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Jessamyn and Raeb moved together toward the portal, but before they could reach it, the exterior bar thunked into place once more.

  “You say your brother led you here with some tale that I wanted you?”

  “Yes.”

  Raeb’s mouth thinned then he burst out laughing. “Artis, that scamp, and your brother plotted this. I saw them talking earlier, but I was too focused on speaking with Simon to think anything more than that he seemed to like my sisters.”

  “Why would they plot?”

  “Mayhap they thought we should talk.”

  “But we were going to talk in the garden.”

  “They didna know that.”

  “Simon did, or at least he did after I told him I was to meet you there.”

  Raeb shook his head. “’Tis a puzzle. We’ll just have to ask them what their purpose was, when they decide to release us. I wager that will be in the morning.”

  Jessamyn sighed. “We still need to talk. So we might as spend the time as we planned.”

  “Aye. I suppose discovering our siblings’ motives can wait.” He ambled toward the bed and sat, patting the spot beside him. “Come sit with me.”

  Jessamyn eyed the bed suspiciously and moved to sit on a chest nearby. “No, I’ll sit here. ’Tis better if we are not too close for this discussion.”

  Raeb’s lids narrowed, and he folded his arms across his chest. “Verra well. What is it you wished to speak of?”

  His voice was so bland, so impersonal, did she imagine the tension in his posture?

  She resisted the temptation to wring her hands and instead imitated his cool demeanor. Straightening her shoulders, she placed her palms on her knees and plastered the sweetest smile she could muster on her face.

  “I wish to discuss my future.”

  “Our future.” The bland voice vanished, and of a sudden he seemed to loom even though he remained seated.

  She inhaled deeply. “If you wish, let us call it our future. I would like to remain in Dungarob.”

  His eyes went wide, and he relaxed fractionally. “I am glad to hear it.”

  She loosed the breath she held. “Then you do not mind.”

  “Mind? He stood, rubbed the back of his neck and tilted his head at her. “Where else would you think I want my bride to live save with me?”

  She looked up at him, pain and hope at war in her breast. “You know our marriage would be a mistake.”

  “Why?” He straightened and took a step toward her.

  “Because you do not love me, and I … I want your happiness above all things.”

  He knelt before her and took her hands.

  “You are wrong, Jessamyn Du Grace.”

  Confused, she blinked. “I most certainly do wish for your happiness.”

  He smiled. “No that. You are wrong about my love, for I love you more than my hope of heaven.”

  Her face heated. “There is no need to lie to save my feelings.”

  “I dinna lie.”

  “You have in the past.”

  “As have you. We both believed we had reason. But we were both wrong.”

  The small hope she’d felt was so gossamer, she must be imagining it. “How so?”

  “You were wrong to believe I meant what I said in anger.”

  She blinked. “You mean you do want me?”

  “Since the moment your eyes met mine, before I carried you into my chamber the day you arrived. Then I ran as fast as I could for my feelings frightened me.”

  “You said you were wrong, too.”

  “I was wrong to keep silent when you came to me those nights as we journeyed back to Dungarob. I should have told you every night how much I love you. What a blessing it was to have you with me. I knew I wanted you and would give my life for you, but couldna tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you were so certain that our marriage would be a misery. I didna know if you loved me. I was too great a coward to say the words without hearing them first.”

  “And I could not speak my love because I did not want to chain you with words when I believed you did not want me.”

  “Aye. Now, Jessamyn, so you can have no further doubt. I love you and only you. Will you consent to be my wife?”

  She smiled. “Aye, Raeb MacKai. I will be your wife for as long as you shall want me.”

  “Forever, a chiallaich, I promise.” He took her into his arms, sealing the promise with a long kiss.

  “Hooray!”

  Jessamyn would have leapt to her feat had Raeb not such a firm grip on her. She could only blame the kiss for preventing her from hearing the entrance of the crowd watching when the embrace ceased.

