Beyond the Highland Mist (5 page)

One day I will kill him with my bare hands
, Adrienne vowed silently.

“I don’t know how you came to be here or who you are, and frankly, I don’t care. I have a problem, and you’re going to fix it. If you ever forget what I am about to tell you, if you ever slip, if you ever betray me, I will kill you after I’ve destroyed everything you care about.”

“Where am I?” she asked tonelessly, reluctantly voicing one of the questions that had been bothering her. She was afraid that once she started asking questions, she might discover this really wasn’t a dream after all.

“I don’t care if you’re mad,” he chuckled appreciatively. “Fact is, I rather relish the thought that you might have bats flapping in your belfry. God knows, my Janet did. ’Tis no more or less than he deserves.”

“Where am I?” she insisted.

“Janet had a difficult time remembering that, too.”

“So, where am I?”

The Comyn studied her, then shrugged. “Scotland. Comyn keep—
my
keep.”

Her heart stopped beating within her breast. It was not possible. Had she truly gone mad? Adrienne steeled her will to ask the next question—the obvious question, the terrifying question she’d been studiously avoiding since she’d first awoken. She’d learned that sometimes it was safer not to ask too many questions—the answers could be downright unnerving. Obtaining the answer to this question could tamper with her fragile grasp on reason; Adrienne had a suspicion that
where
she was wasn’t quite the only
problem she had. Drawing a deep breath, she asked carefully, “What year is it?”

The Comyn guffawed. “You really are a wee bit daft, aren’t you lass?”

Adrienne glared at him in silence.

He shrugged again. “ ’Tis fifteen hundred and thirteen.”

“Oh,” Adrienne said faintly.
Ohmygodohmygod
, she wailed in the confines of her reeling mind. She took a deep, slow breath, and told herself to start at the beginning of this mystery; perhaps it could be unraveled. “And who exactly are you?”

“For all intents and purposes, I am your father, lass. That’s the first of many things you must never forget.”

A broken sob temporarily distracted Adrienne from her problems. Poor abused Bess; Adrienne could not bear a person in pain, not if she could do something about it. This man wanted something from her; maybe she could bargain for something in exchange. “Let Bess go,” she said.

“Do you pledge your fealty to me in this matter?” He had the flat eyes of a snake, Adrienne realized. Like the python in the Seattle zoo.

“Let her go from this keep. Give her her freedom,” she clarified.

“Nay, milady!” Bess shrieked, and the beast chuckled warmly.

His eyes were thoughtful as he stroked Bess’s leg. “Me-thinks, Janet Comyn, you don’t understand much of this world. Free her from me and you condemn her to death by starvation, rape, or worse. Free her from my ‘loving attentions’ and the next man may not be so loving. Your own husband may not be so loving.”

Adrienne shivered violently as she struggled to tear
her gaze from the plump white hand stroking rhythmically. The source of Bess’s pain was the same hand that fed her. “Protected” her. Bile rose in Adrienne’s throat, almost choking her.

“Fortunately, he already thinks you’re mad, so you may talk as you will after this day. But for this day from dawn till dusk, you will swear that you are Janet Comyn, only blood daughter of the mighty Red Comyn, sworn bride of Sidheach Douglas. You will see this day through as I tell you—”

“But what of the real Janet?” she couldn’t help but ask.

Slap!
How had the man managed to hit her before she could so much as blink? As he stood quivering with rage above her, he said, “The next blows won’t be to your face, bitch, for the gown won’t cover there. But there are ways to hit that hurt the most, and leave no mark. Don’t push me.”

Adrienne was silent and obedient through all the things he told her then. His message was plain. If she was silent and obedient, she would stay alive. Dream or no dream, the blows hurt here, and she had a feeling that dying might just hurt here too.

He told her things then. Hundreds of details he expected her to commit to memory. She did so with determination; it temporarily prevented her from contemplating the full extent of her apparent insanity. She repeated each detail, each name, each memory that was not hers. From careful observation of her “father,” she was able to guess at many of the memories that had belonged to the woman whose identity she was now to assume.

