Kilts Ahoy! Read online

  “Ye’d be proud of him, my laird. He helped me through the long days.”

  Beathan took his youngest brother into his embrace. “I always kent ye’d be strong if aught untoward happened.”

  “Will ye tell us the tale?” a blushing Finlay asked.

  “All in good time,” Beathan replied, before looking directly into Teagan’s eyes. “Suffice it to say, we’d ne’er have made it home without Marshall Robson’s help.”

  Fearing he sensed her attraction, yet hearing no censure in his voice, she scanned the dock. Decorum dictated she greet her fiancé, but Elgin and Marshall were still aboard the birlinn. Marshall looked stern, Elgin sheepish.

  They disembarked when she approached. She bobbed a curtsey to Elgin, wrinkling her nose at the pungent odor of fish clinging to his clothing. “I’m glad to see ye safely returned,” she said, hearing the lack of conviction in her voice.

  “Aye,” he replied, studying his feet and ignoring the hand she offered.

  She turned to Marshall. “And ye,” she told him, struggling not to blurt out her intense relief he’d returned. “It seems ye’re the hero of the hour,” was the only cliché she could muster.

  He took her hand and brushed a kiss on her knuckles. “So long as ye think so, Lady Teagan,” he replied.

  *

  The fire smoldering in Teagan’s eyes reassured Marshall that her feelings for him were as ardent as his own. He was therefore content to wait for the appropriate moment to claim her as his bride. Wick wasn’t the right place, and the joyous homecoming wasn’t the right occasion.

  It would be better to bide his time and make his move when he’d decided what to do about Elgin. The sea had failed to provide a solution. Revealing the truth publicly would shame Elgin and their mother. Allowing Elgin to remain as chieftain didn’t bode well for the clan’s future, but Marshall was confident he could counteract that by providing leadership as his brother’s second-in-command. Though it might be deemed selfish, the prospect rankled; he’d be playing second fiddle when, in fact, he was the rightful chieftain.

  As the MacCrays prepared to leave, Beathan gripped his hand. “I thank ye, Marshall. We wouldna be here but for ye. I should have allowed ye to accompany us in the first place. I trust we’ll see ye again soon.”

  “Aye,” he replied, returning the handshake, confident the MacCray laird would sanction a proposal to wed his sister. However, Beathan knew nothing of the other matter looming over Clan Robson. “Count on it. Give me a few days to sort things out at home. Aunty Moira will be worried.”

  Celebrations

  The crowd gathered in the forecourt of Castle MacCray gave the returning laird and his brothers a tumultuous welcome. Many of the women wept, and it was clear to Teagan that Beathan was well-loved by the clan. She’d been presumptuous in reminding him of his duty to appreciate his people. The realization brought home to her full force what a devastating loss his death would have been for the clan as well as for her family.

  The grin on his handsome face indicated his appreciation and enjoyment of the good wishes, but a hint of a frown creased his brow whenever his gaze met hers. It was clear he had something to tell her. She’d seen him shake Marshall’s hand in Wick. It seemed the man she loved had played an important role in the return of her brothers. She just had to be patient and wait to hear what he had to say.

  Or, she could approach Seth and learn something of what had transpired.

  After changing into a gown more suitable for the celebratory banquet planned to take place in the hall, she posted Katie in the corridor to wait for Seth’s appearance.

  Alerted when he emerged from his chamber, she slipped out of her own room and feigned surprise when she saw him. “Seth,” she gushed, hugging him. “I’m anxious to hear what happened.”

  As she expected, he was happy to recount the entire episode. He made no attempt to hide his disgust of Elgin’s role in the misadventure, which served to deepen her dread of their coming marriage. She suspected Beathan would now consider Elgin unsuitable as a husband. While she didn’t want to marry the Robson laird, she worried about the ramifications if the wedding was called off. A rekindling of a hostile atmosphere would mean never seeing Marshall again.

  The joyful merrymaking continued in the hall. Ale flowed freely and many a clansman stood and broke into song as the meal progressed. Raucous applause and whistling followed every performance. The clan piper strode up and down between the trestle tables, playing one reel after another. As the dishes were being cleared away, fiddlers struck up their instruments and folks danced in the aisles.

