she tucked one last item into her bag. ’Twas a sprig of heather, twined with a bit of string. Old and dried, it had been a gift from a young man who had quickly become her friend within days of her arrival. Lachlan MacCaully. His mum was a MacCallum, his father a MacCaully. Lachlan was three years her senior, a kind and giving young man with a tender heart. He was like an older brother to her, and their friendship was one she would always cherish. Though in truth, she had at one time harbored a secret crush on the lad. But when he had remarked how glad he was for their friendship, she soon realized they would never be anything more than friends.
Mariote sent a furtive glance about the dark bedchamber. Thankfully, her sisters were still fast asleep. ’Twould be hours before any of them rose and discovered her missing. ’Twould be hours more before any alarms would be sounded. When they woke to find Mariote’s spot empty, they would not consider it odd or strange, for she was always up long before any of them.
They would think she had left to help Maryd McCullum birth her third child. Mariote had carefully planted that seed last eve as she and her sisters readied for bed. “Maryd is due any moment now,” she had told them. “I do hope she waits until daylight this time, for I be awfully tired.” To which her sisters had no reply, for they were too busy discussing the upcoming Yule Tide and lads and romance. All save for Orabilis, her youngest sister, who had no interest in romance or lads, for she was still of a mind that lads were naught but nuisances.
“I shall miss ye,” Mariote whispered. Taking one last glance at each of her sleeping sisters, she quietly slipped out into the hallway.
At this late hour, everyone within the keep was abed. Even the torches that lined the walls flickered low, as if they too were exhausted.
Blood began to rush in her ears with the excitement of stealing away in the middle of the night. Mariote did not consider herself to be running away, but rather running to something. ’Twas the only way she could deal with the deep seated guilt of having made the decision to become Conner MacGavin’s wife. He loves me, she reminded her rapidly beating and guilt-ridden heart, and he has made me love him with his beautiful letters. Who would not fall in love with such a man? I will be his wife and the mother of his children. I will finally have all that I ever wanted.
As she tip-toed down the dark corridor, she paused just outside her parent’s bedchamber. Her mother, she was convinced, would understand her reasons for doing what she was doing. Her father, however, was an altogether different story. ’Twould undoubtedly break his heart when he discovered she’d run off to marry. Do no’ cry, she cursed her heart. Conner has promised ye can visit as often as ye wish. ’Tis no’ like ye’ll never see them again. Gently, she touched the door with her fingertips and bid her mother and father a silent farewell.
Effortlessly, she made her way down the hall to a narrow set of stairs often used by the servants. At this hour, the gathering room would be filled with at least a dozen sleeping men. The risk of waking any of them was far too great. Even if she lied and told them she was leaving to tend to a sick patient, they would undoubtedly offer to escort her. With a pounding heart and shaky hands, she took careful, measured steps downward.
The stairs spilled out into a tiny room with two doors. The one to her right would take her back to the gathering room, and the one to her left led to her father’s study. If she could get there without being caught, then she’d have naught to worry about until her wedding night.
Knowing every inch of the keep, she made her way through the dark without coming across another living soul. Letting out a sigh of relief, she slowly opened the door to the study before peering inside. Empty – just as it should be at this late hour.
Grabbing a torch from the wall, Mariote slipped into Alysander McCullum’s study. Next to the cold hearth was a heavy trunk. That trunk was now the only thing standing between her and Conner. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she set her satchel on the floor before shoving the torch into the iron holder.
For a long moment, she stood in silence, staring at the trunk. Behind it was a small narrow door that led to the secret passageways beneath the keep. One little door that hid the path to her future as Conner’s wife. Her heart began to beat faster, her eagerness to finally meet the man behind the letters increasing a hundredfold.
Mariote bit her lip hard. Guilt and sorrow reared their ugly heads. Guilt for stealing away in the middle of the night like a thief. Sorrow for leaving her family behind as if they didn’t matter.
But there was naught to be done for it. Conner’s father had betrothed him to some feeble-minded lass from the MacCreary clan. A lass he truly had no desire to marry, for he was so in love with Mariote. “And I with him,” she murmured stoically.
Undoubtedly, her own mother and father would be against the union with Conner; Alysander had no kind feelings for the MacGavin clan. They’d been at odds for decades, the McCullums and McGavins, for reasons no one could now remember.
So steal away, the young couple would. They would travel north to Inverness where they would marry and consummate their union before anyone realized what was happening. Then ’twould be too late for anyone to do something about it, such as to try to have their marriage annulled.
The plan to run away together was Conner’s idea. Whilst Mariote would have much preferred a more honest approach, she could not disagree with his reasoning. Besides, he loved her more than breath, more than life. He’d told her so in the many letters he had sent to her in secret these past months.
Lost in her quiet reverie, Mariote did not hear the quiet footfalls of someone entering the room. Panic seized her heart when she heard a soft voice ask, “What are ye doin’?”
Orabilis!
Blast it, she exclaimed silently as she spun around to face her youngest sister. The little girl stood just inside the doorway, looking as confused as she did concerned.