And all the while a soft mantra hummed through the back of her mind.
This cannot be happening. This is not possible. This cannot be happening.
Yet in the forefront of her mind, realist that she was, she understood that the words
can’t
and
impossible
had no bearing when the impossible was indeed happening.

Unless she woke up soon from a nightmarish and vivid dream, she was in Scotland, the was year 1513, and she was indeed getting married.

“S
HE’S TALL AS
J
ANET.”

“Not many as tall as she.”

“Hush! She
is
Janet! Else he’ll have our heads on serving platters.”

“What happened to Janet?” Adrienne asked softly. She wasn’t surprised when the mouths of a half-dozen maids clamped shut and they turned their complete attention to dressing her in stalwart silence.

Adrienne rolled her eyes. If they wouldn’t tell her a thing about Janet, perhaps they’d talk about her bridegroom.

“So, who is this man
I
am to wed?”
Sidhawk Douglas. What kind of name was Sidhawk anyway?

The maids tittered like a covey of startled quail.

“Truth of it is, milady, we’ve only heard tales of him. This betrothal was commanded by King James himself.”

“What are the tales?” Adrienne asked wryly.

“His exploits are legendary!”

“His conquests are legion. ’Tis rumored he’s traveled the world accompanied by only the most beautiful lasses.”

“ ’Tis said there isna a comely lass in all of Scotia he hasna tumbled—”

“—in England, too!”

“—and he canna recall any of their names.”

“He is said to have godlike beauty, and a practiced hand in the fine art of seduction.”

“He is fabulously wealthy and rumors say his castle is luxurious beyond compare.”

Adrienne blinked. “Wonderful. A materialistic, unfaithful, beautiful playboy of a self-indulged, inconsiderate man with a bad memory. And he’s all mine. Dear sweet God, what have I done to deserve this?” she wondered aloud.
Twice
, she brooded privately.

Lisbelle looked at her curiously. “But the rumors tell he is a magnificent lover and most comely to look upon, milady. What could be wrong with that?”

Methinks you don’t understand this world, Janet Comyn.
Perhaps he was right. “Does he beat his women?”

“He doesn’t keep them long enough, or so they say.”

“Although, I hear tell one of his women tried to kill him recently. I can’t imagine why,” the maid added, genuinely puzzled. “ ’Tis said he is more than generous with his mistresses when he’s done with them.”

“I can imagine why,” Adrienne grumbled irritably, suddenly impatient with all the plucking, fastening, adorning, and arranging hands on her body. “Stop, stop.” She lightly slapped Lisbelle’s hands from her hair, which had been washed, combed mercilessly, and teased torturously for what felt like years.

“But milady, we must do something with this hair. ’Tis so straight! You must look your best—”

“Personally, I’d prefer to look like something the cat dragged in. Wet, bedraggled, and smelling like a ripe dungheap.”

Gasps resounded. “Lass, he will be your husband, and you could do far worse,” a stern voice cut across the room. Adrienne turned slowly and met the worldly-wise gaze of a woman with whom she felt an instant kinship. “You could have mine, for lack of a better example.”

Adrienne sucked in a harsh breath. “The Laird Comyn?”

“
Your father
, my darling daughter,” Lady Althea Comyn said with an acid smile. “Begone—all of you.” She ushered the maids from the room with a regal hand, her eyes lingering overlong on Bess. “He’ll kill the lass one day, he will,” she said softly. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly for a long moment.

“He explained what you must do?”

Adrienne nodded.

“And you will do it?”

Again she nodded. The Lady Comyn expelled a sigh of relief.

“If there is aught a time I may repay the kindness—”

“It’s not a kindness. It’s to save my life.”

“—you need only ask. For it saves mine own.”

Adrienne stood tall before the man of the cloth, fulfilling her part of the farce. “I am Janet Comyn,” she proclaimed loudly. God’s man paled visibly and clutched his Bible until his knuckles looked to split at the seams.
So he knows I’m not
, she mused.
What on earth is really going on here?

