Highland Destiny (23 page)

“Weel, it doesnae really matter how ye have or havenae accepted the truth, for one thing hasnae changed,” she said, not fully meaning what she said. It did matter. She was just not sure she wanted to know how he felt about it all, for the truth could easily add to the pain she was already suffering. “I am still Beaton’s daughter, the spawn of your greatest and oldest enemy.”

“My greatest and oldest enemy is the English.”

Balfour almost laughed at the way she stared at him somewhat stupidly. Many men would hold her bloodline against her, but he did not care what it was. He knew some of that was because he had come to know her before he had discovered who had sired her. There had been time to learn about her, time to see that she carried none of Beaton’s taint. It was not going to be easy to convince her of that, however. Even after staying with her Kirkcaldy kin for a month, Maldie was obviously still deeply concerned about carrying Beaton’s blood in her veins.

There was also the fact that he did not feel much like talking. It had been too long since he had held her, too long since he had kissed her, and far too long since their bodies had been joined. He touched a kiss to the top of her head, breathing deeply of her scent as he smoothed his hands down her slim back. She trembled, and he felt his desire leap to life in response to that sign that she might still share his hunger. Balfour knew they had a great deal to talk about, but, as he tilted her face up to his, he decided that talking could wait.

Maldie only briefly considered refusing his kiss. There was so much they had to say. She did not even know why he had come after her. It had to have been for far more reasons than to say he understood why she had done what she had. Then he touched his lips to hers, and she decided that none of it mattered. If he had only come for another taste of the passion they could share it would hurt her, but she doubted her pain could be any worse than it had been since leaving Donncoill. At least she would have one last sweet moment of passion to add to her memories of him. She heartily returned his kiss, greedily drinking in the taste of him.

“We should talk,” she said, making one last weak attempt to grasp at reason even as she tilted her head back so that he could more easily kiss her throat.

“We will,” he said, unlacing her gown as he pulled her down onto the soft grass.

“But not now?” Maldie murmured with a pleasure she could not hide as he stroked her body with his big hands even as he continued to loosen her clothing. She was starved for his touch and did not have the will to hide it.

“I find that I am too distracted to talk.” He tugged her gown down to her slender waist and gently nibbled the hardened tips of her breasts so prominently visible beneath her thin chemise. Her soft groan made him tremble. “A wee respite will clear my head.”

“Only a wee respite?” She grasped him by his taut buttocks and pressed him close, the feel of his hardness almost enough to satisfy her need it was so strong and heedless.

“I fear I am too starved for ye to linger o’er this much missed feast.”

“Dinnae fear. ’Tis a feeling I ken all too weel. Ye will hear no more argument from me, though I may be compelled to urge ye to hurry.”

“Nay, I think not. Not this time, loving.”

Even as Balfour hurriedly removed her clothes, Maldie used an equal haste to pull off his. They both cried out with delight as their flesh touched for the first time in too long. Maldie could not get enough of the feel of his strong body pressed against hers, his warm skin beneath her hands, and the touch of his mouth as he feverishly covered her body with kisses. She tried to return each caress but their lovemaking soon grew wild, their desperate need for each other stealing away all ability to linger in the heady time that comes before the culmination of their desire.

When he finally joined their bodies, Maldie clung to him with all of her strength. She tried to pull him ever deeper within her, meeting each of his hard thrusts with a ferocity of her own. Even as her body convulsed with the power of her release and she called out his name, she felt him shudder with his own, his cry blending with hers. She closed her eyes and held him close, fighting to cling to the pleasure they had just shared, that blinding delight that could so easily disperse all fear and uncertainty.

With the return of her senses came an awareness of the chill in the late afternoon air. Maldie also became painfully aware of her nakedness. She hastily sat up and tugged on her chemise. For the first time since they had become lovers, Maldie felt the harsh sting of embarrassment. They had truly let passion rule this time, allowing it to hurl themselves into each other’s arms while there was still so much left unsaid between them, so many troubles unsolved and questions unanswered. She recalled that she did not even know why he had hunted her down. Now that her blood had cooled, she feared she had made a grave error in judgment. One last taste of passion would not be enough to ease the pain of being a fool and, if Balfour had come only to bed her, that was exactly what she would be.