Attempting an air of innocence, Mariote forced a smile. “Orabilis!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Ye just took ten years off me life!”
“Why are ye in Da’s study at this hour?” the girl asked with a dubious frown.
Stammering to find a believable lie, Mariote could not answer right away. Orabilis was the most skeptical, pessimistic child she’d ever known.
“Ye’re stealin’ away,” the child accused her.
Of all her sisters, Orabilis was the brightest and by far the hardest to lie to. Realizing immediately the girl would not believe anything save for the sheer unadulterated truth, Mariote pulled her shoulders back and looked her dead in the eye. “Aye.”
Pinching her lips together and rolling her eyes, Orabilis said, “To be with Conner MacGavin.”
Oh, why had she not lied months ago when the first letter arrived? Mariote cursed her own stupidity silently. “Aye.”
“’Twill put father in an early grave,” Orabilis said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Do no’ be ridiculous,” Mariote argued. If she had a siller for every time their father used that threat when frustrated with any one of his daughters, why, she’d be richer than the king. “He only says that because he loves us so much.”
“Then why would ye be stealin’ away to marry a man he does no’ want ye to marry?”
“Because if it were up to him, none of us would ever marry. He never lets anyone call upon us, never seeks betrothals for us. We’ll all die auld maids.”
Orabilis scoffed. “I would no’ mind that so much. ’Twould be preferable to marryin’ and takin’ orders from a man.”
Mariote let loose a frustrated breath. “I do no’ have time to argue it with ye, Orabilis. Ye may no’ want to be a wife or mother, but I do.”
Orabilis shook her head in dismay. For along moment, she was quiet, studying her sister closely. The words that next left her mouth left Mariote stunned to silence.
“Then marry someone Da would find agreeable. Marry Willem.”
Orabilis knew her sister’s true heart and feelings toward Willem McCullum. For years, Mariote had harbored more than just a tender regard for the young man. However, she firmly believed that Willem was not the right man for her sister. ’Twas not to say he was not an honorable and decent man, for he was. However, he was also a scoundrel of the highest proportions. Orabilis might be young, but she was not stupid. She knew all about Willem and his love of women.
There was someone better, someone far more suited to Mariote’s sensibilities, and her sister was certain he cared about Mariote. Still, she’d rather the girl married Willem instead of a MacGavin.
While Orabilis was convinced she’d never fall prey to such a deadly force as love, she knew her sisters were not as stalwart or strong as she. Each and every one of them had already fallen victim to their own hearts more times than she could count.
But Mariote? She was different. She was not like Esa—who was in love with a new lad every other sennight. Muriale was almost as bad, but not nearly as vocal about it.
Orabilis watched as Mariote stood taller, looking appalled at the idea her sister had just presented to her.
“Willem has absolutely no interest in me,” Mariote said. “Besides, it matters not at this juncture. I’ve made up my mind. I will marry Conner MacGavin, with or without our parents’ blessing.”
“’Tis yer funeral,” Orabilis said with a shrug.
Mariote rolled her eyes heavenward. “’Tis nay a funeral, ye daft child. ’Tis a marriage.”
“Explain to me the difference?” Orabilis challenged.
Frustrated, Mariote pursed her lips. “Ye would stand in the way of love, wouldn’t ye?”
“Nay,” she replied softly. “No’ true love. But I do no’ think ye love Conner.”
Ignoring the twinge of recognition deep inside, Mariote turned back to the trunk and began to push it aside. “I be done arguin’ with ye,” she replied angrily. “But if ye tell Mam or Da what I be doin’, then I shall tell them who really set the chicken coop afire last summer.”
Orabilis knew full well what her sister was doing. She actually felt rather proud of Mariote’s attempt at extortion. Oh, she truly did not want her parents to learn how the fire actually started or why or by whose hand, but she was not so foolish as to believe if they did learn the truth, ’twould be akin to signing her own death warrant. For amusement, she decided to play along. “Ye would no’ dare.”
Mariote spun around, a murderous gleam in her eyes. “I would.”
Realizing that come hell or high-water, Mariote would find a way to marry Conner—which would be the same as issuing one’s own death warrant as far as she was concerned—Orabilis pretended to be unconcerned. “Verra well,” she said dismissively. “Do what ye wish. I’ll no’ tell Mam or Da.”
“Or our sisters,” Mariote added. Aye, she knew Orabilis well enough to ask for that clarification.
“Or our sisters,” she replied. “I just hope he is worth it.”
“Worth what?” Mariote ground out as she slid the door to the passageway aside.
“Worth losin’ yerself and yer family over,” Orabilis replied softly.
Mariote refused to look at her. “Keep yer word, Orabilis, and I’ll keep mine.”
With that, Orabilis watched her oldest and most favorite sister disappear into the darkness of the passageway.
I’ll no’ tell our parents or our sisters, she mused quietly. But I’ll no’ watch ye throw yer life away fer the likes of Conner MacGavin either.