Ceana couldn’t have been anymore mortified than if she’d discovered herself standing as naked as the day she was born in the center of the list field during a joust.
She pressed her hand to the cool stone of the stairwell wall and hoped it would help her stand up right. Hoped the solidness would give her balance and strength. It didn’t. The weight of her woolen gown suddenly pulled her shoulders forward, and her slippers could have been secured to the stone steps with mortar.
This time when her knees started to buckle, her brother wasn’t there to catch her. She sat heavily on the stairs, her skirts bunching up around her, and a wash of air fluttering the hair at her nape.
She was too stunned for tears. Too angry to breathe. Her hands trembled.
How dare this man come into her home and say such things? Demand such things of her? Of her family? And with the king’s blessing… Why did this feel so much like a siege?
Immediately her mind whirled back to her wedding night with her first husband—the monster. A burning sensation rose up in her throat. The pain and brutality of that night had never left her. Each subsequent dispensing of her wifely duties never got better, only worse. The fact that she was able to recover and willingly give her herself and Gabriel a chance at all was a testament to the human heart. Gabriel had been kind enough that she was certain he would be gentle in all ways. His kisses had been tender and warm. Being in his arms had given her hope.
And now, the only thing that surrounded her heart was coldness, a chilling fear. As if all the hope she’d had for a future full of happiness had been sucked out of her body and tossed into the fire.
This man was proving himself to be just as much of a brute as her first husband. How could she be expected to go through with the marriage? The very idea made it hard to even want to stand back up. From the sound of it, he was the type of man who would find her crouching on the stairs and drag her to the kirk by her ankles while she scratched and clawed her way toward anything she could grip onto.
Why did a woman’s lot in life have to be so… not her own? Why could she not take control of her own fate and future? But what could she do? Ceana stared up at the stones overhead, following the pattern as it weaved back and forth.
She could run away. Right now. Sneak out the servant’s entrance and make her way to the stables. Steal her brother’s horse, bribe one of the men to open the postern gate for her so she wasn’t seen by anyone and ride away. Far away. Maybe all the way to the coast. Escape to France or Spain and start a new life. She could be a lady’s maid or a tavern wench. Anything would be better than being this man’s wife.
Ceana shuddered and bit her lower lip to suppress the sob that made her want to scream aloud in frustration—oh, how very unladylike that would be. Her brother’s voice carried through her thoughts, bringing her back to the present and the one fact she was forgetting in all these grand plans.
The marriage was ordered by Robert the Bruce… There was no getting out of it. If the future king had been the one to demand it, by going against it and him, she’d not only be putting herself in danger, but her brother too.
It didn’t matter that the man in the great hall had apologized to her brother for his abrupt and rude behavior, or that he’d said she could live a life of leisure, which had to be a lie. He was probably only saying those things to placate Jamie so that her brother would let her leave with him.
Ceana dragged in a ragged breath and pushed her hands through her hair, snagging her finger in the woven locks, having forgotten that she’d had her hair plaited.
With a frustrated sigh, she fixed her hair and then forced herself to stand. She couldn’t run away. Instead, she needed to face this, and she would fight back.
If the bastard thought he could push her around, then he had better prepare for war, because she wasn’t going to bow down to another man. She refused to cower when her husband entered a room, and she would only bear a child if she loved that child’s father. Which meant, if he forced himself on her, she’d better figure out how to prevent herself from getting with child.
She curled her hands into fists. She’d bludgeon him if he did. Steal his dirk and slit his throat.
Aye, she was no longer going to be a victim.
Such proclamations were easier said than done, she knew, but this time, this time she wasn’t going to be the meek woman she’d been before. Ceana was made of stronger stuff than that. Wasn’t she?
She hoped so.
Ceana lifted herself up and smoothed her sweaty palms down the length of her skirts. She drew in a ragged breath through her teeth. She could do this. One step at a time. That was all it required of her right now. Just to move. To not remain rooted here on the steps, hiding, allowing her future to be decided for her.
Taking each stair carefully, Ceana descended until both of her feet were planted at the base. With shoulders squared and chin held high, she marched with as much purpose as she could muster into the great hall to confront her new enemy. She rounded the corner, and the world tilted as the expansive great hall came into view and a dizziness with it, the familiar hung tapestries, stag heads and lanterns with wax dripping down in dried rivulets blurred around her.
There he was, standing in the center of the great hall, taking up a great deal of space.
The sight of him took her breath.
