And he couldn't lay one d.a.m.ned finger on her.

Aye. G.o.d had a sense of humor all right.

CHAPTER 5.

M ariote's screams woke the dead again, his second night on the little farm. As he'd done the night before, John went racing half naked into the cottage, roused out of a deep sleep from the first day of hard labor he'd ever endured, only to find Mariote sobbing, her mother trying to comfort her and little Orabilis climbing down the stairs for milk.

John wondered mayhap if whisky wouldn't be more in order. After making sure all was well, he drug his weary body back to the loft. He fell asleep before he laid his head upon his pillow.

With aching muscles, a sore back, and exhausted beyond his own comprehension, John dragged himself to breakfast the following morn. The females in residence were seemingly unaffected by either the hard work or the lack of sleep. He wasn't sure if he should despise them for it, or stare in apt admiration. When he caught himself doing the latter, he reined in his emotions and ate as quickly as he could.

Whilst a few small acres of land might not appear to be much, the work required to ensure a bountiful harvest was backbreaking, tiresome, and grueling. As the morning wore on, with him stooped over like a rickety old man, he began to wish he was back in the pillory. Public humiliation began to look less and less a trial with each weed he pulled out of the ground.

Blame. That's what he needed. Someone to blame for the mess he was in. The three thieves who had started this ordeal, that is where the blame lie. Had he not been robbed he wouldn't have been tempted to live a life of sobriety. The temptation to turn his life around, take control of it, would not have been dangled in front of him like a bar wench dangling her wares in front of a man who'd been gone to sea for five years.

The bar wench his mind conjured, had skin the color of cream and just as smooth. The wench had long hair that fell in waves down her back and a pair of plump b.r.e.a.s.t.s that begged to be touched.

Before his eyes, the wench transformed from a dark haired, young and supple creature to a more mature woman with hair the color of spun gold and green eyes that sparkled like emeralds in the sun. She transformed into Moirra.

l.u.s.tful thoughts abounded. Images of him taking Moirra up to the loft, pulling her clothes off with his teeth, and making wild, pa.s.sionate love to her, nearly knocked him off his feet. The images battered around in his mind, like loose stones in a basket. When he tried closing his eyes the images only became clearer.

Sweat ran down his back, beaded on his forehead and upper lip. Suddenly it felt quite warm in the field, even with the strong breeze coming in from the west. He wiped his brow on the sleeve of his tunic and gave his head a fierce shake. His mind raced for some plausible explanation.

Mayhap he'd been in the sun too long. Mayhap he'd gone too long without a woman.

Yes, he a.s.sured himself, that was it. A combination of too much hard work, being too long in the sun, and far too long without a woman warming his bed. There could be no other explanation. 'Twasn't actually Moirra he wanted. Any woman would do.

Mayhap, in a few days time, he could come up with some excuse to make his way back to the village and find a willing wench. He could not expect Moirra to satisfy his physical urges. 'Twasn't a real marriage between them. Just a temporary handfasting and nothing more.

Feeling more hopeful, he returned his attention back to the blasted weeds. He glanced up again, to see Moirra not far from him, bent over, and yanking on weeds. She did have an ample bosom and it was d.a.m.ned near to spilling out from her dress! Tiny beads of perspiration dotted her decolletage and glistened in the late morning sun. Coming upon a particularly stubborn weed, she wrapped both hands around it and tugged. He thought 'twas one of the most erotic things he'd ever seen and he couldn't wrap his head around why.

He cursed under his breath and turned his back to her. If he continued to ogle her, she'd think him nothing more than a perverse lecher. And just why the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l her opinion of him mattered, he could not understand. But it did matter and that fact terrified him. The fear had the same effect as having been tossed into a freezing loch in the middle of January.

All l.u.s.tful thoughts evaporated, replaced with a tremendous amount of fear and confusion.

How on earth was he going to survive the next two months?

CHAPTER 6.

They'd only been married a few days when Thomas McGregor came calling.

It took only moments in the man's company for John to realize Moirra had made no exaggerations regarding the man. He was an arrogant fool.

John was mending the chicken coop while Moirra was washing clothes when Thomas McGregor rode into the yard atop a ma.s.sive Highland pony.

Thomas McGregor stared down at John with a furrowed brow and just a hint of anger in his bright eyes. John dropped his hammer and stood to his full height, resting his fingertips on his hips and stared back.

Without taking his eyes from John, Thomas called out to Moirra. "So 'tis true then?"

Moirra left the steaming cauldron and came to stand next to John, wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n. "Good day to ye, Thomas," she said. "What brings ye to our land this day?"

She did not sound at all happy to see the man and John took some satisfaction from that.

"Is this him?" Thomas asked, still not taking his eyes off John.