  Simon beamed at her from behind all six of Raeb’s sisters.

  She grinned at him. “I am to be wed, brother.”

  “I never doubted it.”

  The sisters rushed forward.

  “Come below, Jess, Raeb,” said Neilina. “The priest stands ready in the bailey to perform the ceremony now with our entire clan as witness.”

  “Now?” I am not ready. Raeb is not ready. Is he? She turned to her betrothed.

  “I see no reason for delay, my love.” He took her hand. “If you wish it we will be wed now.”

  Looking at the man she loved with all her heart, she nodded. “Aye, let us marry now.”

  Leading her brother and his sisters, they descended to the bailey where the entire MacKai clan waited.

  Acknowledgments

  I wish to thank my miracle-working editor and copy editor. More than once they have saved my authorial bacon. The entire CR production and marketing team receive my hearty thanks for their hard work.

  More from This Author

  Knight Protector

  Rue Allyn

  January 1295, Northern Scotland

  Once she thought she’d loved him. She’d been wrong.

  Moonless night poured in through the two large windows of the earl’s bedchamber at Strathnaver stronghold. Sorcha MacKai-Marr, reluctant Countess of Strathnaver, hung her dark red cloak on a peg, bolted the door behind her, and with halting steps returned to her husband’s bedside. The earl no longer breathed; he’d died while she was out. She sighed, turned from the husk on the bed and sat to warm herself by the hearth. She wished she could weep and moan, but she was no a hypocrite. She’d hated Brice Marr for the past ten years, moreso in the short month they’d been wed. She would mourn the passing of a human soul and pray for it as she ought. However, for the man who’d been Earl of Strathnaver the kindest emotion she could feel was relief and a great deal of worry.

  What was to become of her? She had rights she was certain and nae doubt some inheritance from her husband, but she knew none of the details. In this stronghold of enemies, whom could she trust? She would have sought counsel and shelter from her brother, Baron Raeb MacKai, had she nae defied him to marry a hated Marr. She’d had her reasons and chose nae to share them. Now that choice left her without recourse for as a Marr she was nae welcome at her childhood home.

  Nor would she remain at Strathnaver; she hated the Marrs as much as did any MacKai. Mayhap, if she were lucky, she might receive an inheritance large enough that the church would take her in. The life of a nun was nae what she’d dreamed of, but what other choice had she? She’d sealed her destiny when she agreed to marry Brice Marr. Nothing would change it now.

  She closed her eyes against the bleak and empty future. Worry and regret would serve no purpose, fear and bitterness must be banished or ignored, and the dead must be honored. Time enough to find solutions to her troubles during the three days of vigil over her husband’s body. Resigned to the uproar the death announcement would cause, she opened her eyes and screamed.

  Her husband’s hand covered her mouth before more than a squeak sounded. His free arm snatched her from her seat and banded her against his torso—a torso far too well muscled to have been wasted from weeks of fever and bloody flux. At least she thought it was her husband until a wild glance at the bed sho
wed his body still lay there.

  But the face looming above hers was …? “Colin?”

  Only a muffled gurgle emerged.

  “Shh. Do you want the entire clan to hear you?” The cold, green eyes studying her held a warning.

  She nodded as vigorously as possible. Of course she wanted to be heard—she was alone with a man who had betrayed her, caused her parents’ deaths, cast her clan into poverty, killed her dreams, and broken her heart.

  “Nae. Before you tell anyone of my presence or Brice’s passing, we must talk.” He released her and stepped away.

  Hand to her throat, she stumbled backward. “You canna be here. You are dead.”

  He smiled, took her fingers and pressed them to his chest. “Does this feel dead to you?”

  His heart beat strong and steady. Even through his dark jerkin his heat burned into her palm. She snatched her hand away.

  “But. . .” She looked from him to the body on the bed and back. “Brice said you died in France these eight years past.”

  One corner of his mouth kicked up. “You never did wish to admit he lied more often than he told the truth. Now you have proof. However, we have more important matters to discuss than my brother’s treachery.”