He wore a plaid of muted blues and greens, a crisp white shirt that should have been dirty given his travel. He was unusually tall with freshly shaven features chiseled from stone, and his head was topped with a shock of wild ginger hair that made him look as though he’d been raised in the forest by nymphs. Startlingly blue-green eyes landed on her, a color she’d never seen before, like the sea and the earth collided in his gaze. His mouth was flattened into a firm line, but even the severity of his frown didn’t take away from the sensual shape of his lips.
And she hated that she noticed that.
The warrior studied her just as closely as she studied him, his heated gaze sweeping from the top of her red curls down to the tips of her slippers that peeked from beneath her gown. She felt warm from his regard, embarrassed and curious, and more than a wee bit irritated.
He wasn’t supposed to be… handsome. Drat it all, but handsome didn’t even truly describe him. He was strikingly good-looking. Unfairly so. But handsome didn’t make a man good, now did it?
Though her throat felt tight, Ceana forced herself to speak in her haughtiest tone. “Well, then, let’s get on with it, shall we?”
Jamie stared at her in shocked horror, but a flicker of amusement flashed on the stranger’s face, and he turned more fully toward her, as though she suddenly interested him.
“Eager, are we?” His thick brogue came out in an enticing drawl that felt almost like a caress on her skin.
This was madness. She needed to stop thinking of him as good-looking and his voice as being… exciting. He was an arse, and that much she needed at the forefront of her mind.
“No’ in the slightest,” she countered, with a confident toss of her head. “But I see no point in putting off the inevitable. Dinna mistake my willingness to wed for happiness at doing so.”
Ceana kept her gaze steady on the warrior, refusing to look at anyone else, afraid that doing so would cause her to lose her nerve. Afraid that he would see her looking away as weakness.
“Ceana,” her brother warned.
“’Tis all right,” her unwanted betrothed said. “I’m intrigued by a lady who would speak her mind.”
Intrigued? Ceana found herself speechless at that, so she frowned instead.
Suddenly, her mind whirled back to the other man she’d promised to spend her life with not an hour before. Where was Gabriel? Would she see him as they rode off? Or would he have already left the castle, too furious to remain behind? That thought made her throat go dry.
“I dinna seek to intrigue ye,” she finally managed to say.
“Then what do ye seek?”
Good heavens, Ceana found herself once more without words. Only one other man had ever asked her that—and it was Gabriel. This was extremely unfair. From the moment she’d entered the great hall, the man she’d heard speak so gruffly about her person and her fate seemed to have disappeared. This man was almost… charming, dare she put that word to him?
Nay! It seemed like blasphemy to even think of him in such terms.
Ceana was spared from having to answer when the Montgomery priest scurried into the room.
“Father,” her brother said, “Laird Lamont has arrived to wed Lady Ceana.”
Laird Lamont… She surreptitiously observed, afraid if she took her gaze off of him that he might pounce, which reminded her of prey being hunted. The priest eyed them both skeptically, but then gave a curt nod. Everyone assembled into place, Laird Lamont taking her hand in his. His grip was strong, but not painful, and his calloused palm rested warmly against her own. And despite how much she tried to keep herself still, her hands trembled, and to his credit, he said not one word about it, but held her hand and even brushed his thumb reassuringly over the delicate bone of her thumb.
She muttered the words she was supposed to, barely present for the ceremony, thinking only of the end, where she’d have to put her lips on his. But Laird Lamont took all the thinking out of it, when he swiftly brushed his mouth on hers and then was gone.
It was barely a kiss at all, and she was grateful for it, finally able to breathe out the air she’d been holding inside.
The moment they were announced as husband and wife, Laird Lamont stepped away from her, giving instructions to his men.
Ceana stood alone in the center of the great hall, the place she’d called home since her birth, and watched Jamie’s face crumble. Hands on his hips, he hung his head low, hiding anymore of his feelings from her. Above stairs in the lady’s chamber, his wife, Lorna, was lying in for the birth of their first child. It was an effort to tear her gaze away from her brother’s dejected form, instead casting her sight on the tapestries and table runners their mother had embroidered, the only reminders left of her in the castle.
Her other brother, Malcolm, wasn’t present, having gone off to serve with William Wallace. Would she ever see him again? When he returned home, what would he think of her having been married off again?
Ceana’s gaze slid longingly over the walls of her youth, taking in the woven tapestries depicting hunts, then to the weapons of her ancestors that hung on the walls, and to the place before the hearth where she’d lounged as a child listening to her father’s tall tales.
