Chapter Three
Orabilis was afraid of few things in this world. Her father often remarked she was born as fierce as any Highland warrior he’d ever known. Much to her mother’s vexation, Alysander had proudly encouraged her pursuit of learning the proper way to defend oneself. Of course, she’d been all of six when he began to train her in the art of weaponry.
But as she got older—and better with a sword than he had anticipated—he began to rethink his previous stance on the matter. Still, he was quite proud of her.
Young as she was and as fearless as she might be, she was not dim-witted. Therefore, when she snuck into the armory, she did so with a good measure of caution.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been in the armory before. However, at this exceeding late hour, one couldn’t be too cautious. There was a good chance she could be killed by a warrior startled from his sleep.
Mindful of the seriousness of the situation, she tiptoed across the stone floor without aid of candle or torch. ’Twas another thing her father was proud of her for: her uncanny, cat-like ability to see in the darkest of places.
Kneeling next to Lachlan McCullum’s palette, Orabilis bent low to whisper his name into his ear.
He shot up like an arrow from a bow, a sgian dubh in one hand, a battle-axe in the other.
“Wheest!” she whispered. “’Tis me, Orabilis!”
His eyes widened in horror at seeing the young girl there. “What in the bloody hell are ye about, Orabilis?” he whispered harshly. “I could have killed ye!”
“Wheest,” she warned him again. “Ye’ll get us both killed if me da finds me here at this hour.”
Taken aback by her warning, a tic began to form in his jaw. For the life of him, he could not begin to imagine what she was doing in the armory at such a late hour.
Pressing a finger to her own lips, Orabilis motioned for him to follow her. He had half a mind to swat her arse, drag her back into the keep to her parents, and let them deal with her. But curiosity won out over anger. Soon, he was tossing on a plaid and boots, along with his sword belt, and following the young girl outside.
“What are ye doin’ here at this ungodly hour?” he asked angrily as soon as they were away from the armory. His breath hung in a heavy mist in the cold night air.
“’Tis Mariote,” Orabilis replied. “I fear she has done somethin’ foolish.”
Mariote? His heart began to thrum against his chest with worry. “What has she done? And why did ye no’ wake yer parents?”
“I can no’ do that. I made her a promise that I would no’ tell them or our sisters.”
Lachlan sighed, undoubtedly thinking this was not quite as serious as she was leading him to believe. “What foolish thing has she done?” he asked. From the level of concern he saw in her eyes, he was afraid he’d not like the answer. He and Mariote had become the best of friends when she and her family had first arrived over four years ago. As one of the most logical-thinking people he’d ever had the pleasure to meet, he could not begin to imagine what foolish thing Mariote might have done.
“She has run off to marry Conner MacGavin.”
He had known for a very long while that his friend was deeply and wildly in love with his other dear friend, Willem. Mariote might not have said as much, but he was not an unintelligent man. He could see it in her eyes whenever Willem was near.
But Conner MacGavin? This was the first time he’d heard the man’s name in an age, let alone connected to Mariote.
“Ye can no’ be serious,” he whispered, awash in astonishment. An ache formed deep in his heart.
“I am,” she told him, matching his scowl with one of her own. “He has apparently declared his love for her. But I do no’ think she loves him.”
Raising a brow he asked, “Then why in God’s name—” he stopped mid-sentence. Young women oft did things that made not a lick of sense. Realizing the seriousness of the situation, he asked, “When? How?”
“Only moments ago,” she replied. “She used the secret passages. They lead—”
“I ken where they lead,” he ground out.
Bloody hell! he cursed inwardly.
“Ye must go after her,” Orabilis said. “Before she makes a mistake she can no’ unmake.”
If he sounded the alarm now, Mariote would undoubtedly never live down the shame or embarrassment. But if he didn’t do something to stop her, Alysander wouldn’t let Lachlan live to explain why he hadn’t done more to keep her from making that mistake.
Letting loose an angry sigh of resignation, he said, “She can no’ have gotten far. I shall go after her and bring her home.”
“Thank ye, Lachlan,” she replied with a smile. “I be certain Mariote will thank ye as well. She considers ye a dear friend.”
Aye, he quietly fumed. And ’twill never be more than that. While they were good friends, Mariote would never thank him for what he was about to do. Undoubtedly, she’d blame him for crushing her dreams. Their friendship would probably be forever altered. Still, he could not simply stand by and allow her to do this. Her heart, he knew, belonged to Willem.
“Ye go back to bed and say nothin’,” he instructed. “I shall have her back before anyone is the wiser.”
Orabilis smiled once again but remained silent as she raced back to the keep.