  “His treachery? What of your own?”

  Colin closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “I never meant to hurt you, muirnean.”

  She snorted her disgust at his lie.

  “I have naught to say to you,” she hissed, turning her head away. She would nae allow him to hurt her again. Would nae allow his deep voice, his slumberous green eyes, or his clever mouth to influence her. Would nae be swayed by his spicy leather and man scent. The wounds he’d caused still bled, his betrayal an open sore that time could no heal.

  “Well enough, but you will listen to me.” He slid his hand along her cheek, exerting just enough pressure to turn her face to him. She jerked her head backward.

  “Your brother is dead. Have you no feeling?” Slipping from his grasp, she squared her shoulders and locked her gaze with his. “Say what you must and be gone.”

  “This is my home. I shall come and go as I please.” He gave her a hard look. “Since Brice was my brother, how greatly I mourn him is my concern alone. But hear this. You’ll nae speak of his death to anyone.”

  “Are you still so jealous of him? What you ask is sacrilege. If I tell no one of his passing, who is to watch over him before his soul can go to God?” Her husband may deserve to roast in hell, but she’d nae be responsible for putting him there. That decision rested with God alone.

  Colin bared his teeth. “You ken nothing about Brice or me. The past ten years changed us in ways you canna imagine.”

  “Pah! If you’ve something worth saying, say it and cease speaking in riddles.” The only change in the Marr twins was her distrust of them both.

  “Brice has been spying for the English. He’s a traitor to Scotland who has made Strathnaver into a nest of vipers loyal to Edward I of England.”

  She nearly laughed at the idea. “Surely you could invent a better lie with which to malign him.”

  “’Tis truth, I say.”

  “What proof have you?”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I know because I’ve been spying for Scotland.”

  Now she did laugh. The sound was sharp and bitter.

  Colin gripped her shoulders. “Listen to me. I suspected long ago, because Brice always agreed with Father that Scotland would be better off under Edward of England’s thumb. We may have left Strathnaver separately, but we crossed paths often enough. The last time was in England just before All Hallows. I was certain of his treason when the documents I carried to King John Balliol from France were stolen. Brice was the only person who could have suspected I had them and the only person who could have taken them.”

  “If what you say is true—and I have nae cause to believe you—how can you be certain he dinna deliver these documents to Edward?”

  “Because I’ve been on his trail since the day he took them. Dungarob was the only place he stopped on his way to Strathnaver.”

  Colin’s voice sounded as hard as his eyes. His fingers tightened on her shoulders to a point just short of pain. Still she managed to escape his grip.

  “You speak nonsense. Why travel north away from Edward and England if the goal was to give those letters over to the Plantagenet? If there were any letters, which I still doubt.”

  A pulse beat at the joint of Colin’s clenched jaw, and she thought uncertainty flickered across his face. It passed as quickly as she’d seen it, and stone returned to his expression.

  “I won’t try to guess why Brice ran from England to Scotland. He’s dead, so all that matters is for you to help me find those documents and expose any English spies remaining at Strathnaver.”

  Colin’s lack of concern for his brother fit with the soulless choices she’d come to expect of all the Marrs. She would not aid him.

  “You need no help to find imaginary spies,” she scoffed. “That you sank so low surprises me not, but Brice? How could he be a spy? He never met a secret he wouldn’t shout from the rooftops. If he were a spy, I would have known, and I never would have wed so dishonorable a man.” She lied. What man of honor would threaten a woman into marriage as Brice had? Would Colin see himself in her reference to the type of man she would never marry?

  She saw nae sign of distress at the doubt she cast on his claims and his honor. Obviously her opinion of him mattered little.

  “So, you finally let him into your bed. Now you are the countess you always wanted to be.”