“Ye are thinking the worst of me, arenae ye, lass,” Balfour said as he sat up and wrapped his plaid around himself. “Trust me when I tell ye, loving, that I wouldnae ride so long a way just for a wee tussle upon the grass, sweet as it was.”

“Sorry,” she murmured, casting him a weak smile. “As always I acted upon what I wanted, then, after I rushed ahead and was beyond redemption, I paused to wonder if I had done the right thing or the wise thing.” She laughed, a short, self-abasing laugh. “I ne’er do the right thing.”

Balfour pulled her into his arms. “Oh, aye, ye do.”

“I betrayed you,” she whispered.

“Nay, although I did see it as such for a wee while. I wish I could find the words to tell ye how verra sorry I am for any pain I caused ye with my mistrust, but what ye did wasnae betrayal. Ye told no one my secrets and helped no one to harm me in any way. Ye didnae act against me or my clan in even the smallest way. Ye just lied.”

She stared at Balfour in surprise. “
Just
lied?”

“Aye, and ye did a poor job of it, too. Ye twisted your tongue into knots trying not to tell me the truth, yet not tell too big a lie. ’Twas mostly half-truths or no answers at all.” He idly began to try and tidy her hair, knowing it was useless, but enjoying the feel of her thick, soft hair too much to stop. “After I calmed enough to see beyond my anger and hurt, I looked more closely at all ye had told me. I thought o’er every talk we had shared and every answer ye had given to all the questions I had asked. What lies ye did tell me were ones meant to hide the truth. Ye didnae want me to ken who your father was. And ye were right to hide that truth from me. Once I kenned it I would ne’er have trusted you, ne’er have believed that ye would do naught to help him.” He shook his head. “’Tis unfair to hold a child at fault for what was done by a mother, a father, or any other kinsmon. I ken it weel. Howbeit, learning that Beaton had sired you would have made me do exactly that.”

“After all Beaton had done, ye cannae blame yourself for that.” She reached up to stroke his cheek, delighted beyond words that he had forgiven her for her deception, that he even understood why she had deceived him. “I told ye so little about myself ye had naught with which to decide my guilt or innocence. And would ye have believed me if I had told ye that I ached to kill the mon, that I was there to fulfill a vow of revenge?”

Balfour grimaced. “Nay. ’Tis hard to believe that a child would kill her own father, bastard though Beaton was. ’Twould also have been hard to believe that a wee lass such as your own self would do so.”

“I almost succeeded,” she protested, her pride stung, then she sighed. “’Tis probably best that I didnae.”

“Despite your vow to your dying mother and the fact that Beaton deserved to die, aye, ’tis probably for the best. Heartless filth though he was, that mon’s death wasnae worth your immortal soul. For a time I wasnae sure which ye would find harder to forgive, that I had robbed ye of your vengeance or that I had killed your father.” He fought the urge to heartily return her brief kiss, knowing that they needed to talk before they let passion rule them again. “I then began to hope that ye faulted me for neither.”

“None of it troubled me.” She snuggled up against him, savoring the feel of his strong arms wrapped around her. “I had come to see the hard, cold truth about my mother. Margaret cared naught for me. From the moment I was born she had but one use for me—to avenge her lost honor. Aye, she would have also liked me to become a whore, so that she wouldnae have had to work so hard, but mostly she wished me to kill Beaton for her. I think I have always kenned the truth, but I pushed it from my mind for it was a painful one. E’en when I could no longer turn away from the truth, I struggled against thinking on it much for I didnae wish to let loose all the ugly feelings it stirred within me.”

Balfour held her a little tighter, knowing there was nothing he could say or do to ease that pain. “’Tis they, Margaret and Beaton, who lost the most, Maldie. They denied themselves the joy of a child, one who would have loved them weel and done any parent proud.” He smiled when he saw her blush, even the tips of her ears turning a faint red. “I fear we cannae choose our kinsmen. ’Tis sad that ye were cursed with such a heartless pair, but ye rose from that mire clean and bonny, in soul as weel as in body.”

“I think ye had better cease speaking so kindly,” she said, her voice unsteady as she struggled to control a surge of emotion. “’Tis odd, but I feel near to weeping.”

