Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection ( Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection (The Moirra's Heart Series Book 3)) Read online

  Realizing that fact left his empty heart feeling even emptier. It fueled the guilt that had been plaguing him for months.

  Instead of falling into his old habits — getting so bloody drunk he couldn’t feel a thing — he did something most unusual. He stayed sober.

  Traveling alone across the country left him plenty of time to contemplate his life and all the foolish mistakes he had made along the way. Without a trade, he decided the only way to make an honest living was to sell his sword arm. He had stopped at Glenkirby on his way to Inverness where he hoped he could do just that.

  And that was how he ended up in his current predicament — betrothed to an odd, yet magnificently beguiling woman. Albeit only a temporary situation, it wasn’t ideal and it angered him. God in heaven, he thought how quickly can a man’s life change?

  He cast a sideways glance at the woman beside him. Petite, with golden blonde hair and bright eyes, she was a beautiful woman. Really, what choice did he have in the matter? Spend another 41 days in the pillory or spend his nights warming this lovely creature’s bed? Only a fool would have turned down such an offer.

  If he were a God-fearing man, he might wonder if this weren’t some test he was being put to. And if he were a far less cynical bastard, he might wonder if this weren’t a trap of some sort, meant to permanently ensnare him into a state of perpetual marital hell.

  As it was, he feared no one and he’d lost his optimism decades ago.

  Still, he found the lass so utterly intriguing as to be charming, even if she were an odd sort of woman. Really. What kind of woman goes in search of a husband? What kind of woman is so desperate that she’s willing to pay for a man locked in a pillory?

  Warning alarms sounded in his head, clashing with his curiosity and lust. Curiosity and lust won out.

  * * *

  After she paid for his release, the reluctant bailie undid the locks and set free Moirra’s new husband-to-be. With a sigh of relief, Pillory John placed his hands on his knees, twisted his head from side to side to work the kinks out before standing to his full height.

  He was not the tallest man Moirra had ever met, but he was a close second. Just a tad over six feet she reckoned, broad shoulders, well-muscled arms and legs, handsome face, and bright eyes all screaming power and virility. And Moirra’s fluttering stomach and pounding heart were listening to the call.

  “Are ye sure ye want to do this?” the bailie asked as he watched Pillory John stretch his back.

  “I’ll be fine,” Moirra answered.

  The bailie cast her a wary look. “I wasna speakin’ to ye, Moirra Dundotter. I was askin’ him,” he said with a nod toward his former prisoner.

  Pillory John’s brows knitted. “I fear I do no’ ken what ye mean.”

  Moirra grabbed John’s arm and began pulling him away from the concerned bailie. “Never mind him,” she said in a low voice. “He tends to drink far too much and far too early.” ’Twas only a half-truth, she knew, but she did not want her reputation of losing husbands to cost her a fourth before they had even exchanged vows.

  Ushering John away as fast as she could without actually running, Moirra began to give him some insight into what lie ahead. “Our home be no’ far from here. Just a three hour walk,”

  “Walk?” John asked. “Three hours?”

  Moirra looked up at him sideways. “Aye. I realize ye’ve been in the pillory a day or two—”

  “Nearly four,” he corrected.

  She raised a brow. “Four days and ye can still walk?” She sounded impressed.

  “Barely,” he said. “Hence me apprehension at the idea of a three-hour walk.”

  “Well, I do no’ have a horse to ride, so our feet will have to do.”

  John breathed harshly through his nostrils. “I have a mount. He should still be in the stables.”

  Moirra eyed his suspiciously. “Ye have a horse? Well, if ye have a horse, why were ye in the pillory for stealin’?”

  “I can assure ye, ’twas a case of mistaken identity. I was no’ the one stealin’, I was wrongly accused,” he sighed again. “It doesna matter. I am at yer mercy for the next two months.”

  He sounded less than pleased and that irked her.

  “Ye could also say that I am at yer mercy fer the next two months. Do ye think I like havin’ to find a complete stranger to marry? A man I had to rescue from a fate worse than death? A man with a name like Pillory John?” her voice rose an octave and was filled with frustration. “A man I’ll no doubt have to spend hours pleasin’ in our marital bed? Nay, Pillory John, ye’ve got me at yer mercy as I see it.”

  Moirra caught a glimpse of his wry smile out of the corner of her eye.

  “I thought ’twas a marriage in name only?” he happily reminded her.

  “I’ve been married before, Pillory John,” she told him. “I’ve learned all men be the same creatures at heart. Ye might have agreed to the name only part of it, but I saw how ye stared at me bosom. I give it before sundown on the morrow before ye’ll be wantin’ to exercise yer husbandly rights.”

  In truth, Moirra Dundotter was almost certain it would be she wanting to exercise her wifely rights. The longer she walked beside him and the more closely she studied that powerful muscular body of his, the more she was certain of it.