  She hadna seen that coming, though perhaps she should have. Her entire life, she only wanted a home with children of her own and certain peace between clans Marr and MacKai. Colin’s envy of his brother had provided the fuel for the fire that destroyed her hope of happiness. Even now, he worried less over his shame as an admitted spy and more over her supposed preference for Brice.

  Colin still misjudged her—could she be wrong about him as well? Nae, a spy was the most dishonorable of creatures. He’d claimed that status with his own mouth. Of course he would cast others in the same mold. He was wrong to do so, but she had other, more personal experience of Colin Marr’s treachery.

  She glared at him and bit her cheek to keep her hurt and anger from spilling out. Here Colin was, digging up the old hurts. He claimed he and Brice both had changed, sunk to the lowest of acts. ’Twas definitely nae change for the better. Nor did Colin credit her with any maturity. To him she was still a flighty girl with nae more sense than a flea.

  “Which is it?” she sneered. “Spying or my bed play with your brother that is so important you would leave him unshriven?”

  He ignored her question. “You said you married him.”

  “I did.” She straightened.

  “Then what else am I to think, save that you welcomed him to your bed?”

  She rolled her eyes then strode to look out the nearest window. “Think what you like.”

  He was quiet for so long that she thought perhaps he’d left as silently as he’d come. She turned back to the room, but there he was, staring at her, a frown on his chiseled face.

  “Perhaps you should explain this spy business and leave the past alone,” she suggested.

  He nodded. “Aye, let us bury the past with the dead.”

  She waited. Whatever was said, the past stood like a fortress wall between them and could never be buried—only avoided for a few moments.

  “During my last task in England, I learned Strathnaver sheltered spies. ’Twas what sent me to seek out Brice and confirmation of his perfidy. Ironically, seeking him gave him the opportunity to steal the papers I carried.”

  “Let me be certain I understand what you are telling me.” She seated herself, taking time to smooth her skirts and gather her thoughts, then stroking her braid. “When you left Strathnaver ten years ago you went straight to Scotland’s Guardians and offered to spy for them? Brice did the same some mon
ths later, but went to Edward of England.”

  Colin leaned against one of the thick bedposts. “I dinna ken how Brice came to betray Scotland. As for me, becoming a spy ’twas nae as simple as you suggest. I intended to earn my keep as a knight errant, and I first offered my services to the High Steward. He thanked me but suggested I might do better in service to Lord Alexander Dubhlochan, Earl Coillteach.” The earl took me on as a knight in his household. After I’d been with him several months, I was asked to carry a message. When I returned, Lord Coillteach questioned me about my observations. From then on he assigned tasks to me at random. It wasna until more than a year later that I began to recognize a pattern. Then I was asked to take messages and make observations on an almost regular basis. I confronted the earl with my suspicions. He dinna directly confirm those, but he did say that sometimes uncertainty was useful.”

  Sorcha gave a quiet snort of disgust. She’d now spent ten years of uncertainty nae knowing if either of the Marr twins lived, nae knowing if she would welcome the sight of either of them, and nae knowing which she most longed to see. As a younger woman, she’d thought she knew her mind. Then Colin had begged that kiss of farewell from her, blown storms of doubt onto her sea of calm assurance, and left her family shattered in the wake. But she didna wish to debate the matter now and risk exposing a weakness.

  “Let us assume you know whereof you speak,” she said. “How does one go about finding a nest of spies, and why would you need my help?”

  “The best way to expose them is to discover who tries to contact Brice with the intent to betray Scotland. To do that he must be alive. Hence I must take his place, and you must behave as if I am your husband.”

  “Nae!” She shot from her seat. “I’ll no share your bed.”

  Colin dropped his gaze from hers and studied his fingernails. “I didna ask that of you. However, if you wish bed play, I am certain we would both enjoy it.”

  “Mary, Queen of Heaven, save me from this fool.” She rolled her eyes, then returned a seething gaze to Colin. “Did I nae just say I refuse to lay with you?”

  “I heard you.” He lifted his head. His features shouted innocence.