Tyler, Lynn - For Her Honor [For Her] (Siren Publishing Classic)

For Her

LYNN TYLER

Copyright © 2012

Chapter 1

“Jocelyn!” Her sister’s anxious cry made her pause mid throw. She lowered the knife she had been about to release and stifled a sigh. At just eleven, Catriona had already developed a flare for dramatics. It scarcely took anything to make the girl burst into tears. But Catriona was still her sister, and she loved her nonetheless.

The youngster scrambled across the grass and halted directly in front of her, panting for breath. It was obvious that Catriona had run the entire way from the stone cottage they shared with their father.

Jocelyn’s eyes widened at the sight of her younger sister’s distress. While it was true that Catriona could collapse into hysterics at any given moment, it was rare for her to display such panic. “Hush, Caty-mine,” she soothed, rubbing the girl’s small back comfortingly.

A wash of maternal pride flooded through Jocelyn as the girl straightened and concentrated on controlling her breathing. Their mother had died birthing Catriona, and with all of their older sisters already married, the task of raising her had become Jocelyn’s.

“Papa is looking for you,” Catriona managed to gasp out. “He sounds angry.”

Her stomach flipping over, Jocelyn felt her smile slip a little at her sister’s revelation. It was nothing new, really. Her father often said she had been locking horns with him since the very day she had been born.

Indeed, it did seem as if they argued every day of her twenty years. They argued over her penchant for riding astride. They argued over her fascination with books, plants, and weapons. And most recently they argued over his choice of suitor. She resented being treated as chattel and resented the fact she had been born female even more. If only she had been born a male, her father would be pleased with her. As it stood, he considered her skills most unbecoming, especially her talent for sword and knife play.

Of course, she had the misfortune of being one of the seven girls born to Alasdair MacKenna, which wouldn’t be so bad if her five older sisters hadn’t married and each had babes almost nine months to the day they were married. All had had strong, healthy boys at that. It was because of her sisters that nearly every man in the Highlands was after her father for the honor of marrying her, despite her lack of dowry. The promise of a healthy heir was more tempting to many than money.

She briefly considered disappearing into the woods for the rest of the day to avoid her father but swiftly dismissed the idea. Whatever the problem was, it was best dealt with quickly. Besides, she had an idea as to why he might be angry with her this time.

She led Catriona back to the cottage and sent her to the small room they shared with a reassuring smile. Then, with a confidence she did not feel, she turned to face her father.

Alasdair MacKenna glared at her from the far corner of the room, his jaw tight. A vein in his temple throbbed menacingly, a sure sign of his ill temper. His left hand clenched wickedly around a crumpled piece of parchment. “What have you got to say about this, my girl?” he snarled.

Jocelyn was startled by the depth of his fury. While she had pushed him to the limit in the past, she had never sensed this amount of barely controlled violence in him before. She knew, however, not to show the slightest trace of fear lest her father pick up on it and try to further intimidate her. Taking a deep breath, she raised her chin defiantly and spoke quietly. “To what are you referring?”

Her father clenched his jaw even tighter, so tight she expected to hear his teeth break any moment. He strode across the room and shook the parchment in her face. “The rumor that you are sterile, of course!” he roared. “Almost every single potential suitor has withdrawn his offer!”

Biting her lip to conceal the triumphant smile that threatened to creep across her face, Jocelyn gazed at her father as he stormed around the room. She had come up with the idea to spread a rumor about her
supposed
inability to bear children a fortnight ago, and it seemed to have worked splendidly. It was really quite amazing what a few well-placed confessions to a few well-meaning gossips could do.

“Ah, lass. Do not look so smug,” her father growled, a strange smile lighting up his face. “I said
almost
all of your suitors. There are still two who have not withdrawn their requests. Henry Campbell and Robert MacGillivray.”

Oh, what a choice. On one hand, she had Henry Campbell. She had known him for years and he was the only man who made her nervous. On several occasions she had been at her laird’s keep treating an ailing clansman when he’d been present for some sort of negotiation. He’d been there even more often when he’d taken over after his father had passed on.

Henry Campbell was handsome. There was no doubt about that. But his eyes were cold and flat and his hands were known to leave marks on those lasses he took to his bed. She’d treated more than a few women who’d had the unfortunate luck of ending up in his bed. It wasn’t uncommon for his companions, both willing and unwilling, to part from him with blackened eyes or split lips. It had gone even farther than that at times. She had even seen one or two lasses who had been violated anally by the sadistic laird.

The women never said anything to their own laird though. The Campbell’s support was too important to the MacKenna clan and no one, even those who had been abused by Henry, would jeopardize that. Peace was too important to them.

Henry had cornered her once or twice and had received a well-placed knee in his groin for his efforts. She had gone out of her way to avoid him ever since, making excuses to linger near her father or the laird whenever he was around.

Her resistance had seemed to only inflame his determination to have her and it seemed he would marry her rather than let her go on snubbing his advances. She shuddered when she thought of him touching her. He truly made her skin crawl.

On the other hand, she had Robert MacGillivray. She had never met the man personally, although his keep wasn’t too far away. All she’d ever heard about him was that he’d killed his first wife on their wedding night when he found out she hadn’t come to him a virgin.

She was at a loss as to what to do. Her father couldn’t seriously expect her to make such a decision, to choose between a sadist and a murderer.

Her father continued speaking. “Your little plan backfired. Now, instead of being able to choose from a number of suitors, I have chosen for you. You will wed The MacGillivray.”

Jocelyn felt the blood drain from her face. The MacGillivrays were notorious throughout the Highlands. They were a fearsome clan, reputed to be brutal if you crossed them. The young Laird Robert was rumored to be particularly nasty. It was said he murdered his first wife on their wedding night for displeasing him. “Why would he want me? The world thinks I am sterile,” she said desperately. Perhaps he had simply not heard the rumor yet.

