John could take no more of listening in. He pushed himself away from the table and stepped out of doors while mother and daughter talked.

The night air was cool and invigorating. The sun was finally beginning its evening descent and set the sky aflame in brilliant reds, oranges, yellows, and purples. To the east, stars were just beginning to make their appearance, and a gentle breeze came in from the east. He loved the twilight, when the earth finally began to settle and quiet.

He crossed the yard and headed into the barn to check on his horse. Its water bucket was nearly empty, so John carried it out to the well that sat near the rear of the house. Dumping out the old water, he filled it with fresh and carried it back to the barn.

It had been a very long and at times, confusing day. This morning when he woke, he was a mistaken and ill-charged prisoner of Glenkirby, tossed back into the pillory for his fourth day of taunting and public humiliation. He had been dirty, tired, hungry, and very angry.

Then he'd met a very bonny yet odd woman and by the noonin' meal, he was free from the pillory, but a prisoner instead of a handfasting he had not foreseen. Now he stood in the twilight hours, in the middle of a barn on a bit of land, by all rights married and the stepfather to four la.s.ses.

Six months ago, he had been nothing more than the third born son of a clan chief. With all of his father's attention focused on his eldest son, John was left to his own devices. As he grew older, those devices turned to vices and eventually nearly brought his clan to its knees. All because he had turned into a whoring drunkard with no direction in his life.

G.o.d must have a tremendous sense of humor, he thought. Fer I be no' the right man to be a husband or father.

How had his life turned so horribly wrong? So upside-down and unrecognizable? He knew the answer, and for weeks after his brother's death, John had fallen into a drunken stupor from which he never wanted to escape. The guilt had been unbearable.

He knew there was nothing he could do to make up for the death of his brother. Nothing he could do to gain any respect from his father. No amount of drinking could ever dull the pain.

"John."

'Twas Moirra's voice, soft, low and sweet that broke through his quiet reverie.

He spun around with a start. She was smiling at him. Not that wondrous beaming smile she had shared with him earlier in the day. 'Twas more strained.

"Are ye well, la.s.s?"

She sighed. "I be sorry for Mariote's behavior. I ken I've apologized for her several times this day."

John held up his hand. "Please, Moirra, do no' fash over it. The child loves ye, fer that, I canna fault her. She be young and worried fer yer safety, as well as her own and her sisters I'd reckon."

"That much is true." Moirra agreed.

"I fear I'd be a bit apprehensive were our roles reversed. I be as complete a stranger to her as any. She doesna ken me. Canna ken that I mean none of ye any harm. 'Twill take time. I fear though, that by the time she gets used to me, 'twill be time fer me to leave."

Moirra looked away from him. "I hope and pray that be no' the case, John."

He was glad she made no attempt to convince him that Mariote would be as right as rain by morn.

"Moirra, I think it might be best if I slept in the barn," he told her.

She turned around to face him and for a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of regret and hurt in her eyes and he felt a momentary pang of guilt. She was a beautiful, desirable woman. A widow. He supposed she longed for companionship and a physical relationship.

He took a step forward and placed his hands on her arms and smiled. "I can a.s.sure ye, la.s.s, that were yer home not filled with four la.s.ses, one of which hates me vehemently, I'd no' hesitate to join ye in yer bed."

Moirra studied him closely but remained silent.

"But I think, fer now, we should allow yer daughters time to get used to havin' me here before we ask them to get used to havin' me in yer bed."

After a few moments, her shoulders relaxed a bit and she had to agree. "I think ye be right, John."

He let her go and looked around the small barn until he found a ladder leading to a loft. "I think the loft is as good a place as any to sleep this night."

"Ye should no' have to sleep out here," she told him.

"Och!" he chuckled. "I've slept in far worse places, la.s.s. Remember? Ye saved me just this morn from a fate worse than death."

Moirra laughed along with him. "I'll get ye some spare blankets," she said as she turned to walk away. She paused in the doorway. "I thank ye, John, fer bein' understandin'. I be verra glad yer here."

She did not wait for any response and made her way out of the barn.

Had he been someone she knew prior to today, Moirra might have insisted that they consummate their handfasting. Had she not been so worried over her children, or more specifically, Mariote, she would have insisted John share her bed this night. Were it only a perfect world.

"I like him," Orabilis whispered to her sisters. "He's nice." Climbing across the bed, she slid under the covers. The loft held two beds, with a small table set between. A lone candle illuminated the dark s.p.a.ce as the girls settled in for the night.

Mariote snorted derisively. "I don't like him." Mariote pulled back the blankets and slid into the bed she shared with Orabilis.