He laughed and kissed her cheek. “I have no skill with flattery and pretty words and
ye have no skill at accepting them. We make a fine pair.” He slipped his hand beneath her chin and turned her face up toward his. “Now, ’tis past time I tell ye why I hunted ye down. Aye, especially since I begin to think of forgoing talk again.”

“Why
are
ye here?” she asked, her heart beating so hard it pounded painfully in her ears. The soft look in his dark eyes held such promise she was almost afraid to look into them.

“For you. I have come for you.” He touched his fingers to her lips when she frowned and started to speak. “Nay, let me say it all. Then all ye will need to say is
aye
or
nay
. There will be no confusion. I want ye to come back to Donncoill with me. Since ye left ’tis as if all the life has fled the place. I need ye there. I need ye at my side. I want ye to be my wife, to be the lady of Donncoill.”

It took all of Maldie’s will to stop herself from loudly crying out an immediate yes. He had said so much, yet not enough. He needed her, he wanted her, and he would marry her. She knew most women would think her mad to even hesitate, but she needed more. He was speaking of marriage, of being bound by law and God for life. She needed him to love her.

For a moment she wondered if she could make him say it before she had to, then decided that that could take a long time. Men were so reluctant to bare their souls to a woman that, even if Balfour
did
love her, she could be wedded, bedded, and the mother of three of his children ere he finally made mention of the fact. Although she dreaded baring her soul, she knew it was the only way. And, she mused as she steadied herself, he deserved the full truth. If they were to be married, it was also the best way to begin. She prayed that she was not taking too great a gamble with her heart. Once she had exposed all she felt for him, it would be that much easier for him to devastate her even if he did not want or mean to.

“I want to marry you,” she began and, when he started to hug her, she placed a hand on his chest and firmly kept a small distance between them. “Howbeit, I may yet say no. Ye speak of need and want, and we both ken that our passion is weel matched. What ye cannae know, for I have worked hard to hide it from ye, is that I love you, Balfour Murray.” She could tell little from the wide-eyed look upon his face and the sudden tautness in his body, so she doggedly continued, “I may love ye more than is wise or sane and have done so since the beginning. Mayhap it will make little sense to ye, but I cannae wed ye, cannae bind myself to ye for a lifetime, if ye dinnae feel the same.” She cried out from surprise and some discomfort when he crushed her to his chest.

“Ah, my bonny wee lass, ye are such a fool. Or, mayhap we both are. Aye, ye will have love, possibly more than ye want at times.”

“Ye love me?” she whispered, wriggling in his arms until his hold loosened enough for her to look at him. Her heart was pounding so hard and fast she felt a little nauseated.

“Aye, I love you. I, too, think I fell in love the moment I set eyes upon you.” He eagerly returned her kiss, gently pulling her down onto the ground. “Then your answer is yes? Ye will marry me?”

“Aye.” She started to kiss him again, then frowned as a familiar sound cut sharply through the air. “Was that a hunting horn?” she asked as she sat up and looked around.

Balfour laughed, sat up, and reached for their clothes. “Aye, ’twas a hunting horn. ’Tis your uncle, Colin, telling us that we have been alone long enough and,” he tossed her her gown, “if we dinnae appear before him verra soon, the hunt will indeed be on.” He
smiled at her when she frowned in doubt. “Trust me, lass. If we arenae dressed and walking back to that keep verra soon, we will be encircled by your grinning kinsmen.”

Maldie grimaced as she got dressed. She was no longer alone in the world, able to do as she wished without answering to anyone. It delighted her, made her feel wanted and cared for for the first time in her life but, as Balfour paused for one brief kiss before walking her back to her uncle’s keep, she began to see that a big family could also be a big problem.

“I think the days until we are wed are going to be long ones,” she murmured.

Watching as nearly a dozen widely grinning Kirkcaldys appeared as if from nowhere and began to escort them back to the keep, Balfour nodded in heartfelt agreement. “Verra long indeed.”

Maldie grit her teeth and tried to sit still as Jennie fought to comb the tangles from her hair. She cursed herself for forgetting to braid it last night, for her restless sleep had left it in a sadly gnarled mess. It was going to take a lot of work to make it look good for her wedding, or, at least as good as her thick, unruly hair could ever look.