Moirra crossed her arms over her chest. "If by him ye mean is this me husband, then, aye, he is."

Thomas' lips were drawn into a hard line and he finally turned his attention to Moirra. "I was just in Glenkirby and was told ye bought a husband. I didna believe it when 'twas told to me, but I see the story is true. Ye bought a husband." He shook his head in disgust.

"Nay, I did no' buy a husband," she answered.

Thomas waited for further explanation. Moirra wasn't going to offer it freely.

"I was told ye found him in the pillory. Is that no' true?"

"I do no' see where 'tis any of yer business where or how I met me husband, Thomas McGregor," she said as she slipped her hand around John's waist. John was all too happy to drape his arm around Moirra's shoulder, signifying to the fool on the horse that they were indeed married. "Are ye no' goin' to introduce us, wife?" John said as he smiled adoringly down at Moirra. He gave her a gentle squeeze around her waist.

When she looked up into John's eyes, her face lit with that dazzling smile he was so fond of. He felt a jolt of excitement deep in his belly when she looked at him with such happiness and admiration in her eyes. "Fergive me, husband," she said with a giggle.

After she tore her eyes away from John, she introduced the two men. "John, this be Thomas McGregor. He be a farmer to our north. Thomas, this is my husband, John."

John watched as the man's jaw clenched and his nostrils flared with barely veiled anger. "Good day to ye, Thomas," John said.

Silence hung in the air for a time before Thomas finally spoke. "I canna believe ye'd rather marry a complete stranger than someone ye've known yer whole life, Moirra," he said through gritted teeth. "Ye be a stubborn woman."

John threw his head back and laughed heartily. Moirra giggled and slapped his arm. John looked into her eyes, smiling broadly. "Aye," he said, agreeing with Thomas. "'Tis one of the things I love most about her."

Moirra's expression changed from happy to confused in the span of a heartbeat. John leaned in and kissed her forehead before turning back to Thomas. "There are many things I enjoy about me wife, Thomas. Her stubbornness be only one of the things I admire most about her. Her ability to judge a man's character be another."

His smile faded as he stared up at Thomas McGregor. "And even though I do agree with ye, that she is in fact a stubborn woman, I'll kindly remind ye to hold yer tongue. Ye've no right to insult me wife or cast aspersions. Because ye've known each other fer such a long time, I'll let it go," he said as he let go of Moirra and took a step toward Thomas. "But just this once. This be yer only warnin'. I'll no' warn ye again."

Thomas' eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open, as if no one had ever had the audacity to speak to him in such a manner before. "Who the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l do you think ye are to speak to me in such a manner?" Thomas asked angrily.

John smiled up at him, crossed his arms over his chest and spread his feet apart. "I be Moirra's husband."

Moirra stood behind John and watched as Thomas McGregor spat on the ground before turning his horse around and leaving in a huff. An overwhelming sense of pride and admiration for John filled her heart. None of her previous husbands had ever come to her defense before. 'Twasn't as if men arrived on a daily basis to insult her, but there had been occasions over the years when one man or another had made reference to her stubborn att.i.tude or blunt manner of speaking. Her previous husbands usually nodded their heads in agreement. It mattered not that the men were correct, it was the fact that they were insulting her and no one appeared to care.

John cared.

He stood there and stared Thomas McGregor down.

Moirra was certain that if it had come to blows, John would have beaten Thomas McGregor to a b.l.o.o.d.y pulp.

She would not read more into his comment about all the things he loved about her. Nay, he was simply playing a role, wasn't he? Certain it was nothing more than that, she chose to ignore it. But his actions? His actions spoke louder than words ever could.

Any doubts she may have had about choosing this man as her husband were rapidly fading.

He was kind to her daughters, even when they were less than kind to him. He never raised his voice to any of them. He worked very hard in the fields and around their home, without complaint. He treated her and her daughters with nothing but respect and kindness.

And now, he stood up for her, letting Thomas McGregor know that he would not be allowed to just ride onto her lands and insult her. He'd done it with few words, without yelling or making any threats. But the promise was there. He'd not abide anyone insulting his wife.

While her heart pounded against her breastbone an odd sensation, something akin to b.u.t.terflies taking flight, filled her stomach and spread to her fingers and toes. Pride? Admiration? Grat.i.tude? Aye, she felt all those things ... but she was feeling something else as well and for the life of her, she did not know what to make of it.

"Ye certainly did no' exaggerate about the man's arrogance," John said as they watched Thomas tear across the hill.

Moirra took in a deep breath and shook her head. "Believe it or no', he was actually well behaved this day, compared to how he oft behaves."

John raised a brow. "In truth?"