Nay, yer sister will no’ thank me, he mused as he stomped toward the stables. More likely than no’ she’ll run a dirk through me heart.
It made no sense to Lachlan. Mariote loved Willem but she was stealing away in the middle of the night to marry a man whose name had never passed over her lips. At least not when he was around.
He’d known Conner nearly his entire life. Conner MacGavin was not the kind of man he thought Mariote would or could ever give her heart to. Out of all the MacGavins, Conner was the only one with a lick of sense. Still, he was a MacGavin.
As quietly as he was able, he went back into the armory. Pulling on tunic and trews, he sat on the floor to stuff his feet into woolens and his fur covered boots. He heard Willem’s voice in the stillness. “What are ye doin’?”
For a few rapid heartbeats he debated on whether to tell Willem what had happened. “’Tis something best explained away from anyone else’s ears,” he replied in a harsh whisper.
Always inquisitive, Willem did not need any further explanation. Soon, he was dressed, grabbing his weapons, and heading after his friend.
They made their way quietly into the stables. “Where on earth are ye goin’?” Willem asked.
Frustrated, Lachlan explained as best he could while he saddled his steed. “’Tis Mariote,” he said. “She has apparently run off to marry Conner MacGavin.”
Willem let out a low, soft whistle in surprise. “Ye can no’ be serious,” he said.
“Would I be saddlin’ me horse in the middle of the night if ’twere no’ true?” Lachlan asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Seeing the frustration in Lachlan’s eyes, Willem gave a slow shake of his head. “Alysander will kill him.”
“Only if he finds out,” Lachlan remarked, tightening the strap of the saddle.
Willem, as ready for an adventure as he was curious, pulled his own steed out of the stall. “Then I best go along with ye. Lord only kens how many men Conner has with him.”
Lachlan hadn’t given that a moment’s thought. While he’d much prefer to rescue Mariote on his own, he might very well need the extra sword. God only knew what Conner was truly up to. Mayhap ’twas all a ruse to kidnap Mariote and hold her for ransom.
The two men finished saddling their horses and lead them toward the wall.
Anger filled Lachlan’s gut. Anger that Mariote would be so foolish as to run off with the likes of Conner MacGavin. And if he were truly honest with himself, he was angry that someone else had won her heart.
“Where be ye goin’ at this hour?” ’Twas Henry McCullum calling out from the parapet.
Thinking quickly, Willem lied. “We be goin’ to Inverness fer a few days,” he said.
Henry, a man of forty, with thick red hair and an even thicker gut, laughed. “Chasin’ after whores again?” He shook his head and clucked his tongue. “I expect such from ye, Willem. But I dare say I expect more from Lachlan.”
Willem laughed. Lachlan fumed. The lie, he supposed, was far better than the truth. If anyone found out about Mariote’s late night escapade, her reputation might very well be ruined.
Henry began to crank the handle, and the gate creaked upward, allowing Lachlan and Willem to walk their horses through.
They were soon mounted and heading east. If they had gone in any other direction, Henry might call after them.
Once they were out of earshot, Lachlan said, “She left through the tunnels. We’ll ride until Henry can no’ see us, then turn back toward the forest.”
Willem must have thought it a sound plan, for he did not protest or argue against it. “Any idea which way she might be goin’?” he asked.
“Nay, but she should no’ be too hard to track once we get to the secret door.”
The sun was just beginning its morning ascent. A hint of orange against the inky sky.
When they were certain they could no longer be seen, they guided their horses back toward the forest.
“Why do ye reckon Mariote has run off like this?” Willem asked.
In truth, Lachlan had no earthly idea. “Young lasses oft do things that do no’ make a lick of sense,” he replied drolly.
Willem chuckled his agreement. “No truer words were e’er spoken.”
The exit to the tunnels was only a few hundred yards away from the wall of the keep. The men dismounted, their breaths hanging in the cold morning air. Lachlan crouched next to the secret door to get a better look. Leaves and debris had been moved, a telltale sign that Mariote had made her way out of the tunnels.
“Do ye think Conner met her here?” Willem asked.
Lachlan shook his head. “Nay. Fer one, I see no other footsteps besides hers. And two, there be no way on earth MacGavin could get past our patrols.”
Willem smiled, showing straight white teeth. “Aye, our lads would kill him and his men before they even made it onto our lands.”
“Unless,” Lachlan began with a shake of his head, “unless they came up from the south.”
That was a possibility Willem hadn’t considered. “’Twould be like a MacGavin to do such a thing. The Farquars be their allies as well as our own. They might think naught of letting them cross their lands without asking why.”