Her wedding, she thought, and sighed. She found it odd that her stomach could churn with fears and nerves while her heart soared with happiness. It had been exactly one month since Balfour had told her that he loved her and asked her to be his wife. Aside from the time they had been apart and she had thought him lost to her forever, Maldie was sure that this had been the longest month of her life. Balfour and she had seen less and less of each other, as the days had slipped by and more and more Kirkcaldys had arrived for the wedding. It had quickly become clear that her uncle was determined to keep them apart until their wedding night. They had not even been able to steal a kiss in days. Worse, she had not been able to woo those three sweet words out of Balfour again, and she was beginning to wonder if she had actually heard him say that he loved her or had just dreamed it.

There was a sharp rap at the door and, even as she turned to bid the person enter, her uncle strode in. She frowned at him as he sat on her bed. He really was a fine figure of a man, tall and strong, his kind, good-humored nature clear to see in his handsome face. Maldie was continually amazed that her mother could believe such a man would turn her and her bairn out into the cold. That Margaret would deprive her child of knowing such a good man was something else Maldie struggled to forgive her mother for. She even appreciated the similarity in their looks, the same wild black hair and green eyes, for it gave her a sense of belonging. Colin’s constant guard over her and Balfour, however, was not endearing him to her at the moment.

“I havenae hidden him under the bed,” she drawled.

Colin laughed. “I ken it. I just saw the lad pacing his room.”

“Pacing? That implies that he is troubled. Do ye think he has changed his mind?” she asked, cursing the uncertainty that made her even ask such a question. She knew it was unreasonable, but she blamed her uncle for that, as his efforts to keep her and Balfour apart had ensured that all of her fears were not soothed by sweet words of love from her betrothed.

“Foolish child,” Colin scolded, but his smile was filled with gentle understanding. “Nay, he but suffers as all men do when they take a bride. Dinnae tell me that ye arenae uneasy, for I willnae believe ye.”

She smiled faintly and shrugged. “I am, yet I dinnae understand it. This is what I want.”

“Aye, and what he wants or he would ne’er have chased ye down.” Colin shook his head. “’Tis just the way it is. Ye have more than most couples who are oftimes set before a priest barely kenning each other’s names. Makes no difference. Ye are swearing vows afore God and kinsmen. ’Tis a grave matter and no one should do it easily.” He stood up and walked over to Maldie as Jennie helped her into her gown. “Ye go and help the women, lass,” he told the maid. “I can help my niece now.” He began to lace up Maldie’s gown the moment Jennie left the room, pausing to touch the heart-shaped birthmark on her back. “’Tis a bonny sign God set upon your skin.”

“’Tis Beaton’s mark,” she muttered. “My mother often pointed to it as a sign of the
cursed blood I carry in my veins.”

He turned her around to face him. “Your mother was a fool, God bless her soul. A bitter fool. Did ye not stay with an old couple, Beatons by blood, who were good and kind and held no love for their laird? Who were, in truth, all the things Beaton was not?”

“Weel, aye, but…”

“Nay but. The laird of Dubhlinn was a bastard with no heart and no honor. That doesnae mean that all Beatons carry the same taint upon their soul. Isnae the boy Eric also a Beaton?”

“Aye, ’twas the fact that he, too, carries this mark that told him that sad truth, but ye ken all of this.”

“I have met the lad and he is a fine boy who will become a good, honorable mon. The Beatons of Dubhlinn will be weel blessed if he can gain the right to be their laird. Are ye nay proud to be a Kirkcaldy?”

“Of course.”

“Weel, as I have said before, our clan hasnae been free of sinners. We have had a traitor or two, murderers, thieves, and men who wouldnae ken what honor was if it grew legs, walked up to them, and spit in their eyes. Trust me, the Murrays, too, have had and will have a bad seed from time to time. Ye cannae fault a clan for wishing to keep such things a dark secret, but, if ye shake the tree of any family, some rotten fruit will fall out. Ye have grown into a fine lass despite your parents. Be proud of that.”

Tears choked her throat and a deep blush seared her cheeks as she stared up at her uncle, deeply touched by the honest affection she could see softening his eyes. “Thank ye, Uncle,” she managed to whisper.