Her father laughed at her distress. “His message says he does not believe the rumors. After all, your older sisters have all been prolific breeders, all of their bairns braw and healthy. You will be no different. It was a good try though, lass.”

Jocelyn’s head spun with disbelief. It was true her older sisters had birthed many bairns, and it was assumed she and Catriona would be as hearty as well. But she had assumed her worth would fall dramatically with the idea of her infertility.

“His message also mentions he will be coming to collect you immediately. Since I received this message this morning, I assume Laird MacGillivray will be right behind. Go and collect your belongings, lass. The priest is here to see to your wedding and bedding ceremonies tonight, and you will be leaving with your new husband tomorrow morning,” her father said triumphantly.

Jocelyn glared at her father. “You would marry your own daughter off to this, this…mad man?” she whispered furiously.

“It is your own doing, Jocelyn,” he answered quietly. “I will not be around forever. As happy as I would be for you to stay with me, you need a man to protect you and provide for you when I cannot. If you would have just listened to me and done your duty, you would have been able to pick your husband.”

“But why The MacGillivray?” she asked again, still shocked her own father would consider chaining her to an abusive tyrant.

“You should learn not to put so much stock in rumors, lass,” Alasdair answered. “After all, the ones you started yourself are unfounded and yet are regarded as true. Our laird vouches for him and that is good enough for me. You would not expect me to hand you over to Henry Campbell, would you? The man is rotten to his core.

“I have let you run wild. You can shoot an arrow better than most men. You wear that dagger strapped to your leg as if you will be attacked at any minute. You can read and write and do sums. You hunt as if you were a man. It is not seemly for a woman, and I should have put a stop to it years ago. The MacGillivray will be able to tame you.”

“I do not need to be tamed!” Jocelyn shouted. “And I refuse to become a broodmare for some man.”

She spun on her heel and stomped down the short hall toward the two bedchambers. “The day I marry Robert MacGillivray will be the day I land in Hell!”

She slammed the door to the room she shared with Catriona, ignoring her father as he shouted rather desperately through the room. “I do this because I love you. He can protect you.
Jocelyn!
”

Catriona was curled up on her side, staring with wide eyes at Jocelyn, clearly having heard every word of her father’s rant. “What will you do?” she asked, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Go to the nunnery?” she asked, echoing the alternative Jocelyn had been considering for some time.

Dragging her trunk to the foot of the bed, Jocelyn sighed and began stripping off her gown. She rooted around in the trunk and unearthed an ancient plaid and linen tunic she had once nicked from her father.

She laid the plaid on the bed and began to pleat it quickly. “Aye, I will make for the nunnery. Then Papa cannot force me to marry any man.” She couldn’t stand the thought of losing her independence to a man. At least if she went to the nunnery, the loss of her independence would be her choice.

Catriona scrunched up her face, clearly trying to hold back her tears. “Must you leave tonight?” she whispered.

“Oh, Caty-mine,” Jocelyn said, her own tears threatening to fall. “My intended bridegroom is to be here within hours. If I do not make haste, I will find myself married by this evening.”

Catriona looked at the old kilt and tunic laid out on the bed, her confusion evident. “What are you doing?”

Jocelyn paused in her actions and glanced up at the girl. “Well, Papa will not escort me to the nunnery, and I cannot wait for much longer. I must leave tonight, but I cannot travel as a woman. Every highwayman and thief would be upon me in moments. Therefore I must travel disguised as boy.” She tore the sheet on her bed into long strips and proceeded to bind her breasts close to her body. Slipping the linen tunic over her head, she lay down on the plaid and fastened it around herself.

“What of your hair?” Catriona pointed out. “Yours will give you away in no time.”

The knowledge of what she had to do nearly had her reconsidering her decision to run for the nunnery. Fingering her long, mahogany hair, Jocelyn reached for her knife to hack it off. She was not a vain woman, but her hair had long been her once source of pride. She had hoped to just braid it, but her sister was right. While many men had long hair, few had hair reaching their hips. “I suppose I shall have to cut it,” she said. She raised her knife but hesitated. Her resolve to make her own destiny wavered, and she found herself unable to finish the task.

Catriona rose from her bed, crossed over to her, and took the knife from her. “I will do it,” she whispered. Jocelyn winced as she felt the knife slice through her hair. She felt a little silly grieving for the loss of her hair when it was so imperative she keep her mind on her upcoming journey. Her only consolation was that her hair would grow back with time. Not that it mattered. If she took the veil, like she intended, the abbess would shave her scalp anyway.

She turned her mind away from her distress and considered how she would be able to leave the cottage without alerting their father, who would be sure to be keeping a watchful eye out for her. She would need to have help slipping out unnoticed. “Do you think you could provide a wee distraction for me until I can slip out?” she asked her younger sister, hating to put her in such a situation. With any luck, her father would think she had tricked Catriona into leaving the room and escape any punishment her father might mete out once he found her missing.

Catriona nodded, and Jocelyn saw the calculating gleam light up her baby sister’s eyes. Jocelyn watched proudly as Catriona visibly drew herself together and straightened her spine.

Jocelyn nodded once and squeezed her sister briefly, tears beginning to form in her eyes. Cursing her silly weakness and swallowing thickly around the lump that had risen suddenly in her throat, she kissed the girl on the cheek. “Be safe, sister,” she said. She would miss this slip of a girl. Catriona was as good as a daughter to her. It broke her heart to know she would miss seeing her turn into the beautiful woman she was confident her sister would become. But she had no choice. Either she left now or she suffered the loss of her independence and become nothing more than a broodmare to an abusive, murdering husband.