  * * *

  Moirra took two steps to John’s one as he guided her down the winding streets to the public stables. “Do ye always walk as though the devil be chasin’ ye?” she asked, doing her best to keep up.

  Two months, he told himself. Just survive the next two months and ye can be free.

  “I hope ye do no’ do everything so quickly,” she remarked with just a hint of sarcasm.

  John came to an abrupt halt and spun to look at her. “What does that mean?” he asked harshly, his male pride instantly wounded and his ire rising.

  Moirra smiled. “It could mean many things, Pillory John. For instance, I could be worried ye eat too fast and then complain of a bilious stomach.”

  He quirked a brow. “So ’tis me health ye worry over?”

  Moirra gave a quick nod. “Aye. Among other things.”

  He let loose with a frustrated sigh. “Such as?”

  Shrugging her shoulders, “Ye might make rushed decisions, or jump too quickly to conclusions.”

  He shook his head, turned, and resumed his fast pace toward the stables.

  “We’ve much to discuss, Pillory John. And I do no’ ken if ye be in the right frame of mind for important discussions. Some men like a good stiff drink or two to relax and others might like a good meal. Still others might need some physical activity to help sooth away their worries. Which do ye prefer?”

  He halted and spun again. “Are ye deliberately tryin’ to vex me, woman?”

  “Woman is it?” she asked with a tilt of her head. “Moments ago, ye were callin’ me lass, now it’s woman. We be no’ even properly married yet, and yer already actin’ like a husband.” She shook her head disappointedly. “Somethin’ tells me ye’ve never been married before. I should warn ye that a woman, especially on her weddin’ day, prefers her betrothed to use sweet, kind words and no’ go barkin’ at her and callin’ her woman, as if the word itself were a curse.”

  He didn’t think he’d ever met a woman who talked as much as the one before him and told her as much.

  “Well, if ’twas a quiet wife ye wanted, ye should no’ have asked fer me hand.”

  He took a step back and looked at her with mouth agape. “I didna ask ye!” he reminded her.

  “Och! That be right. Ye were locked in the pillory and I saved ye from it, didna I?” she twisted her lip as if giving great thought to the matter. “I’d suspect then, that a man who’d just been saved from a fate worse than death would be a wee more grateful to the woman who saved him.”

  Moirra looked him directly in the eye and waited. She’d been married before and knew how to get her point across without sounding like an auld fishwife. The anger she’d seen in his ey
es moments ago began to fade away. Silently, she counted to ten before speaking again. “Would ye please walk just a wee slower? Ye be a big, braw man with verra long legs and ’tis difficult fer me to keep up with ye.”

  John gave a slow nod of his head before turning around and offering her his arm. Delicately, she placed her hand in his crooked elbow as they resumed their walk to the stables.

  After a few moments, Moirra broached the important matters at hand. “I do no’ think ye be the marryin’ kind, even though ye agreed to it. And I ken why ye agreed. I reckon ye’d have agreed to marry the bailie if it meant ye could get out of that bloody contraption.”

  He nodded his head in agreement. “I thank ye for savin’ me from havin’ to do that,” he said with a smile.

  “Ye be verra welcome. So we agree then, ye be no’ the marryin’ kind. Might I suggest instead a good old-fashioned handfastin’?”

  He cast her a sidelong glance. “A handfastin’?” he asked for clarity’s sake.

  “Aye. I ken ye probably do no’ want to be with me any longer than ye have to, and I canna blame ye. I doubt I be yer idea of a perfect wife, if ever ye even had such an idea. A man like ye would most assuredly want some young, bonny and malleable thing. Not a woman of my age, with four daughters, a wee bit of land, and not much else.”

  He started to protest but she stopped him with a giggle. “Och! Ye ferget, I’ve been married before ye big lout. I do no’ require flowery words, just kind ones.”

  They walked in silence the remainder of the way to the stables.

  Two

  At the stables, John located the well, hauled up a bucket of cold water and washed as best he could. Once he was as clean as he was going to be without aid of a wash cloth or soap, he left Moirra outside while he went in to settle with the stable master.

  Moirra made no attempt to hide her astonishment when he returned with a very large Highland pony. Her mind had conjured up the image of Pillory John owning some massive, black stallion to match his somewhat dark personality. She had not expected a dark gray pony with shocking white mane, feet, and tail.

  When she heard John whispering words of encouragement to the pony, apologizing for not having come for him sooner, she realized the two-toned animal did in fact match this mysterious man. Dark and light, like its master.

  Something niggled at the pit of her stomach. Not a warning per se, but something…peculiar. Pillory John had a secret, perhaps more than one. He had bared his teeth, jolted toward those villagers whilst he’d been locked in the pillory. Yet, there had been a definite twinkle in his eyes. Mischievous, like a young lad who either didn’t know any better or, more likely than not, a man doing his best to hold on to what little pride he had left.