  The specter of death and loss had been lifted from Castle MacCray. Teagan’s heart swelled. Her home was once again a happy place, though she wished Marshall was there to enjoy the festivities with her. Given what she’d learned about Elgin’s role in the near-disaster, and Marshall’s canny negotiations with the Danes, she wondered if the same joyous homecoming was being celebrated in Castle Robson.

  *

  Marshall grimaced at the halfhearted undercurrent in his clan’s celebrations for the safe return of their chieftain. The clansmen who’d accompanied the ill-fated voyage had probably spread the account of Elgin’s incompetence—but he sensed it was more than that. People found it difficult to like his brother, whereas they seemed to have no problem shaking his hand, slapping him on the back and expressing genuine relief and gratitude for his part in the rescue.

  Moira was no exception. Upon their arrival in the courtyard of Castle Robson, she’d barely acknowledged Elgin with a perfunctory kiss on each cheek, whereas the tears flowed when she embraced Marshall.

  It was hardly surprising Elgin sulked throughout the evening meal, despite the festive atmosphere. People were clearly relieved the shadow of death had passed over the clan without claiming its laird, but Marshall suspected their relief had more to do with the office than with the man.

  Or, perhaps, he was allowing his own mixed feelings to color his view. He appreciated the good wishes and his clan’s obvious respect. He just wished Teagan was seated by his side, instead of the half-brother he might have to challenge for the chieftaincy.

  *

  For Teagan, the summons to Beathan’s study came unexpectedly a short time after the evening meal. Pleasantly exhausted by the merrymaking, she had retired to her chamber in the belief her laird might sleep off the copious amounts of ale he’d consumed and call her on the morrow. Apparently, he wanted to get whatever he had to say off his chest.

  When she entered after tapping lightly on the door, his stern countenance tightened the knot in her belly. “I’m so relieved to see ye sitting there again,” she began in an effort to resurrect the smile he’d sported all evening.

  He gripped the arms of his chair. “Aye. There were times I thought I’d ne’er see Castle MacCray again.”

  “Seth told me most of what happened,” she said, puzzled he hadn’t invited her to sit.

  She resisted the urge to fiddle with her hair when he steepled his fingers and stared at her, his brow furrowed. It appeared he was considering his words carefully, but her knees threatened to buckle when he finally asked, “Do ye love Marshall Robson?”

  She’d never been a liar, and Beathan knew her too well. “With all my heart, but…”

  He held up a hand. “Then, he’s the mon ye must marry.”

  Teagan worried the volcano of emotions seething inside her might erupt at any moment. She wanted to acquiesce but, like lava, the horrible truth had to spew forth. “Ye ken I canna,” she rasped. “The laird of Clan Robson must sire heirs. Reneging on my oath will put both clans back to where we were. That benefits no one. Of all people, Marshall kens ’tis the reality of our situation.”

  Beathan shook his head. “Unless I am completely mistaken, I believe Marshall intends to ask for yer hand.”

  Teagan closed her eyes, her brain unable to fathom the reasons behind this revelation.

  As the Sea is My Witness

  Discouraged when Teag
an failed to return his wave, or even look his way, Marshall nevertheless hurried down from the battlements and strode to his brother’s chamber. He roused Elgin from a deep sleep and informed him he intended to ask for Teagan’s hand.

  “I expected Laird Beathan to cancel the plan for me to wed his sister,” Elgin replied with a grimace. “Just because I dropped a stupid sextant.”

  Marshall narrowed his eyes, saying a silent prayer of thanks that Teagan MacCray would never have to wake up in bed beside the slovenly man in the grease-stained nightshirt. “Do ye ken ye still have last night’s supper in yer beard?”

  He exhaled slowly when Elgin picked off a few crumbs and ate them. The temptation to rant and rave at the numbskull was great, but he had to remember Elgin’s bloodlines. “I think Laird Beathan’s anger has more to do with his incarceration in a foul-smelling shed.”

  Sulking, Elgin slid off the bed, inadvertently exposing his private parts when the nightshirt rode up. Marshall averted his eyes but not before catching a glimpse. He nigh on laughed out loud. If he’d seen Elgin’s manhood before—if, in fact, there was one hiding in the red bush—he’d have suspected before now they weren’t sons of the same father.