Though there was very little light, Lachlan could see Mariote had taken off in an easterly direction. “It should no’ take long to find her,” he said as he mounted his steed once again.
They rode in silence, keeping their pace slow so as not to alert any MacGavins who might be lying in wait.
Mariote’s heart beat against her breast. She had made it amidst the tunnels and up through the door hidden in the forest floor. Thus far, her escape had gone unnoticed, but she was far from free just yet.
It would take her an hour to reach the stream where she and Conner had agreed to meet. An hour across frozen, snow-covered land. An hour before her life would forever be altered.
Conner MacGavin.
She was going to be his wife. The mother of his children. His life’s partner. If his letters were any indication, their life together would be a happy one. How many times had he remarked on her beauty? Ye be a beautiful woman, Mariote. Dare I say the most beautiful in all of Scotia? How many times had he promised her the world if she wanted it? I shall give ye all that yer heart could ever desire.
No man had ever given her such beautiful, heart felt words and promises. Of course, her father hadn’t allowed anyone of the opposite sex near her long enough to give her an ounce of praise. Still, it made her heart feel light and happy to know someone out there did have such tender regard for her.
Guilt tugged again at her heart. This was not how she had imagined becoming someone’s wife. When she afforded herself the rare daydream, she’d always pictured her wedding taking place on a lovely spring day. Her entire family would be there to bless the union. There would be a grand feast afterward with the entire clan there to celebrate.
Being the practical sort, she realized now that the wedding itself was not nearly as important as the marriage. A marriage was a partnership, and not one to be entered into lightly. With no other prospects for marriage, she fervently believed Conner was her last vestige of hope for ever having a family of her own.
As she made her way out of the forest and onto more even terrain, she could not help but think of how her life was about to change. Soon, she’d be meeting Conner and together, they would ride to Inverness to marry.
Oh, why could she not remember his face?
They had, according to his letters, met last spring, here on McCullum lands. Alysander had invited neighboring clans to a festival of sorts. The MacGavins—while not Alysander’s favorite of people—had also been in attendance. The gathering had been a way of brokering a peace accord of sorts. While they could not consider the MacGavans allies, they could also not be considered pure enemies. She could remember seeing the MacGavin, Conner’s father, as well as his mother. But try as she might, she could not conjure up an image or any memory of meeting him.
I look more like my mother’s brother, he had explained in one of his earlier letters. Dark of hair and brown of eyes, he had told her. Nay too tall, nay too short.
There had been hundreds of people here, so it stood to reason she wouldn’t remember everyone. And she hadn’t been there every moment of the festival, for she had left numerous times to tend to a sick or injured person.
But he had remembered her.
The thought that she had left such an impression with someone did her heart good. For far too long, she’d felt invisible amongst her own clan. More specifically amongst the men of her clan. Nary a one of them ever paid her a moment’s notice, unless she was stitching them up or helping them through a bout of one illness or another.
But the man whose attention she wanted most to garner, well, he didn’t even know she existed. At least that was how it felt. No matter what she did to gain his notice or turn his head, he always seemed indifferent to her. ’Twas not to say he was cruel or rude. He simply didn’t notice her.
The sun was beginning to rise as she made her way toward their meeting place. Oh, how she hoped Conner would not be disappointed in her appearance. Deep down, she worried he might have mistaken her for Esa who was, as far as Mariote was concerned, the prettiest of all the sisters. Mayhap his recollections of that day were not quite as clear as he thought them to be.
What would she do then, were that the case? ’Twould be an embarrassment she was quite certain she’d never recover from.
Keeping their horses at a slow pace, Lachlan and Willem followed the footprints Mariote had left in the snow.
Willem chuckled. “Were it Orabilis stealing away, our task would be far more difficult.”
Lachlan nodded. “Aye. That child be more fierce than most grown men.”
“Betimes, she scares me,” Willem admitted.
Lachlan could not necessarily disagree. “Could ye imagine what she would be like were she born a boy?”
Willem shivered at the thought. “She would be king of Scotia by now.”
They laughed in low tones before turning their attention back to the matter at hand. “I still can no’ believe Mariote has done this,” Willem said. “I thought her a far more practical sort.”
“She is practical,” Lachlan replied defensively.
Willem gave a sideways glance and tried to hide his smile. “Well, I can no’ rightly blame her.”
Lachlan pulled his horse to a stop, staring at his friend with mouth agape. “Are ye daft? She has stolen away in the dead of night to marry the son of one of her father’s enemies.”
“Mayhap she got tired of waiting for someone else to ask fer her hand.”