“Ye havenae been told your worth verra often, have ye, lass,” he said, shaking his head.

“It doesnae matter.”

“Oh, aye, it does. A child needs to be told his worth from time to time if he is to grow up hale and strong, in spirit and in body. ’Tis that lack of deserved praise that makes ye so quick to fear that your big brown mon is about to change his mind about marrying you.”

“My big brown mon?” she muttered, biting back a smile.

“Aye, I have ne’er seen so much brown on a mon. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin. I hope he doesnae wear something brown to stand afore the priest, or we might mistake him for a log.”

“Uncle,” Maldie cried, laughing as she lightly swatted him on the arm. “Be kind. He is a bonny mon.”

He slipped his arm around her shoulders and started to lead her out of the room. “That he is, lass, and he has chosen himself a bonny bride. One of the bonniest in all of Scotland.” He winked at her. “And ye shall have bonny brown bairns.” He laughed when she blushed. “We had best step quickly now or your laddie will think ye have changed your mind or fled to the hills.”

“She should be here by now,” Balfour muttered as he paced before the small altar set up at the far end of the great hall.

Nigel rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Her uncle has gone to fetch her. He kens all that passed between ye and Maldie while
she was here. ’Tis certain he willnae let ye or her flee this marriage.”

“I wouldnae make any wager on that. She but smiles at the mon and he will probably allow her to lead him to the verra gates of hell.” He smiled faintly when Nigel laughed, then grew serious again. “Whene’er I see her uncle look at her I wonder yet again how that fool of a mother of hers could keep her hidden from such a family. I have seen more of them than I have wished to in the last month and ne’er seen any of them show coldness or condemnation toward the lass because of her bastardry. How could a woman ken her own kinsmen so little, judge them so wrongly, that she would prefer to become a whore and try to make her child one rather than seek her family’s aid?”

“Pride. Overwhelming pride from what little I have heard said of the woman,” Nigel answered. “It seems she found her sad life preferable to returning home shamed and carrying a bairn. She hadnae made herself weel loved amonst her kinsmen either, so mayhap that decided her. If ye have always acted as if ye are so much better than all around you, ye certainly dinnae want to let them see that ye are not. Let it lie, brother. ’Tisnae something ye or anyone else will e’er understand. Maldie survived her mother’s pride and idiocy and survived it verra weel, too. Now, turn your attention to your marriage for here comes your bride.”

Balfour looked toward Maldie and sharply caught his breath. She wore the soft green gown he had had made for her. It fit her slender body perfectly and the rich color flattered her. Her thick hair tumbled over her shoulders, its soft waves decorated with green ribbons. There was a light flush upon her cheeks, and he thought that she had never looked so beautiful. Wondering yet again how he had won the heart of such a woman, he walked over to take her hand from her uncle’s grasp.

“’Tis your last chance to consider the step ye take, Maldie,” he said. “Once the vows are said, there is no escape from this brown knight.”

Maldie smiled, remembering her uncle naming Balfour her big brown man. That made Balfour sound almost common and, as he stood there in his fine white shirt, draped in the plaid of his clan, he looked far from common. She wondered what madness had siezed her which made her think she could make such a fine laird content, then hastily shook aside that pinch of doubt. He said he loved her and she loved him. She would have a lifetime at his side. There would be plenty of time to learn all that could make him happy.

“’Tis your last chance as weel,” she said, tightening her hold on his hand. “Howbeit, if ye try to flee, do remember that I can run verra fast.”

He laughed and brushed a kiss over her lips before turning toward the young priest from the village. As they knelt before the priest, Maldie glanced around at the crowd in the great hall. Kirkcaldys were all mixed in with Murrays, and Maldie knew more then her marriage to Balfour would keep the two clans allied. Eric stood by her uncle and he grinned at her. She quickly grinned back, then found her gaze captured by Nigel. The smile he sent her was a sad one and she felt his loneliness. There was nothing she could do for him, however, and praying that he would overcome the ill-fated love he had for her, she turned her full attention back to the priest. Balfour was about to make vows to her before God and his clan, and she did not want to miss one tiny word of it.