  “How was I to ken Beathan was so fond of the logs we procured in Norway?” his brother whined. “Where have ye stored the aquavit, by the way?”

  Marshall clenched his fists. “Dinna try to change the subject. Just be aware I intend to wed Lady Teagan because I love her, and ye dinna. We’ll find another bride for ye.”

  Elgin scratched his armpit. “Nay. Ye promised me Teagan, and she’s the one I want.”

  Marshall ought to have known the wretch would react in a selfish manner. He left abruptly before he blurted out the truth of his half-brother’s parentage. Elgin would challenge his accusations publicly, without a thought for their mother’s reputation.

  He hurried to the stables, saddled Beau and set out for Castle MacCray. When he reached the crest of the hill above Wick, he looked down into the village. Beathan and a handful of others were working on a birlinn.

  He changed direction and rode down the hill, not encouraged by the MacCray laird’s deep frown when he caught sight of him.

  “Yer firm handshake says ye’re glad to see me,” he said when Beathan disembarked to greet him, “but I suspect I’m nay going to like what ye have to say.”

  Beathan looked out to sea. “She willna agree.”

  For a moment, Marshall thought he’d perhaps misjudged Teagan’s feelings for him, but his new friend’s next words reassured him.

  “She’s admitted ’tis ye she loves. However, she insists the wedding has to go ahead. She’s afraid of reigniting the feud.”

  Marshall hoped Beathan didn’t misinterpret his low growl as impatience with Teagan. If she knew the truth…

  “Perhaps, if I spoke with her,” he offered.

  Beathan arched a brow. “’Twould be unseemly for ye to be alone together, ridiculous as that is. However, she’s ridden out on the cliffs, so…”

  Marshall shook his hand again, remounted and set off to woo the woman he craved. He had scant minutes to devise a plan to win her over without explaining the sordid details of why he was the man she should be marrying.

  *

  Sitting on her rock, staring out to sea, Teagan didn’t need to turn around to learn the identity of the rider approaching along the cliff. Even if Bo hadn’t run off to greet him, there was something about Marshall Robson that her body reacted to of its own volition. The sudden prickle on her nape, the tingling nipples, the ache blossoming in an intimate place—all signs of an alchemy between them she couldn’t deny.

  Aware of the reason he’d come, she prayed for the strength to resist the temptation to agree to his proposal.

  When he spoke her name, his deep voice resonated in her soul. She gripped the rock, unable to face him, though she wasn’t surprised that he hunkered down in front of her and took her hands. She didn’t resist when he pulled her into his embrace.

  “Teagan,” he rasped. “I want ye to be my wife.”

  “I canna,” she sobbed, hands braced against his chest.

  He tilted her chin to his gaze. “Aye, ye must. I pledge myself to ye, here and now on this wild clifftop we both love.”

  She looked into dark eyes full of love, bereft when he turned her away to face the water. “The sea we have in our blood will bear witness to my promise to love and honor ye all the days of my life. Ye have only to say ye agree, and we are already mon and wife according to ancient law.”

  It was tempting to surrender to the strength in his embrace, to the musky male scent of his body, but she had to overcome her weakness. “How can I marry ye when I’ve promised to wed Elgin?”

  He turned her to face him. “I’m nay free to explain the reasons I’m the mon ye must marry. Trust me. Pledge to me and say ye’ll love me forever.”

  She would trust Marshall with her life. He’d already saved her from drowning. But could she put her soul in jeopardy for him? Her heart knew the answer. “I pledge to love and honor ye forever,” she promised, unable to deny her feelings any longer.

  As long as she lived, she would never forget the euphoria of his kiss. He brushed his lips gently over hers, licking, nibbling. She relaxed in his arms, content to let him lift her body to his. He coaxed open her lips and delved his tongue into her mouth. Feet dangling, she tasted the salt on his skin, suckled his tongue and let him breathe for her.

  Soaring on the wings of his passionate possession, she fell to earth abruptly when she espied Moira atop the battlements of Castle Robson. She quickly pushed away, instantly regretting the perplexed frown on his handsome face. “Yer aunty is watching us,” she said hoarsely.