She felt a presence near her left shoulder, and turned reluctantly to face the man she was to wed. Her eyes met the
area slightly below his breastbone and every inch of it was encased in steel.

Adrienne started to rise and look her fiancé in the face, when she realized with horror that she wasn’t kneeling. Beyond chagrined, she tipped her head back and swallowed a thousand frantic protests that clotted in her throat.

The giant stared back with an inscrutable expression, flames from flickering candles dancing in the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

I can’t marry him
, she screamed silently.
I can’t do it!

Her eyes fled his countenance and chafed lightly across the audience in search of someone to save her from this debacle. Bess sat in the rear pew, eyes closed in supplication.

Adrienne flinched and closed her eyes in kind.
Please God, if I’ve gone mad, please make me sane again. And if I haven’t gone mad and somehow this is really happening—I’m sorry I wasn’t grateful for the twentieth century. I’m sorry I did what I did to Eberhard. I’m sorry for everything, and I promise I’ll be a better person if you just GET ME OUT OF HERE!

When she opened her eyes again she could have sworn the man of the cloth had a knowing and rather amused gleam in his eye.

“Help me,” she mouthed silently.

Quickly, he lowered his eyes to the floor. He didn’t raise them again.

In spite of herself, Adrienne dragged her reluctant gaze to the midsection of her bridegroom, then upward even farther, to his darkly handsome face.

He arched a brow at her as the flutists piped away, the rhythm increasing in gaiety and tempo.

She was rescued from the stress of his regard when a
ruckus erupted and she heard the furious voice of her “father” carrying to the rafters.

“What say you he couldna come himself?” Red Comyn shouted at the soldier.

“ ’Twas a bit of a problem in North Uster. The Hawk had to ride out in haste, but he hasna forsaken his pledge. He does no dishonor to the clans.” The soldier delivered his rehearsed message.

“He dishonors the troth by not being here!” Lord Comyn roared. Then he turned to the man at Adrienne’s side. “And who are you, to come in his stead?”

“Grimm Roderick, Hawk’s captain of the guard. I come to wed your daughter as his proxy—”

“A pox on proxy! How dare he not come to claim my daughter himself?”

“It’s perfectly legal. The king will recognize it and the troth is thus fulfilled.”

Adrienne couldn’t prevent the joy that leapt into her face at his words. This man wasn’t her husband!

“Am I so offensive then, lass?” he asked, smiling mockingly, not missing one ounce of her relief.

About as offensive as a platter of strawberries dipped in dark chocolate and topped with whipped cream
, she thought wryly.

“I’d sooner marry a toad,” Adrienne said.

His laughter teased a miserly smile from her lips.

“Then you’re definitely out of luck, milady. For the Hawk is no toad for certain. I, lass, standing next to the Hawk, am truly a toad. Nay—a troll. Worse still, a horned and warty lizard. A—”

“I get the picture.”
Dear heaven, deliver me from perfection.
“Where is he, then, my unwilling husband?”

“Managing the aftermath of a serious problem.”

“And that might be?”

“A grave and terrible uprising.”

“In North Uster?”

“Close.” The man’s lips twitched.

Adrienne was seized by a fit of urgency. No matter how she dragged her feet, this deed would be done. If she had to face the unknown, she’d like to tackle it now. Waiting only made it worse, and Lord Comyn’s shouting combined with the wild cacophony of floundering flutists was flaying her nerves.
Mad, am I, Janet? Works for me.
Straightening to her full five and half feet, she sought the still bellowing form of her “father” and shouted into the melee.

“Oh, do shut up, Father, and let’s be on with it! I’ve a wedding to be about and you’re only delaying it. So what if he didn’t come? Can’t say that I blame him.”

The chapel went deathly still. Adrienne could have sworn she felt the man beside her tremble with suppressed laughter, although she dared not meet his gaze again.