The Highlander's Triumph (19 page)

Mariana stood in place, wincing as Mrs. Busby dressed her, shifting her arm, until finally the gown was in place and she could remain still. The maid tapped her foot to lift it so she could place on her slipper.

“I need to warn you…” The woman cut herself off before finishing.

“What is it?” Mariana glanced down, catching the woman’s gaze. “You can tell me.”

“You didn’t hear it from me.”

“I heard it from no one,” Mariana answered. Her stomach doubled up in knots and she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.

“The king has a new mistress.”

Mariana nodded, having figured as much.

Mrs. Busby frowned. “She is your spitting image.”

Now it was Mariana’s turn for her brows to knit. “Me?”

“Aye, my lady. Same glorious hair and feminine figure.” She tapped her other foot, slipping on the second slipper. “Not as well-mannered as you are. And English, not French. I suppose if the king’s thinking of marrying a French princess, he ought not to be dallying with someone who might be her friend.”

Mariana shrugged, pretending indifference. “He would not be the first king.”

“This must pain you sorely.”

She flashed her maid a wan smile.
“’Tis not my place to be pained by it.”

And she wasn’t. Not that the king had found someone new to warm his bed and accompany him to the feast. No, to Mariana tha
t was all well and good. What made her worry was what the king would do with her now. There’d been no talk of arrangements. She had belonged to him, but now that he was done with her… Dear God, she prayed he hadn’t already tied her to another man.

The image of Brandon staring up at her through the rain flaunted itself in her mind. If she’d not been so sure that Brandon was running away from her, she might have welcomed the opportunity to
flee to him. To slip from this grim fortress and make her way back to his arms.

“My lady, we must hurry.”

Mariana nodded, feeling her head start to pound. She pressed her fingers to one temple, rubbing, wishing she had free use of her other arm.

“My lady…” Mrs. Busby drawled. The woman was positively fretting now, her fingers
turning red with the exertion of wringing her gown.

“I am ready.”

They encountered only a few guards on the way to the great hall. When she entered, the room fell to a hushed whisper. It appeared everyone had already gathered there. Mariana wanted to hold her head high, to march right into the middle of the room and declare the king set her free. Instead, she lowered her head as was her station, and meekly stepped four feet into the room.

“Lady Mariana. I see you finally chose to join us.” The king’s voice was drawn out, as though he hoped to set her
on edge.

She dipped into a curtsy, but didn’t say anything, instead waited for his directive.

“Well, take a seat.”

Mariana rose from her curtsy and lifted her chin, her gaze quickly finding the king lounging on the dais with another woman by his side. She did indeed have the same dark hair as Mariana, long and falling in soft waves, but her face was not the same. This woman had a pinched, hungry look about her. In her mind, Mariana wished her luck, for she would need it.

The king studied her intently, watching to see if she was jealous or upset at being replaced. Mariana may have bowed her head, curtsied, and followed all the other rules he implemented, but she wasn’t jealous and wouldn’t pretend to be. Oh, she could play the part well, but she didn’t want to. Not anymore.

The only woman she was jealous of was the next one Brandon fell against.

Mariana turned from the king, and sat down between two nobles. They ignored her, but were not rude.

The game was over.

Chapter Nineteen

I
t took the stinging slap of a wiry tree branch hitting Brandon in the forehead to realize he was completely insane.

What
in bloody hell was he doing?

Blood trickled warm on his forehead, the force of the branch having torn the linen he wore to ward of moisture. He didn’t reach up to wipe it away, but felt each minute drop as it made its descent.

Any man in his right mind would continue on, but Brandon thought perhaps his mind hadn’t been right to begin with. ’Haps what was right for him was completely different from the norm, but also completely perfect for him.

She
was perfect for him. Made him whole in a way he never thought he’d find. Mariana completed him.

The woman was his.

And yet, he was running away from her. Fleeing in the exact opposite direction from whence she was. Like a coward. He should be storming into the castle, tearing her out of the king’s arms and demanding she return with him. Stake his claim on her, just as he had the night she called herself Desire. She was his destiny. His forever. And he’d seen the same in her eyes until he’d rejected her. Forced her into the king’s arms. Given her no other choice. Brandon was willing to admit, most of the blame fell on his shoulders. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t change it now.

