Page 21 of Highlander’s Lust

Laird Brisbane twisted his hand up his spine, his fingers probing for the torn skin. His fingertips felt several lines of raised skin. That auld bawd last night had left her mark on him. Despite the heat of the day, Charlie felt himself break out into a cold sweat.

Jean watched Charlie keenly as he racked his brains for an explanation. Finally, he hit on a plausible excuse.

“Gavin! I was at Gavin MacTavish’s lodge last night. P’raps he caused this to be done to me as some kind of joke. Ye don’ ken him well enough yet, but auld Gav is an accomplished jokesmith.”

She said nothing and did nothing. All Jean did was sit there on the grass and stare up at him with her Sphinx-like blue eyes.

“Please believe me, Jeannie,” he pleaded. “I swear on me clan’s badge—I would never do anything to willfully hurt ye.”

She gave him a look, but he could not fathom what she was feeling. It was as if she had shut off that part of herself that she had before been so willing to share.

Laird Brisbane felt wretched.

“Come,” Jean said in a repressive tone. “Help me stand up, and let’s ride back. The sun has lost its warmth.”

Charlie Brisbane had to agree with his betrothed; the sun had lost its warmth indeed.

Jeannie made it back to her chambers just in time. When she saw Eby putting the finishing touches to her bridal, she ran to the maid and cast herself on her knees beside her.

“Oh, Eby! Eby, he played me false! He has played me false already! What shall I do?”

Eby stroked the sobbing girl’s hair, muttering curses at Charlie under her breath.

“There, there, me lamb. What’s the doaty bampot gone an’ done now?” Eby said in an encouraging voice. Meanwhile, inside she was seething mad. Could not the excited dolt keep his plaid lowered until after the beddan at least? Were these Brisbanes so incorrigible? Generations of Brisbane lairds seemed hell-bent on making those around them either cringe with embarrassment or guffaw with laughter at how ignoble their behavior was.

Jean’s voice was wholly suspended with tears. Eby gave the poor girl’s shoulders a wee shake. “If ye dinnae tell me what’s to do, sweetling, I cannae give ye the comfort ye seek. For all ye ken, ye might be making a bull out o’ a flea.”

She lifted up her face to show Eby a pair of tear-soaked blue eyes. “He took a b-bath in the burn, Eby, and-and when I saw his back, it was covered in fingernail scratches. I ken how he got those scratches—it was doing that two-backed beastie—that wench raked her fingernails down his back!”

The thought made Jean burst into fresh tears and bury her face in her maid’s skirt.

It was a good thing Eby was mature enough to think this through. The circumstances and the evidence were perplexing indeed. The laird had ridden into Carnachscallie and spent the night, but no harlot—especially the ones who specialized in preying on addlepated men in the wee hours of the morn—allowed a man to have her on her back. The chance of smothering and, quite frankly, for the drunken wretch spilling his guts all over her face was too high. Every harlot worth her salt would brace herself against the bedposts, lift her skirts, and tell the gentleman to get his business over with and to hurry.

The image of scratches pared down a man’s back spoke of face-to-face ecstasy, kissing, tender embraces, and a woman brought to the point of rapture by a man devoted to her fulfillment. Or else it spoke treachery.

Eby tried to phrase her question as delicately as she could. “Dearest Jean, what excuse did Laird Brisbane give ye for the marks?”

Jean, her face still buried in Eby’s skirts, said, “He told me Gavin MacTavish must have caused someone to do it as a joke when he lay asleep.”

Eby tapped her finger against her lips, for a moment lost in thought, then she picked up Jean by lifting her under her arms like a small child and waited for the girl to collect herself.

“Come now. Dry these tears, child. There is a mite of truth to what yer betrothed said.”

A look of hope flooded over Jean’s face.

“Ye think so?”

“Aye, I most definitely do...for reasons I won’t go into here. But what it all really boils down to is this: The man left ye alone and spent the night away from ye a few days afore yer wedding. I say ye should wait an’ see which way the wind blows.”

Jean pouted. “Nay! I don’ want to be married to an enigma, never knowing where he will be from one day—or night—to the next. I want to wed a steady man, a man who loves me. I want to go back home!”

Eby reached into her pinafore pocket and pulled out a letter. She handed it to Jean, who shook her head, indicating she wanted Eby to read it to her. Sighing, her maid broke the seal, unfolded the letter, and began to read.

“One of the riders Laird Brisbane sent to Macanroy Lodge returned today with this:

‘Dearest Jean,

I have good news - the best, in fact.

Mother is well and the healers say she will carry the bairn to term. Thank you for being brave and allowing Father to travel back so hastily. The crisis was over by the time he returned, but Mother was all the happier for having him back by her side. The bleeding has stopped, but I am at a loss of how to explain such womanly issues to you, and will leave it there.

Is it not strange to think that you will soon have children of your own? And maybe they grow up to play one and the same with their wee uncle or aunt! Father would have it the bairn is a boy, while Mother swears the bairn will be a girl.

Father bids me tell ye to thank Laird Brisbane most graciously. Not only has the chest of gold he promised been delivered, but he sent his own masons to oversee the building of the infirmary.

None of this would be possible without your blessed union with the noble House of Clan Brisbane, sister. These thoughts alone should be enough to bring you the greatest joy on your wedding day.

Blessings to you on your happy day,

Your loving brother,

LM.’”

Eby sighed and folded the parchment.

“Ye see, Jean, ye can have all the proof in the world about his lairdship’s perfidy, but it’s all for naught. Tomorrow ye must be wed whether ye like it or not.”