"But I do like him," Orabilis repeated as she scooted over to allow her older sister room.

Muriale added her own thoughts to the mix. "I like him too. He tells good stories."

Esa elbowed Muriale in the ribs. "Wheest. Mariote is right. He be a man. And ye canna trust a one of them."

Muriale would not be silenced. "Mum says all men are alike in only some things, but each man be different."

"Bah!" Mariote whispered harshly. "All men be the same deep down. l.u.s.tful demons all of them."

"What does l.u.s.tful mean?" Orabilis asked.

Mariote did not want to have to explain that to her six-year-old sister. "It means ye canna trust them. Now, go to sleep."

"But I do trust him. I like his eyes. Mum says ye can tell a person's true character by lookin' into their eyes."

'Twas Esa's turn to snort. "Mum says many things and no' all of them necessarily true."

"Mum wouldna lie 'bout such a thing," Orabilis said defensively. Always her mother's champion.

Mariote looked around the loft to be certain everyone was settled in before blowing out the candle. Light from candles below kept the loft from being bathed in complete darkness. Putting out the candle was Mariote's way of signifying the conversation was over. However, neither Orabilis nor Muriale were ready to let the matter settle.

"I think John is verra nice and I don't care what the two of ye think. Ye mustn't judge one man based on the misdeeds of another."

Mariote bolted upright in the bed. "Ye think what Gunnar Wilgart did to me was a misdeed?" she asked angrily.

Muriale and Esa sat up in their bed. "Nay!" Muriale said. "I do no' think that, Mariote! What he did was unforgivable. And might I remind ye what I did when -"

Esa spun to face her sister and placed a hand over her mouth. "Wheest!" she whispered harshly. "We promised never to speak of that night!"

When Esa saw that Muriale understood, she slowly removed her hand.

Muriale took a deep breath before exhaling it slowly. "Mariote, what happened that night was unforgivable." She cast a look of warning to Esa. "'Twas a terrifying, horrible thing and I hate to think of what would have happened had I not arrived when I did." She paused, choosing her words carefully. Her heart ached for what had almost happened to Mariote. She hated how that night changed Mariote from the fun, sweet, high-spirited la.s.s, to the cold, afraid, untrusting person she was today. That night had changed all of them in one way or another, save for Orabilis. Blessedly, Orabilis had been in bed with the ague and had slept through the entire ordeal.

"Mariote, I canna pretend to ken exactly how ye feel any more than ye can pretend to ken what I feel over what I did. But I can sleep at night and I will no' close off me heart to everyone. I pray that someday, yer heart will no' be so burdened and heavy."

Mariote remained quiet, unable to respond. Whenever she thought of that dark, ugly night, she felt sick to her stomach. Nay, she could not understand how Muriale felt, couldn't understand how she was able to go on with her life as if nothing bad had happened.

Mariote wanted to forget, Lord how she wished she could simply wipe the memories from her mind. But it was not as easy for her as it was for Muriale, Esa, and their mother. The event was still too fresh; the wounds to her heart and mind were like open, gangrenous, festering sores. She was doubtful that she'd ever be able to forget that night.

CHAPTER 4.

J ohn had settled into the loft and in no time, he was sound asleep. Exhaustion had claimed him almost before he laid his head down.

Hours later, he woke with a start, shooting upright in his makeshift bed. Screams, the kind of screams that turn a man's blood to ice tore through the quiet night. They were coming from the cottage. He grabbed his plaid, draped it haphazardly around his waist, lifted his sword and flew down the ladder. Within a matter of moments, he was busting down the door to the cottage, looking for the intruders who he was certain were there, torturing Moirra and her daughters.

The door banged against the wall of the cottage as he raced inside. He stood in the dark and empty kitchen, blood pounding through his veins, rushing in his ears as he looked about the tiny s.p.a.ce. He heard whimpering coming from the loft above and as he made his way toward the ladder, little Orabilis began to climb down.

"Orabilis!" he called out to her as he rushed to help her down. "Are ye hurt? Is someone abovestairs?" he grabbed the little girl and held her close.

"I be no' hurt," she said. "Mum is abovestairs," she said sleepily. "I'm to fetch milk."

John was not quite certain he had heard her correctly. "Milk?" he asked as he held the child away to get a better look at her.

"Aye," she said with a nod. "Fer Mariote. She had another bad dream."

Relief washed over him as he put the child down. 'Twas then that Moirra's head popped out from above. "John?" she said his name, surprised to see him standing half naked in the middle of her home in the middle of the night. "What be the matter?"

He stood, dazed and dumbfounded. The screams that had woken him from a sound sleep had been loud enough to wake the dead. "I heard screamin'," he said as he felt the blood rush from his face.