He stopped dead in his tracks.
Stared ahead at the men as they ran forward a few more feet before sensing his motionless. They turned around, gawked at him.

“We have to go, my laird. Did ye nay hear the alarm
raised?” Big William gave him a look that said the man thought he was an absolute imbecile.

“I heard it.” He ground his teeth. What he was about to do went into the realms of irrationality. But he’d already deemed himself mad, had he not? “Go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”

The men gaped at him, slack jawed.

John shook his head vehemently.
“Nay, my laird.”

Brandon puffed his chest. He’d not change his mind. “Dinna disobey me. I gave
ye a direct order.”

“My laird…” John hesitated, obviously trying to figure out the right words to change Brandon’s mind.
“’Tis suicide. I canna let ye go without at least making ye pause for a moment to think on it.”

“I’ve thought long enough already.” Brandon didn’t hesitate to answer. He knew what he wanted. What he needed
—
her
—and he knew exactly how to get it. He thrust the rolled up map showing King Edward’s imminent attack toward John. “Tell Wallace to inform the Bruce they must leave the castle. Find a new camp. They are not safe at Eilean Donan any longer. Dinna wait for me. I’ll find ye.”

The man hesitated. Looked ready to say something, but Brandon shook his head
stopping whatever words he’d say. John’s face fell. The man was resigned to the fact that he would have to let his laird have his way.

Brandon crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes.
“I’ll nay change my mind. Go. Now.”

“Move out,” John bellowed at the men, his frustration obvious.

Brandon grinned, though it probably looked more like a grimace.

Without a backward glance, he took off at a run toward Ion Dubh Castle—and Mariana.

At least thirty uncomfortable minutes passed in the great hall. Mariana between two overlarge men who stuffed their faces and spoke over her to each other, particles of their meal falling into her hair. Disgusting.

If the castle had in fact been under attack, the king did not seem in the least bit worried over it. And
that, actually worried her most.

Finally, he stood at the dais and cleared his throat. Everyone silenced at once.
An eerie thing to transpire. But not one of them wanted to end up swinging from the end of a rope, or bleeding from an ear to ear slice to the throat.

Mariana had barely been able to eat a thing. She was able to grab a slice of meat, but once on her trencher, there was no way for her to cut it
with the use of only one hand, and she dared not ask one of the men to do so for her, lest they get the wrong idea. She speared the hunk of meat with her eating knife and held it up to her lips, taking a bite. The meat was tough and it took a good bit of gnawing to break a piece off.

She might be sitting between two disgusting oafs, but she wasn’t about to become one of them. Besides that, her stomach roiled every time she felt a bit
of food land on her head.

Hunger was a far better thing to fair through than vomiting all over the table. The wine on the other hand, was easy to reach, and easy to maneuver. The liquid warmed her insides and took the edge off not only her hunger but her weariness.

When King Edward did finally stand, after her long laborious bout of non-merriment between her dinner partners, she was almost interested in what he had to say.

Edward walked down from the dais, sauntering with all the arrogance he possessed up and down the aisles.
The silence in the room was so great, Mariana could hear the clink of the chain mail Edward wore beneath his doublet.

He stopped right behind her. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
What did he want? Was he trying to make her nervous? If so, he was doing a damn good job of it. Her fingers trembled. She shoved them in her lap. She had to remain calm. In control. The wine she’d drunk didn’t make her forget how dangerous he was. Anxiety took control, planting all sort of nefarious ideas in her mind. None of them answered the question shouting inside her—why was he standing behind her?

Edward was
a master at making people cower with fear. She was no exception. He didn’t speak, instead he let his presence, his nearness, the sinister machinations her own conscience compiled, do their worst. Mariana was no stranger to this particular ploy of King Edward’s. She’d witnessed it at least a dozen times. But never, not once, had she been the victim of it. Until now.

The only way to beat Edward at his own game was to show
no emotion. A task she excelled at. Although, doing so would put her in another predicament, and she might very well face his wrath.

Letting out the breath she’d been holding in a long, slow, silent whoosh, she reached for her goblet.
Two could play this game. Sheer force of will made her fingers still their quiver as she gripped the stem and pulled the drink to her lips. A sip, the sweet tangy taste of fermented grapes, traveled over her tongue. In all her days, however many she had left, Mariana was sure she’d remember the flavor.

