Norwyck's Lady by MARGO MAGUIRE

Author:MARGO MAGUIRE [MAGUIRE, MARGO]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Medieval
Published: 2013-07-09T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

A large, florid face with pale blue eyes scowled at her. The man’s pate was nearly bald, though a few strands of greasy red hair stood on end upon it. Tiny red veins tracked his bulbous nose. “Ye’ll hie yer arse to Scotland as yer da ordered ye—”

“Non!”

“Aye, Mairi Armstrong,” the man bellowed. He raised one beefy hand and slapped her. “Ye will. And ye’ll be wedded and bedded the day after ye arrive. To me!”

Marguerite cried out and sat up in her bed, confused and appalled.

She was fully nude and damp with perspiration. Her heart thudded within her chest and her breathing was labored. Swallowing a lump of dread, she turned and saw that she was alone in the bed. Bartholomew was gone.

She recognized the man in her dream. He was Carmag MacEwen. Her betrothed.

Marguerite—no, she was Mairi—buried her face in her hands as the memories returned. Carmag had come to her in France months before, to the home of Caitir and her husband, Alain. Carmag had intended to escort Mairi to Scotland for their wedding. At the time, Alain had managed to put him off, but only temporarily.

With dread and despair in her heart, she had eventually set out from the home she shared with her cousin, Caitir, and boarded a ship bound for Scotland, the land she had not seen in years. Alain had accompanied her.

Alain! Caitir’s beloved husband had drowned.

Mairi’s eyes filled with tears. Nausea assailed her. Alain was dead, Caitir widowed. And their children were fatherless now. All because he’d sailed to Scotland with her and been caught in a storm.

Regret raged through her. If only she’d gone with Carmag when he’d first come for her, then Alain would not have had to escort her to her father’s stronghold in Scotland. He would still be at home with his wife and children in their sunny little cottage, rather than lying at the bottom of the sea.

Mairi wiped the moisture from her eyes and dragged herself from the bed. She felt different—nay, not just different, but drastically changed—not only because of the memories that flooded her mind now, but by the intense lovemaking she’d shared with Bartholomew all through the night. What she felt for him was beyond description, though it could not have been clearer that he did not share her feelings.

To Bartholomew, Mairi was merely a receptacle for his lust.

She dropped down next to the trunk that held her borrowed clothes. She had no choice but to go to her father immediately—to his stronghold, Braemar Keep. She would have to face Lachann, and her brother, Dùghlas, knowing that her kin had used the lowest, vilest means possible to wage war against their enemy, Bartholomew Holton.

She would be forced to wed Carmag MacEwen, her father’s most powerful ally, that rude and crass warrior who made her stomach turn at the mere thought of his touch.

Mairi covered her mouth with trembling fingers and fought tears. What would Bartholomew do when he learned the truth of

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