She’d sat between her brothers and their wee sister, Matilda, on Jamie’s lap as they’d listened, completely wrapped up in a story that was quite embellished but no less told with love and absorbed by equally adoring ears.
Matilda too, was wed and gone, living high in the north where winters made ice castles from the stones.
Ceana’s throat felt dry, and she gripped her hands tightly together in front of her to keep from shaking. Surrounded by all these people, she’d never felt more alone in her life. The bravado she’d had earlier also seemed to have dissipated, leaving her an empty shell.
She was married. Again.
And not to the man she loved. Och, but it felt like someone had hold of her heart and was squeezing as hard as they could.
Feeling eyes on her back, she turned, hoping it was Gabriel, but the only man watching was her new husband. Whatever he was thinking was masked by an expression of indifference, but his eyes… they bore into her.
Ceana’s face burned with embarrassment at the way her heart fell from its lofty place of hope. Who was she kidding? Gabriel had to be furious. He wouldn’t want to watch her be given away to someone else. He was another person she’d likely never see again. If it had been her in his position, she would be halfway back to Mackinnon lands by now, swearing off Ceana as a traitor.
That really wasn’t fair. She wasn’t a traitor, and she wouldn’t have deemed him one either.
Jamie startled her with a soft hand on her elbow. She turned to face her brother, glad to see the devastation she’d witnessed in his expression replaced by brotherly affection.
“I’m sorry,” he said, tugging her into his arms. “If there was any way I could have gone against this union, I hope ye know I would have.”
She pressed her head to his chest, trying to pull some strength from him. “We must all do our duty, even at the risk of our own hearts.” The words were the right ones to say, even if she didn’t feel them. Her brother needed to hear it, to believe that she was going to be well in the end.
“But we shouldna have to.”
“Aye.” She shrugged, pulling away and flashing him what she hoped was a winning smile. “What’s done is done.”
Jamie eyed her suspiciously, and she started to shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny.
Finally, he broke the silence. “Why do ye no’ go and pack your things. I’ll stall the brute for a wee bit. ’Tis the least I can do.”
Ceana smiled, though it felt brittle. “I’m grateful for the small favor.” She retreated from the great hall, her steps quick, but not so hurried as to draw too much attention to herself, lest her husband decide to follow her and take from her what was his right.
At that thought, she rushed up the stairs, lifting her skirts and taking the circular steps two at a time. By the time she reached the top, she was breathless, and a sweat had broken out along her spine.
Though she needed to catch her breath, Ceana didn’t pause, ignoring the numbness in her feet, the tightness in her chest and the racing words in her mind—I’m married. I’m married. Oh, Mary Mother of God, I’m married…
In her chamber, several maids were frantically running back and forth, folding gowns, rolling hose and tucking slippers into trunks. All of her belongings were being removed once more from the places they’d occupied.
“Do ye wish to change into your riding clothes?” one of them asked. Ceana couldn’t be sure who, as her vision had gone a little blurry and her ears felt as if they were filled with water.
Numbly she nodded, allowing the maids to help her change. They brushed out her hair and replaited it tightly before wrapping the long rope of her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck.
Someone pressed a cup into her hand and from the smell of it she knew it wasn’t wine, but something stronger. Whisky. She wrinkled her nose and thought about taking a sip, but then thrust the cup away, not wanting to smooth out her nerves with drink.
She needed to be fully present to deal with her new situation, not tired or out of her wits.
“’Twill calm ye, my lady.”
“I dinna want to be calm.”
And that was the truth. She liked going into the rest of her marriage agitated at all much better. In every situation a lass was told to be calm, be still, to listen and obey. Ceana didn’t want to. She’d done her duty and married Brochan, a man she guessed she would loathe for the rest of her days. Yelling at the top of her lungs sounded a lot better to her than serenely walking away from her childhood home. Alas, she also knew that allowing rage to be what guided her would not help her either.
She needed to be somewhere in the middle. Mindful, yet motivated.
Ceana let out a bitter laugh. Men didn’t have to think about such things. When they were angry, they were angry. When they were happy, they were happy. But a woman, nay, she must always think about how her behavior might affect others, and how affecting others might then turn around and affect her.
So much thought into every look, gesture, word and act.
She was tired of it.
Marching to the window, she stared down at the courtyard where her new husband was giving orders to his men. One of her brother’s stable hands had brought out her horse, Elsa. Laird Lamont shook his head and pointed back at the stables. The groom nodded and turned around, preparing to lead Elsa back into the stables.
