Her Highland Laird: Norman Ladies: Book One Read online

  Slowly she stretched out until she found a solid mass blocking her from moving farther. Marie turned over gently and was rewarded with seeing a finely muscled man lying on other side of her. She smiled as she looked over the sleeping face of the man she now called husband.

  His face was roughened with days’ worth of beard and his long hair was spread wildly around his head. But his softened expression made her melt. Awake his expression shifted from stern to lightly amused, but asleep she could imagine his expression turning cheerful, almost cheeky with boyish charm.

  She couldn’t help herself as she reached out and touched a loose lock of his dark hair; she was surprised at the soft feel.

  She spent a long time just watching him sleep, wondering what it would be like to wake up like this every morning. She would admit it was rather strange awaking up to someone in her bed next to her but she liked not waking up alone. The hole she had started to feel in the last few years was slowly closing.

  Yes, her father had adored her, but he had not spent much time with her in the last six years due to the war and he had taken her away from her mother and had refused to let them near each other again. Court had never been her home and she had always longed to go back to her home in Normandy, but she had made the best of what she had been handed.

  Now she would have the home she wanted and she could not be made to move. Marie knew that Ian may not have wanted her as a wife but he would honor their vows and would not disrespect her. She could get him to come to her yet more and make him stay by her side. She would do whatever it took to be so.

  She would not have a marriage like her father and mother. Theirs’s was a tragic tale.

  Her father had never met her mother before they wed, but her mother had been forced to wed and had hated her father for it. Marie’s father had been the second son of a lesser lord and her mother had hated her husband for not being more. Her father had tried to make her mother happy, but Marie’s mother could never have been made happy.

  When her father’s brother had died and he had been made lord he had required an heir and her mother had never liked her husband in her bed. Now that an heir had been needed she had been forced to let her husband slake his passions on her.

  Over the next six years her mother failed to give her father a son, losing any child before it could be born, driving the hate between the two deeper. Marie’s father had fought with her mother one last time, ending in her father forcing her mother after her mother had blamed her father for all her woes. He father had left to go warring out of hate and disgust for the woman he called a wife, banishing her to his farthest and most remote keep with nothing more than a few servants.

  Before the year waned her mother had found that she carried yet another child. Scared of what would become to her at her husband’s anger if she lost this child she hid the fact from everyone but the few servants kept at the keep. When she grew big with child she prayed to god that he let her have this one to make up for her suffering at his hands.

  A babe had been born deep in the winter months and come spring her mother had been forced to send word of the child to her husband. Since the babe born was a girl, Marie’s mother had hoped that her husband would be disappointed in the child and abandon them both at the keep and forget them. But her father had been overjoyed that any child had been born, even a girl and had taken her away from her mother to both punish her and to make up for the children he had lost.

  Her mother had been left behind to rot and denied her child.

  Marie had met her mother a few times over the years, do to her own will, but had never gotten to stay behind with her.

  But at a young age Marie Anne had been left with other members of her father’s extended family while he did his work for his overlord.

  “Why do you look so sad, lass,” a sleep husky voice asked before a hand cupped the side of her face.

  Surprised he had woke up and she had not noticed she tried to smile at him, but it was a wasted effort.

  “My mind has wondered is all, my lord. I had not noticed you woke,” she sighed.

  He looked concerned and her words didn’t change the frown on his lips, but he said no more. Instead he rose to his feet and pulled her up along with him.

  “We have much to talk about, lady wife, and when we do I require the truth.” He looked over her face before placing a kiss to her forehead and putting on his kilt and sword before leaving.

  He left her standing there in silence, wondering what he had meant.

  Chapter Eight

  “Lass, meet my men,” Ian said to her, gesturing at his group of men that had gathered close by.

  Marie counted sixteen men, not counting Lord Ian among them. Only three of the men upfront looked even remotely interested in meeting her. She remembered them as the men who had congratulated her husband with back slaps after he had won the event that won her hand.

  Before either her or Ian could say anything else one of the three swept forward, caught her up in a bear hug and kissed her soundly across the mouth before setting her down.

  Caught completely off guard she spluttered, “What in the blazes-!”

  The man grinned down at her and she was struck by how much he looked like Ian.

  “I am one of Ian’s uncles, the youngest of them in fact. You, my dear, may call me Cain. Glad Ian finally found a wench that could inspire him to-!”

  He didn’t get to finish speaking as Ian had come up behind him, putting a hand over Cain’s mouth and pulled him away from her.

  “Cease speaking,” Ian suggest to his young uncle, “if you want to live.”

  Cain shrugged for Ian’s benefit, but after he was released he winked at her.

  Marie’s embarrassment over being kissed by Cain was heightened over the fact that Ian seemed not to bothered by it.

  He went on telling her everyone’s name, but after the next two she had not bothered to pay attention. She was lit aflame with anger over his piggish ignorance of her feelings.

  How could he not care if another man, family or not, kissed her upon the lips, let alone simply touch her person?