A cold hand pressed to her shoulder.

“Perhaps, my lady, you would care to enlighten those present with the identities of our visitors.”

The wine felt suddenly solid as dried bread as she swallowed down her constricted throat. Setting the goblet down carefully,
she lowered her hands to her lap. Without looking at King Edward, Mariana answered softly, “Your Highness, I could not know.”

He leaned low, his sour breath on her ear. “Ah, but you do, my lady, you do.” His hand on her shoulder increased in pressure. “Tell them who it was.”

Laced with venom, his voice sent a shiver of dread racing up and down her spine. Mariana was trapped. There was no getting out of this. He’d targeted her, wanted to punish her.

“
Your Highness, I beg of you. I was but asleep in my room, recovering from my injuries.”

“Liar,” he whispered.

She hated when his voice got so low. When he spoke in hisses and through gritted teeth. Normally when a man raised his voice you could tell he was angry, but not so with Edward. The angrier he was, the quieter he got.

Just as she would try when gentling an animal, Mariana reached up and placed her hand on Edward’s. She prayed that her light touch would send a spark of calm through him. But the king yanked away as though she’d burned him. Not for long however. The next moment, instead of squeezing her shoulder, his fingers were at the nape of her neck, tight and uncomfortable.

“Stand,” he hissed.

Mariana did as he
ordered. Not looking him in the eye. The king was much like a rabid dog and she had to move slowly, appearing docile, else he bite her.

“
How did you come to be here?”

“
Your Highness?”

“Don’t play coy with me. Tell the people how you came to be here.”

Mariana took a chance and glanced around the room, hoping to find a friend in the crowd. Most people looked away, embarrassed for her, uncomfortable to be witnessing the king’s brutality against one he used to cherish. His new mistress sat gloating upon the dais. Mariana pitied her for not realizing that she would be in this same position one day.

“I was brought by Laird Ross.”

The king growled low and menacing. “Tell them how you came to be in Ross’ possession.”

Mariana licked nervously at her lips. Telling the exact truth was likely to get her thrown off the nearest cliff. ’Twould only be Ross’ word against her own… Then again, if the king
already knew the identities of the intruders, he would know she lied, and she might find herself in a puddle of her own blood on this very floor.

There didn’t seem to be any way of getting out of this mess alive.

“Laird Ross and his men—“

A loud bang from behind startled them all. Mariana whirled around to see a man dressed in tall leather boots, breeches that clung to his muscled
thighs, and a metal-studded leather doublet over top a plain linen shirt. Her heart stopped, then kicked into an irregular drumming. Tall, muscular, perfectly gorgeous. Though his clothes were different, his intense eyes, stubborn square jaw and sensual lips were forever ingrained in her mind.

“Kindly unhand my wife,” he drawled in a distinctly English accent.

“Pardon?” the king asked, eyes widening. For the first time she’d ever seen, he looked taken aback.

Brandon bowed low to the king, before straightening. “Your Highness, I have been searching high and low for the woman. I’d be glad to have her back.”

“Your…wife?” The king’s brow raised and he spoke slowly, Mariana guessed to regain his composure.

“Aye,
Your Highness.”

King Edward laughed, and gazed about the room. “How in the world did she become your
wife, and whom may I ask are you?”

Brandon stared straight into the king’s eyes, a bold move. “She became my wife when I found her amongst the burning
village at Kinterloch. When we stood before God and professed to be each other’s destiny.”

Edward coughed, letting go of her. Mariana didn’t move, though she wanted to run headlong for Brandon.

“Who are you?” King Edward demanded.

“I am Sir Whitley.
My wife was stolen from me when men attacked our entourage.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye.”

The kin
g continued to eye Brandon as if he were a fly he wanted to crush. “Why did you not seek my permission to marry?”

“’Twas a matter of life and death, Highness.”

“The same situation you find yourself in now.”

“I supposed ’tis a situation I often find myself in.”
There was an arrogant edge to Brandon’s voice that bespoke of his power. Anyone in the room could hear it. But Mariana prayed the king did not take issue with it. There was no doubt in her mind, Brandon could easily dispatch Edward, but then he’d have the whole of the castle crashing down on him.