Balfour was still laughing at Colin’s nonsense when he turned and found Nigel at his side. A quick glance at Colin revealed that man discreetly slipping away, leaving him
and his brother alone in the crowd of celebrants. The man had clearly guessed that all was not well between the brothers, and Balfour mused that Colin could be an uncomfortably perceptive man at times. There was a still, solemn look upon Nigel’s face that made Balfour uneasy. He had hoped that Nigel would conquer his feelings for Maldie or, at best, learn to live with them, but he began to think that had been little more than a foolish dream. Balfour knew that, if he stood in Nigel’s place, he would find the situation a pure torment.

“Congratulations, brother, and many good wishes.” Nigel smiled crookedly. “And I do mean that.”

“Thank ye, but that is not all ye wished to say, is it?” Balfour said quietly, tensing, yet not sure why he dreaded Nigel’s next words.

“I am leaving.”

“I havenae asked that of you.”

“I ken it. I need to leave. I am truly happy for you, hold no anger toward ye or Maldie. Neither of ye has caused this trouble. ’Tis all my own doing. ’Tis clear to anyone with eyes in their head that ye love her and she loves you. I thought I could accept that, live with it, and get o’er it. I dinnae think I can do that if I must watch the two of ye together each and every day.”

Balfour briefly clasped his brother by the shoulder. “The last thing I wanted to do was drive ye from your home.”

“Ye arenae driving me out,” he said firmly. “I swear it. I am taking myself away for a wee while. ’Twill be easier to cure myself of these unasked for and unwanted feelings if the one who stirs them isnae before my eyes. I dared not even kiss the bride. And, in truth, I fear what jealousy may drive me to do. I willnae allow this to come between us, to hurt ye or her. Both of ye have been more tolerant and understanding than I deserve, and I dinnae want to destroy that.”

“Where will ye go?”

“To France. The French are willing to pay a Scotsmon to fight the English.” He smiled at the dark frown that crossed Balfour’s face. “And ye can set that thought aside, brother. I dinnae go to war seeking death. I may be in love with my brother’s wife and, aye, ’tis torment, but I fear I love myself as weel. I go to kill the English and, mayhap, this cursed feeling that causes us both trouble. That is all.”

“Will ye stay for the morning feast?”

“I will leave at first light. There are a few Kirkcaldys who set out for France at dawn, and I will ride with them.” He briefly hugged Balfour. “I willnae be gone forever. I am nay a complete fool, one who will spend all his days yearning for what he cannae have. I will be back.” He sighed and looked around at the crowd. “And, now, I must go and tell Eric.”

Balfour watched Nigel disappear into the crowd and sighed. When Maldie stepped up beside him and took him by the hand, he held on tightly. She frowned up at him and he realized she did not know about Nigel yet. He knew how easily she could sense how he felt, and so he forced all thought of Nigel from his mind. Unwilling to steal any of the joy of their wedding day, he decided he would tell her the sad news later.

“Do ye think we can creep away unseen now?” he asked as he tugged her into his arms.

“I doubt it.” She laughed softly and shook her head. “There are simply too many
people here. We will have to nudge a few aside just to get to the doors, so I think all chance of slipping away unseen has been stolen.”

“Aye.” He grinned and picked her up in his arms. “So, let us make a grand show of it then.”

Maldie laughed and buried her face in his neck as he strode through the cheering crowd. Some of the remarks hurled at them as they left the great hall made her blush. She recognized her uncle’s voice bellowing out some of the more ribald suggestions, and swore she would make him pay for that. Getting out of the great hall did not end the gauntlet they had to walk through. There were people throughout the keep. They passed cheerful guests on the stairs and all along the upper hall. Maldie was almost surprised to find their bedchamber empty.

“One of us has too large a family,” she said, then laughed as, after he had loudly shut and latched the door, he tossed her onto the bed.

Balfour sprawled on top of her and gave her a quick, hard kiss. “There was more than enough room here until Kirkcaldys began to swarm through the gates. Ye looked verra bonny in this gown,” he murmured as he began to unlace it.

“Aye, I did.” She exchanged a quick grin with him. “I do like it, so mayhap ye could be careful.” Her words were muffled by the gown as he yanked it over her head and tossed it aside.