Lachlan clenched his teeth, his anger building as jealousy reared its ugly head. His friend was right, of course, but not for the reasons he thought. Willem had no idea how Mariote felt about him, but Lachlan did.
Remaining silent, he urged his horse forward, wishing now that Willem was not with him. He had no doubt they’d soon come upon Mariote. And when they did, she would take one look at Willem and believe ’twas he who had come to rescue her and not Lachlan. She would believe Willem had come because deep down, he loved her. ’Twould be Willem who would make her heart pound in her chest. ’Twould be Willem she would thank for rescuing her from her self-made folly.
And ’twould be Willem who she would give her heart to for all eternity.
But he did not love her. He would never give his heart to just one woman, for Willem McCullum loved all women. But only in the biblical sense, not with his true heart.
Willem was a scoundrel if ever there was one. If Lachlan had even half a siller for every woman who had gladly warmed his friend’s bed, he’d be richer than the king. Women were drawn to the man like moths to flame, for he was as charming as he was handsome.
It only made sense that Mariote was also attracted to the bloody fool. No matter how hard she had tried to convince Lachlan over the years that ’twas not Willem’s good looks and rakish personality that attracted her, ’twas his giving heart.
Bah! The only thing Willem ever gave women was a few hours in his bed and naught else. Mariote was too naive to see it, for she was too giving and caring a person to believe anything bad about someone else.
“How often do ye suppose Mariote has met with Conner?”
Lachlan had no idea and told him thus.
“Yet she has run off to be with him. How did that come about, do ye reckon?”
That was a question that had been running through his mind since he learned she had left. “I do no’ ken,” he replied. “I do ken that if Conner had shown his face at the keep, Alysander would have run him off faster than a bolt of lightning.”
Willem chuckled softly. “Aye, and the young man would have Alysander’s sword and boot lodged firmly in his arse.”
Lachlan agreed as he searched his mind for an answer. None of Alysander’s daughters had left the keep in an age. “Do ye suppose they met at the spring festival?”
“’Tis a strong possibility,” Willem replied. “But would Mariote run off with a man she’d only met once?”
Nay, Lachlan did not believe she would. “Muriale would be more prone to such a decision that Mariote.”
For a long while, he searched quietly for an answer. How had this all come to pass? Then it hit him.
Slapping his hand against his forehead, he pulled rein again. “The letters!” he exclaimed angrily.
Willem pulled his own mount to a halt and waited patiently for an explanation.
“Months ago, Mariote started to receive letters. She told me they were from an old friend. Someone she had grown up with when they lived in Glenkirby. But she would say naught else.”
For years, she had shared nearly every thought with him, every fear or concern, as friends oft do. But the letters? She would never share with him what her old friend might have said. “I thought naught of it,” he whispered in dismay.
“Those letters were from Conner,” Willem said, understanding settling in.
’Twas the only thing that made sense. “The bloody bastard,” Lachlan seethed.
“Clever,” Willem replied. “A verra clever bloody bastard.”
Lachlan rolled his eyes at his friend’s apparent appreciation for the deception.
“Do ye think he truly loves her?” Willem asked. “Or be this a ruse to kidnap her?”
Either thought was truly unsettling. “It matters no’, fer I will no’ allow either event to occur.”
Willem chanced another sideways glance at his friend. “So will ye be askin’ fer her hand?”
Lachlan’s head spun so fast, Willem was surprised it didn’t snap clear from his neck. He could not resist the urge to laugh at his friend’s distress. “What?” he asked in a challenging tone. “Think ye that no one can tell ye love the lass?”
“Whatever feelings I have fer Mariote are me own,” Lachlan said through clenched teeth. And none of them mattered, for Mariote was most assuredly not in love with him.
They rode along in silence for a long while before Willem spoke again. “What if,” he began, “we do no’ stop her before she meets up with Conner?”
Stunned, Lachlan furrowed his brow. “We must stop her before she gets to him.”
“Hear me out,” Willem said with a raised hand.
Lachlan sighed before bidding him continue.
“Mayhap we should wait to see if ’tis true love or a ruse,” Willem said. “If it be a simple matter of love, then we have naught to worry over. We can get the lass back home before anyone realizes she be gone.”
A simple matter of love? Lachlan mused. Nay, there be naught simple about it. “And if it be a ruse to kidnap her?”
Willem threw his head back and laughed. “Then we get to kill some MacGavins.”
Lachlan was just furious enough to give a good measure of thought to the plan. Deep down, he prayed ’twas a kidnapping at play. That would be easier to solve than the matter of a woman’s heart.