  Mayhap she had judged him wrong.

  So after camp was packed up she mounted her horse by herself, muscles sorely protesting, using a nearby rock. Marie waited for the men to be ready.

  Instead of riding upfront with her lord husband she rode in the back with the nastier looking of Ian’s men who looked more like Viking pirates. These men were what she had first thought of when she had been told she must wed to a Scottish savage.

  Though she was wary of these men she did not know, she preferred their company to that of her so called husband. They paid her no heed other than a look of surprise for joining them at the back and a grunt of acceptance before turning back to watching the rode.

  The biggest two who resembled bears and were scared within an inch of their lives, took up a spot on each side of her. When Ian slowed to talk to her she ignored him until he stopped his horse in front of her group.

  “I demand an answer for this foolish behavior of yours,” Ian glowered.

  Marie sniffed at him and glared. “You do not deserve one. Why should I treat you as you demand when you do not even care if another man touches me?”

  Ian’s eyes blazed. “Who has touched you?” he demanded. He looked between the men who had taken up her sides.

  She tilted her head upward. “Your charming uncle.”

  The anger cleared from his face. “That was nothing more than a greeting, he is over personal, but he meant no harm.”

  “Well it did harm. It showed you have no care for what happens to me. I am very sorry you had to marry me, but at least have a care for how others treat me. Without your respect, none shall respect me for you set the standard,” Marie said coldly before she jerked her horse into motion.

  “I am not a child or a dog and will not be treated as such,” she snapped.

  “I did not mean it to seem so,” Ian tried to explain; “we are an open people.
”

  “Open to sharing your wives?” Marie queried, “Well my cousin did try to tell me you were not civilized.”

  She left him stunned, mouth agape as she carried on.

  Ian had not thought much of his uncle’s greeting to his wife, but it seemed she had not taken it the way it had been meant and now she was angered with him.

  He sighed and reined his horse to go forward. He had much to learn if he was going to deal with her. She had the fiery temper of an angry boar but the refinement of royalty. One he could handle but both together? He just might have doomed himself.

  He needed to find a way to make her see things the way they were now, as they were no longer the way she had become used too.

  Chapter Nine

  Ian admitted to himself that he found his wife’s anger arousing. But what he could not understand was how they had been getting to know each other to her not even looking at him now. They had been getting along well he thought.

  When he envisioned having to have her, he had not thought it would be so hard. He had not thought of what she would require of him as a husband. It was now the eve of the fourth day of their journey home, back to the highlands, and she had made friends with two of the most feared men in his clan without batting an eye.

  Duncan, the elder of the two men, was covered head to toe in crisscrossing scars and he had earned every one of them fighting in every battle between Ireland and the Far East as a mercenary for hire. Some of the grim tales he had to share even turned Ian’s stomach. How the cunning bastard got out of some of the situations he had been in was a mystery.

  Duncan was not born of the Buchanan clan but had settled within the clan after years of coming and going, when he had found out he had a daughter, whose mother had died. He was gruff and due to how he looked, many still feared him even now. The man was fearless and enjoyed bloody entertainment.

  Jack on the other hand, even Ian feared and was weary of. Ian’s father had brought Jack back with him after he had gone traveling. No one knew where he had come from and no one asked. But when he had first arrived, he had not been too much older than Ian; he had a wild look in his eyes and had been painted blue and had tattoos upon his flesh. He did not talk and he was a master of many weapons.

  There were none better to guard your back, but he did not wish to encounter them more then was needed.

  It had been his mother who had brought them along on the journey. It would seem his mother and his new bride Marie shared a liking for the two men.

  That thought struck a chord in him. What if his bride preferred them over him?

  Ian gritted his teeth. He did not like the idea.

  ~

  Marie sat down tenderly on the sheepskin she had placed on the ground next to the fire. She had imagined that the ride would grow easier and less painful, but it was not so.

  She doubted her husband noticed she was in pain and no matter how much she wished for a ride in one of their carts, she refused to ask for it.

  What a lout she had been wed too.

  “Here,” offered a deep rusty voice as another sheepskin was held out in front of her.

  Her wide eyes followed the hand to the arm and then to the face of the man who offered it to her.

  Jake scowled down at her and shook it again.

  His accent was odd. It had not been English, French, Scottish, but its sound was almost Germanic. Before she knew what she was doing she reached up for it and her fingers closed around the skin.

  “Thank you,” she replied.

  He nodded and moved on, going to help the others.

  “Why did he give this to me,” Marie asked herself.

  Duncan answered her as he came to sit down next to her. “He knows you are sore, lass.”

  As she blushed and stuttered a reply at his frank speaking, Duncan surprised her by grinning.

  “You must forgive an old man his ways, my lady. You remind me of my daughter and I forgot you were the laird’s wife,” Duncan said ruefully.

  At the mention of this wild man having a daughter, her interest was piqued.

  “You have a daughter,” she asked.