  A grimace replaced the frown as he took her hand. “We need to talk. I’m taking ye to Castle Robson.”

  Sensing he’d come to some crucial decision, she allowed him to lift her into Geal’s saddle, reassured by the strength of his big hands at her waist and the love in his blue eyes.

  “Trust me,” he said again as he mounted.

  “Aye,” she replied, chivvying her horse to follow his.

  Revelation

  If the stable lads thought it curious Marshall had arrived in the courtyard with their laird’s betrothed, they gave no indication of it. When he lifted her down from her horse and lingered close to her a little too long before stepping back, they averted their eyes, seemingly preoccupied with admiring the wolfhound. He was relieved they hadn’t crossed paths with her brother en route, but deemed it best not to mention the fact. He understood the doubt in her eyes—it was the reason he’d decided to tell her everything. She loved him enough to agree to the hand-fasting, but it was her right to make future decisions based on the truth, not a misguided sense of loyalty and honor.

  After suggesting Bo remain in the stables, he took her hand and led her to his library, his hackles rising when he detected Moira’s unmistakable scent. He gritted his teeth when he realized his father’s journal was missing from his desk.

  He’d intended to show her proof of what he was about to tell her. Now, he had to hope she would trust him enough to believe him. Sitting in the upholstered armchairs seemed too formal. He unfurled his plaid and spread it out before the cold hearth. Sitting down cross-legged, he nodded to the space facing him. “Please, Teagan. Ye’ll need to be seated while I tell ye a sorry tale.”

  She inhaled deeply, confusion and doubt written on her face but, to his relief, she sat across from him. “Reminds me of when we were wee bairns and Dadaidh gathered us all around the fire to tell ghost stories,” she said softly, arranging her skirts. “My brothers loved to taunt me when I cried.”

  He reached for her hands. “Ye might be moved to shed a tear when I tell ye a story from long ago that I’ve only recently been told.”

  *

  Teagan held her breath, sensing from the deep sadness in Marshall’s eyes she was about to hear of events that would change her life.

  “I ho
ped I wouldna be forced to reveal this to ye,” he began, “but ye’ve a right to ken the history of this clan now that ye’re my wife.”

  An icy hand gripped her innards. It was true she had pledged to him, but she’d also promised to wed his brother.

  “Elgin isna the rightful laird of Clan Robson.”

  The breath whooshed from her lungs. The library tilted around her but his grip on her hands kept her from toppling over. “I dinna understand,” she murmured.

  “Neither did I,” he replied, “until I read my father’s log of clan history. I intended to show it to ye, but it seems Moira has removed it.”

  Slowly, choosing his words carefully, he recounted a tale of rape and subterfuge that had resulted in the wrong man becoming laird of the clan. “’Tisna that I have coveted the chieftaincy, Teagan. Ye must believe me. But I am the rightful laird of this clan.”

  Many things suddenly made sense. “I see now why ye and Elgin are so different. I take it Moira kens.”

  “Aye. She helped my mother keep the secret and they connived to convince my father the bairn was his, but she’s also the one who pushed me to read my father’s log. She must have realized I would learn the truth if I read it. Did she truly expect me to do naught about it? ’Tis hard to fathom what she’s about these days.”

  “Does Elgin ken?”

  “Nay. Exposing him means revealing my mother’s shame. The calumny for the rape would fall on her. I canna sully her memory.”

  Filled with an urge to comfort him, she crawled across the plaid to nestle in his lap. “I’m sorry this happened to yer mother.”

  He put his arms around her. “Ye understand why I canna bring the truth to light?”

  A chill stole up her spine. “Aye, but did ye tell Elgin ye wished to marry me?”

  He snorted. “I did. He insists he still wants ye to be his wife, though he doesna love ye.”

  “Therein lies the problem,” she whispered. “If I refuse to marry him, he’ll cause trouble, perhaps convince yer clan the MacCrays are oath breakers and reignite the feud. We might find ourselves with nay alternative but to expose the truth of his parentage if we want to live together as mon and wife. Then, he might retaliate by calling ye a liar and there’s nay guarantee folks will believe ye.”