Moirra nodded her head. "Aye, in truth," she told him. "And in truth, he was actually a sweet boy when we were younger. At one time, I considered him a dear friend. But something happened to him and he changed."

John studied her closely for a moment. "What happened?" He could not resist asking.

Moirra shrugged her shoulders. "Truly, I do no' ken."

John wondered if Moirra had any regrets over how things had turned out with Thomas. Did she ever miss the friendship she had shared with the man who had been her friend?

"It matters no' anymore, John. I tried many a time to learn what happened, but he refused to tell me."

He swallowed hard before asking the burning question. "Do ye miss his friendship?"

Moirra turned to look at him. "I'll no' lie to ye, John. Aye, I did at one time miss his friendship, but no longer. He's changed too much. I fear he could never be the person he once was. Something ugly ate at his heart and I fear he no longer possesses one."

John decided to leave the matter alone for now. He wondered however, what would happen to Moirra after their two-month handfast was over. Would she eventually end up with Thomas McGregor? Would the stress of being a single mother of four daughters become too much for her?

He pushed the thought aside for he knew he had no choice but to leave after the harvest. The last thing Moirra needed was to be permanently attached to a man like himself. She deserved better than Pillory John. Knowing that as fact did nothing to make him feel better.

CHAPTER 7.

"M ariote does no' like to go into the woods alone," Moirra explained to John over their morning meal. "Can ye go with her to help gather wood? I would go, but it be laundry day."

The idea of going anywhere alone with Mariote made him uneasy. The young girl made no attempts to hide either her dislike or her distrust of him. He was trying to think of a way to get out of going when Orabilis chimed in.

"I want to go, too," she said, her mouth filled with porridge.

"As long as ye promise no' to wander off, I do no' think John will mind."

'Twas apparent that he had no say in the matter. At least with Orabilis tagging along, there would be someone to tell the tale of how he was killed, should Mariote take a notion to slice his throat. Odd that he should find some measure of safety in the presence of a six-year-old child.

Mariote left no doubt as to her opinion. "Let him stay here and do the washing'," she said as she glared at John, "and ye can go with us."

Up to this point, Moirra had been as patient as she could with her oldest child. "Mariote!" Moirra said harshly. "That be enough and I'll no' argue it with ye further."

Moirra's tone of voice let anyone within earshot know that the subject was now closed for discussion.

The remainder of their meal was eaten in silence. John studied Mariote closely while she stared at her porridge. 'Twas more than anger he sensed from the girl. He also detected an underlying current of fear. He could not help but wonder if it was all men she feared or just him? There had to be a way for him to gain her trust, even if he were only here for a short time. Whether it was male pride or something else entirely, he found he did not want any of these girls, or their mother, to be frightened of him.

"Mariote?" John began, choosing his tone and words carefully. "I ken ye have a sgian dubh-"

She lifted her head so quickly he was surprised she didn't break her own neck. "Aye, I do and ye can no' have it!"

John held his hands up as if he meant to surrender. "Nay, I do no' want yer sgian dubh, la.s.s. I want to ken if ye've been taught how to use it properly."

Her brow drew into a quizzical knot. "Are ye afraid I'll gut ye when yer no' lookin'?" she asked as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her tone and demeanor were meant to challenge him. John refused to take the bait.

"Truthfully?" he asked as he leaned back in his chair.

Mariote gave a curt nod.

"Aye, I do fear ye'd gut me if the mood struck ye. But that is no' why I asked. If yer goin' to stab me, or slice me throat, I'd like to make certain ye do it correctly."

His statement piqued the curiosity of every female in the cottage. They all turned to look at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"Yer daft," Mariote said.

John chuckled. "Aye, that be verra true la.s.s. Still, ye've no' answered me question. Do ye ken how to use yer sgian dubh correctly or no'?"

Uncomfortable silence filled the air.

"Ye see, if ye do no' ken how to fell a man who means ye harm correctly and with great efficiency, then there be a chance that all ye'll do is anger him further. If yer goin' to carry a sgian dubh and use it fer yer own defense, then ye should ken how to use it properly."

More deathly silence filled the small cottage. 'Twas as if every female in the room was holding their breath. Moirra, Mariote and Esa had gone pale.

"If ye'd like, I can teach ye - all of ye - to use it correctly. So ye can defend yerselves if necessary."

John believed most women would be glad to learn how to defend themselves, especially someone in Moirra's position, widowed with four young daughters. The reaction he received was astounding.

"Nay," Moirra said, her voice nothing more than a whisper. She cleared her throat and began again. "Nay, John. I do no' think that be a good idea."

John stared back at her with a crinkled brow. "Mayhap if ye all could defend yerselves, Mariote wouldn't be havin' the bad dreams."