  He nodded. “Aye, she is but a wee bit younger then you, I would think. She is sixteen this past spring.” Duncan sighed.” “My Maeve looks just like her mother did at that age.”

  Marie caught the sad note in his voice.

  “Did her mother pass,” Marie asked, “if so I am most sorry. It sounds as if you were very fond of her.”

  Duncan nodded. “Aye, that I was and too foolish to think it important until it was too late.”

  “Well,” she said suddenly, “I am heartened your Maeve has you as a father. You are a kind man, Duncan.”

  Marie loved her father but imagined that if she were going to compare him to Duncan, that Duncan was a better father to Maeve then her father was to her.

  Oh her father did love her but almost everything else was more important. She had only one real benefit her father could use and that was her marriage to cater power to himself, to even earn favor with William.

  Duncan sputtered and Marie laughed, feeling lighthearted for but a moment.

  But Duncan grew serious once more. “I know tis between you and the laird, but I must say my piece. He is young yet and has only had a few wenches in his time and none of them a lady. This is a new thing for him to learn. A wife is a lady, a whore is bedsport.”

  Heat flooded Marie’s face as Duncan spoke but she said nothing because she wanted to know more of Ian.

  “He needs a guiding hand. The lad is a touch green behind the ears as far as things go.”

  “More than a little,” Cain laughed taking up a seat on the other side of her.

  Cain grinned down at her and Marie wanted to swipe at him, grinning fool.

  “You are one to talk,” one of the other men said joining them.

  Duncan growled at the man, “This is milady’s fire and you werena invited, Brock, you lazy arse.”

  Brock raised his hands in a placating gesture. “No harm meant, Duncan. I’ll go.”

  “And who are you to comment on my husband,” Marie asked a touch of anger in her voice. “This was a private matter.”

  “Aye, a private matter,” Cain echoed with a lazy grin.

  She turned and glared at Cain until his smile faded and turned into a grimace.

  When she turned around Brock bowed to her. “I am no one of import, my lady.” After that he turned to leave.

  Marie started after the man as he walked away and felt guilty for having been so rude.

  “He was the bastard son of my eldest brother, Ian’s father, or so it was said. Only his mother knew for sure, but she died when he was little. But Brock swears by it. Brock believes he should have been laird instead of Ian, but Ian tolerates him otherwise he would have been disowned by the clan years ago for his thoughts on the matter,” Cain said. “Best if you stay away from the one.”

  Chapter Ten

  Why had Ian not told her of Brock? Mayhap he too believed Brock was not his brother, but Marie was curious about him.

  She had tried over the next serval days to try and talk to him but it seemed Ian’s men were stopping her at every turn.

  Soon they would stop for a rest and Marie planned on sneaking off after Brock and talk to him. The plan was simple enough it just might work.

  It also would not be long until they reached Edinburgh where her new business would be moved. She wondered how her husband would take the news she was a trade merchant and not as poor as he believed her to be based on her dowry.

  Would he be angry and forbid her work? Would he rejoice in being rich and encourage her to do as she wished? Or worse yet, would he not care for what she did because he did not want her, so it was not his concern?

  Soon enough she would have her answer.

  She noticed their group had slowed down and Ian had changed their direction toward an out cropping of rocks and trees that resembled a small forest.

  When she quickl
y dismounted Jack and Duncan were on her like a chicken hawk.

  “Where would you be off too?” Duncan asked suspiciously.

  Jack grunted.

  Marie gave them an embarrassed smile. “I have needs to see to. Womanly needs.”

  Both men fled to safer ground after bidding her to be quick about it.

  Marie followed the direction Brock had taken. She went through the underbrush, ducking under low hanging trees. Just as she spotted him her skirts were caught by a bramble bush. As she tried to pull it free she cursed softly, as the fabric ripped even more than it already had.

  Free now she looked back to where Brock had been but now he was gone. This time she cursed a loud.

  “You have quite the foul tongue,” a voice said from close behind her.

  Marie whirled around to see Brock leaning against a nearby tree.

  “Bad habit,” she commented without remorse.

  “What can I do for you, lady,” Brock asked, curiosity touching his tone.

  Marie smoother her hands down the front of her dress. “I wanted to ask you a few questions and say I regretted the tone I took with you.”

  His smile was bitter. “You are allowed to take any tone you wish with me. It matters not to a man like me who is beneath you, great lady.”

  She didn’t care for his tone, but understood where he was coming from. She had been like that a court, when forced to be someone she did not want to be.

  “Be that as it may, you did not deserve my tone. I was, well never mind what I was. It was unpardonable of me.”

  His eyebrows raised in surprise then he scowled.

  She carried on. “I heard you were my husband’s brother, is that true?”

  Brock sighed warily and ran a hand through his hair. “Aye, but he does not believe it nor does anyone else.”

  “Why?” she asked without thought.

  “Cause my mother was a whore, but at the time only the laird was visiting my mother’s bed. Ian’s mother was furious about it and made it widely known that my mother was very open with her favors. She did everything to make sure no one saw me a the laird’s son.”