Moirra's face fell and she quickly climbed down the ladder. "Are ye well?" she asked as she helped him into a chair.

He had been certain they were under some sort of attack. Certain brigands or criminals of one sort or another had been in the home, attacking Moirra and her daughters. He gave a shake of his head, hoping it would bring a bit of clarity. "Am I well?" he managed to ask. "I was nearly scared out of me skin thinkin' ye were all being attacked!" he exclaimed.

"I be so sorry, John," Moirra said as she cast a weary look toward the loft. "Ye see, Mariote sometimes has bad dreams."

Mariote. He should have known.

"Bad dreams?" he asked incredulously. "Bad dreams that cause her to scream loud enough to wake the dead and scare the wits out of a man?"

"I be sorry, John."

He was growing weary of constant need to apologize on behalf of Mariote. He was growing weary of the complicated half grown young woman who hated him with unrestrained pa.s.sion, who now lay above stairs sobbing. He had never been mistaken for a patient man. Angry for having the life scared out of him, he was fully prepared to march up the ladder and paddle Mariote's a.r.s.e.

Then he heard her sobs and her sisters' gentle wheests that all would be well.

Then he felt guilty.

Mariote's voice floated down from above. "I be sorry I woke ye," she told her sisters between sobs.

"Do no' fash over it, Mariote. Ye canna help the bad dreams. Wheest now," Esa said.

John looked up at Moirra who was twisting her hands together nervously. "What does she dream of?" he asked in a low tone.

Moirra turned pale. "All manner of things."

Had she been telling the full truth, John knew, she wouldn't have taken so long to answer. Fear flickered briefly in Moirra's eyes before she cast her gaze to the floor.

Deep in his gut he knew something terrible had happened. Something that Moirra could not speak of. He could not blame her for not sharing whatever it was that haunted Mariote's dreams, for he was still a stranger.

When he'd first met Moirra, she appeared to be a strong, independent woman. Feisty and blunt she was, until it came to Mariote and whatever secret they kept between them. Her countenance changed, she wrung her hands together, and paled whenever the subject was broached.

He couldn't push for answers for he felt he didn't have a right to them. He was a temporary husband and nothing more.

"Does she have them often?" he asked softly.

Moirra nodded and continued to wring her hands together, unable to look him in the eye.

"Is there anythin' I can do?"

His question apparently surprised her for she finally looked up at him with a most puzzled expression. "Nay," she finally answered.

He let out a heavy breath and stood. "Verra well, then. I shall return to the barn. But if ye need me, please, Moirra, do no' hesitate to yell."

He gave her a bow and quit the cottage.

Morning came far too soon for anyone's liking. After being scared half to death by Mariote's screams, it had taken John more than an hour to fall back to sleep.

When the c.o.c.k crowed at dawn, John cursed under his breath and threatened to roast the b.l.o.o.d.y thing if it did not stop its incessant crowing. His anger and cursing fell on deaf rooster ears.

The new family broke their fast over eggs, sausage and bread before heading out to tend to morning tasks. John, Moirra, and Mariote went to the fields and pulled weeds all through the morn. By the time they stopped for the noonin' meal, John's back ached with a fierceness he'd not felt in some years.

Before the turn of events that lead him here, he'd not been accustomed to such hard work. He was accustomed to living a life of luxury, and, at times, life as a warrior, but only under the most dire circ.u.mstances.

As the sun beat down and the sweat poured off his face and the tip of his nose, he found himself wishing for a cold mug of ale in a dark tavern somewhere.

The women were far more accustomed to the hard work. They talked to one another while they pulled weeds. John did his best to keep his eyes and focus on the task at hand, but his eyes apparently had a mind and will all their own, as did his manhood.

Neither one would pay any attention when he insisted they stop looking so lasciviously at the beautiful woman bent over, pulling weeds. His eyes wouldn't look away and his manhood decided it, too, wanted a wee peek at the lovely Moirra and tried to extricate itself from his trews.

d.a.m.n. d.a.m.n. d.a.m.n.

'Twasn't at all like him to stare at a woman like this. The more he stared after her, the more he felt like a young lad again, l.u.s.ting after a chambermaid. But Moirra was no young, inexperienced maiden. She was a woman full grown. A beautiful, beguiling, soft woman, with curves and bosom aplenty.

Moirra chose that moment to stand and stretch her back. A sheen of perspiration glistened across her forehead and cheeks. The breeze played with her hair, twirling the loose strands around her neck and face. When she pressed her hands to her back and stretched, his breath was stolen away.

He'd married Aphrodite, a G.o.ddess, a beautiful woman.