Ceana let out a huff of frustration and frowned. Was her new husband truly going to take issue with her mare? Nay! She’d not allow it. That mare had been the one thing she’d taken with her to her first husband’s holding that she’d also brought home with her. The one constant in her life. There was no way she was leaving without her mare.
Hands holding her skirts away from her feet, Ceana ran out of her chamber, skipping down the stairs and out into the courtyard, the burning in her chest taking over all reason, and not allowing her in the least to remember to be mindful of her words.
Her shoes clipped loudly against the stone stairs, softening in the mud and hay of the bailey, but the sound no less purposeful. The heated departure from the keep had all the men in the courtyard turning toward her, their expressions at first curious and then amused. Well, most of them were amused. Those that had come with her new husband look horrified, and he, well, he simply looked bored.
Ceana marched right up to him, craning her neck to stare right into his eyes.
“Ye’ll no’ be telling me I canna take my horse. I’ve had that horse since I was sixteen summers, and I’ll no’ be parting with her.”
Laird Lamont stared at the stables then turned a lazy glance toward her as if she were tiresome and he exhausted. “The mare is too old to make the journey.”
“Nonsense.” Ceana stomped her foot and held herself back from shaking her fist. “She made the journey here just fine a few weeks ago. Elsa is a strong and capable horse and I’ll no’ have ye telling me otherwise.”
“’Tis a matter of safety, Wife.” He said the last part with quite an emphasis, as if trying to reinforce to her that she’d just agreed to obey him in all things in front of God himself and all those witnesses.
But did it count if she’d crossed her fingers behind her back? Nay. It didn’t!
Ceana jutted her chin forward, hands on her hips and said as clearly as she could, “I’m no’ leaving this castle without Elsa. And the only way ye’re getting me out of here without her is if ye tie me to the back of your horse and abscond with me.”
Laird Lamont didn’t miss a beat. “That can be arranged,” he drawled, and the seriousness of his gaze made her realize that he was just the type of man to tie a woman to the back of a horse and race away with her.
Stubborn arse! Perhaps she should try another tactic. Steeling herself, she swallowed her pride for the moment. “Please,” she said through gritted teeth, adding some honey to her vinegar. “Elsa is… important to me.”
At that he cocked his head, listening. The note of surprise in his gaze did not go unnoticed by her. When he didn’t speak, but appeared to be considering her words, she continued.
“Ye have a warhorse, aye?”
He nodded.
“And your horse is important to ye.”
Laird Lamont crossed his arms over his chest. “He is.”
“Ye’d no’ want to go into battle with another man’s horse, would ye?”
He narrowed his gaze and crossed his arms over his chest. “Nay.”
“Then we have an understanding.”
“No’ quite.”
“If I am to be sent off into unknown territory with men and woman who are strangers to me, then the least ye can do is show me a kindness in allowing me to take my horse, who is a comfort to me.”
Laird Lamont pursed his lips. “I suppose it wouldna hurt for Elsa to come along.”
Ceana’s heart leapt with joy that he relented, for he was perfectly within his bounds to deny her. “’Tis settled then.”
“No’ quite.” Her chest squeezed with fear and she found it hard to breathe. “I still wish for ye to ride another younger, faster steed.”
“But—”
He shook his head. “I’ll no’ go back on this decision, my lady. But I will allow your horse to journey with us. As I explained inside, these are hostile times, and if we have need to escape, I canna risk that your horse is not able to make the leap.”
Ceana chewed her lip, understanding exactly what he was saying, and also that it would be pointless to argue. She was getting what she wanted, and that was for Elsa to join her at—wait, where did he live?
“Where is your holding?”
“Our holding. ’Tis a day’s ride east of here to the firth where we board my ship.”
Our holding. What did he mean by that? It was his, not hers. She was only his wife. Despite her confusion at his words, relief flooded through her. They were close then, and if she really needed to escape, it was good to know she wasn’t that far away from home. Just a wee jaunt to the firth.
Then her mind let out a warning call—he said ship. They’d have to cross over a deep, swirling body of water.
“What do ye mean across? There is no’ a bridge.”
Lamont chuckled. “Nay, there’s no’ a bridge. We’ll stay the night in the village and in the morning board my waiting galleon and sail over the Firth of Clyde to my lands and Castle Toward.”
Sail. Galleon. The open sea…
Ceana looked behind her, imagining she could see Montgomery lands behind them. So close and yet still so far away.
It seemed that all of her worst nightmares were coming true in one day.