The spring day dawned sunny and clear-skied and everyone proclaimed that it was a good sign. Father Micheil had called the banns for three weeks and the chapel door and altar were decorated with fresh spring blossoms of all colors and fragrances.
Inside Broch Dubh, the cook and his helpers worked on the foods that would make up the wedding feast. In the village, some of the women placed seeds and other fertility charms around the door of their new cottage and in the bed where they would consummate their vows. All stood ready for the marriage of Marian Robertson and Duncan MacLerie.
Except the bride, who knelt over a chamber pot heaving out the contents of her stomach.
“It must be something I ate,” she said to the women who stood smiling around her.
“’Twas not something you ate, Marian,” Jocelyn said, smiling. Her mirth did not fit the disgusting situation as she leaned over and heaved once more.
“It must be my nerves, after all this is marriage and not something temporary,” she said, wiping her mouth with the damp cloth Margaret offered.
“’Tis not a nervous condition, either,” Margriet said, her own large belly keeping her from getting too close.
“Can it be the sickness?” she asked. “This is the third day in a row…” Marian stopped and looked at the three women who stood grinning at her like silly fools.
“Nay, it cannot be!” she said, sitting back on her heels. “I am with child?” she asked, holding her hands on her still-flat stomach. “I am with child?”
She was so stunned by the thought of it that she forgot she was supposed to already have borne a child. “I mean I am with child again?”
Jocelyn helped her to her feet and called in a servant to take the pot away. “It should not be a surprise, Marian. MacLerie men seem to have no trouble begetting bairns.”
Considering that these women had given birth to ten bairns among them with another one, or two more expected in the coming months, fruitfulness was not a MacLerie problem.
“Does Duncan ken?” Margriet asked.
They had been living apart, at Father Micheil’s request, since the banns had been called and Duncan was not happy with the arrangement or the forced celibacy. She’d not spoken to him since the previous day and not on matters involving the making of bairns. She expected no rest this night when they returned to their new cottage in the village.
“Nay,” she said, tugging her new gown into place. “I did not ken until just now.”
“You should tell him now. ’Twill brighten his spirits.”
They put the last of the flowers in her hair, which cascaded loosely over her shoulders and down her back. Walking with her from their chamber, they guided her to Duncan where he stood drinking with their husbands. The men all stopped and stared as she approached and Marian could feel the heat of a blush creep up into her cheeks from such an appraisal. Duncan held out his hands to her and examined her from head to toes.
“You are a sight to behold, lass,” he said before drawing her close. “And you are mine.”
She’d thought on how to tell him and he’d just presented her the opportunity. “Aye, Duncan, we are yours.”
“Where is the little lass?” he asked, obviously looking for Ciara.
“Nay, Duncan,” she said, taking his hand and laying it on her belly where soon he would be able to feel his bairn growing. “We. Are yours.”
She could tell the moment he realized what she meant for he leaned his head back and howled out the news. Then he scooped her up in his arms and swung around and around until Jocelyn called for him to stop.
“’Tis not a good idea to spin her around just now,” Jocelyn advised. “Her stomach just stopped heaving.”
Connor and Jocelyn led the others away so she could steal a private moment with him before they took their vows.
“You are pleased then?” she asked.
“I had planned it,” he answered proudly.
“On the bairn?”
“Aye. There is no one who more needs children of her own than you, Marian. I wanted you to ken the joy that Jocelyn and Margriet and the others ken. Ciara will always be your firstborn, whether you birthed her or not, but this will be our first.”
“And tonight?” Would they forgo the pleasures of the marriage bed now that she was carrying?
“I plan on taking you to my bed and ravishing you the whole night through. Carrying or not, you will think it was our first time together.” He shook his head. “Better than our first time together,” he promised instead.
He kissed her then and it was filled with promises made and promises kept. Leaning back, he smiled at her.
“I told you that I made a prediction that day to Beitris’s father. You do not come to my marriage bed a virgin.”
She laughed then, and he held her close for a moment.
“I choose you today, Marian. Above all others. Above everything else in my life. I choose you.”
The laird stood a short distance away watching as his cousin and friend discovered one of the most incredible joys of life—fathering a child with the woman you love. Connor turned to Jocelyn and saw the same expression on her face that he wore.
“You are greetin’, lass,” he said, reaching up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Surely, you knew about the bairn already?”
“Aye, Connor.” Her eyes shone through the tears now and she smiled. “We knew,” she said with a nod to the other women standing with their own husbands, “but could not speak of it until Marian realized it herself.”
“And did she share with you that this is her first?” he asked, waiting for his wife’s reaction.
“Did Duncan tell you?” Jocelyn whispered as she gazed around as though making certain their words could not be heard.
“Nay, love. Duncan revealed nothing to me. I simply watched Marian during these last months. ’Twas clear to me.” Connor drew her into his embrace and kissed her, understanding in that moment that she continued to amaze him. “But you should have told your laird when you discovered that truth about her.”
“There are some things a laird need not know…or know first.” Jocelyn pulled his head down to her face and kissed his mouth. “If I had thought her a danger to the clan…” Her words drifted off into another kiss.
Connor accepted her kiss as her apology for her actions and pressed for more, but her words bothered him. They touched on the quandary that had plagued since even Rurik’s return from his journey to the Orkneys and through this situation with Duncan’s behavior.
Why would a man lie or keep secrets from his laird?
Now looking at his cousins and their wives and then back into the eyes of the woman he loved, Connor knew the answer—a man who loved a woman with his whole heart and soul would do anything, even lie, to protect her.
Just as he had done ten years before.
Just as he now recognized Rurik and Duncan had done.
As a laird, he should be horrified that something, anything or anyone, should come before loyalty to clan and laird.
As a man he could accept it.
As a man in love he could relish in it.
Glancing around the hall, there was no doubt that he and Rurik and now Duncan had found women worthy of that love and that protection.