  Aye, he had a secret. But so did Moirra. Hers, she reckoned, was probably much darker than his. Deciding it best not to ask too many questions for fear she’d not be able to hold on to her own secrets, she took a deep breath and watched as man and beast became acquainted again.

  After waiting what she assumed was a sufficient amount of time, Moirra stepped forward. “We need to find a priest.”

  Without taking his eyes from his horse, John spoke through gritted teeth. “I thought ’twas a handfastin’ we were doin’?”

  “Aye, we are. But still, we need a priest to make it official.”

  Having no good retort and wishing to be gone from this village, John gave a curt nod and bowed at the waist. “By yer leave, me good lady.”

  * * *

  Properly handfasted, thanks to the auld priest who tended to the souls of those who lived in Glenkirby, John and Moirra left the village quickly. Moirra sat behind Pillory John as they rode along the dirt road heading west toward her home. Unaccustomed to riding, she clung to John with a deathlike grip. ’Twasn’t just fear that made her cling to him so tightly but the fact that it simply felt good. It had been a very long time since she’d been this close to a man and she couldn’t ever remember being this close to one who was so well muscled.

  To keep her mind off his solid chest, narrow waist and rock-hard thighs, she began asking him important questions. Questions she should have thought of before asking for his hand and not those she truly wished to know the answers to.

  Instead of asking him how he came to have such a magnificent form and well-muscled body, she asked, “Have ye ever worked a farm before?”

  “Aye,” he said. ’Twasn’t a complete lie. Weeks ago, he had come across an auld farmer who had offered to give him refuge for the night if John could help him with a broken wagon wheel. That was, unfortunately, his only experience with farm work.

  She waited patiently for him to offer further details. Long moments passed and she realized those details would not be forthcoming.

  “I sense ye be a man of few words, Pillory John.”

  He remained as silent as a graveyard.

  Moirra shrugged. “One would think, this bein’ our weddin’ day, ye’d at least want to share some information with me. Your name for instance. I do no’ think ye want me to keep callin’ ye Pillory John.”

  More silence.

  “I see the way of it then,” she said as she readjusted her bottom, scooting herself even closer to him. “Ye like a talkative woman then. ’Tis good, because I’ve been told I can talk the ears off a deaf man. I’ll begin with tellin’ ye a little about meself. I’ll begin, as they say, at the beginning. I was born in the spring of ’57, to me father, Dewart McKenzie and me mum, Marie LeCroix of Saxony. I had a brother, but he died when he was seven.” Moirra’s lighthearted tone faded when she spoke of her brother.

  She’d been five when he passed away from the fevers and even though she’d been quite young, she could still remember how much she loved him and looked up to him. William had been her hero, along with her father of course.

  Her cheerful attitude rapidly vanished, leaving behind a tremendous sense sadness and loss. ‘Twasn’t like her to become melancholy and she could not understand this sudden and overwhelming ache of her heart. “Stop the horse, please,” she murmured into his back. Her heart hurt and she needed a moment to compose herself.

  John reined in his mount. “Are ye well?” he asked.

  Moirra slid from the horse, wiped an errant tear from her face and began to walk away. “I’ll be well in a moment.”

  * * *

  Taken aback by her sudden shift in mood, and by what was, for him, uncharted territory, Pillory John had no idea what to do. He had little experience with women, other than with those whose favors he had purchased over the years. Those relationships were nothing more than the means to an end and any feelings other than his physical desires had never been part of the equation.

  His mother had died when he was very young, leaving him to be raised primarily by the cook of the keep, two older brothers, and whomever else might be handy. Feeling adrift in unfamiliar seas, he remained mounted as he watched Moirra hurry away. While his mind and heart did not know what to make of her abrupt change, his body reacted to the way her hips swayed.

  For the first time in his adult life, he felt ashamed of himself. The woman was clearly upset over something, and there he was, atop his horse, his arousal growing with each step she took. Damn. Other than being sober and clear headed, nothing about him had really changed. He was still a rakehell. Taking a deep breath, he dismounted and headed toward Moirra and soon caught up with her.

  Quietly, he walked beside her with his horse’s reins draped loosely in his hand. Moments passed by before he finally spoke. “Are ye well, lass?”

  Moirra gave a slight nod of her head. “Pay me no heed, Pillory John. There be times when melancholy sets in, especially when I think of me brother and family.”

  He knew that feeling all too well and wished he could share that knowledge with her. His brother, Hugh, had been gone six months now, yet the pain was as fresh and deep as if it had just happened that morn. John missed him, missed his other brothers, and even at times, his father. There were moments, many mome
nts, when he wished he could return to his home, to their keep, and beg for forgiveness.

  Knowing ’twould do him no good and that more likely than not, he’d meet his own death, he did his best to get through each lonely day. His father’s last words to him before parting still stung. “Ye be a drunken coward and ye killed yer brother. I disown ye.”

  As he walked beside his tiny yet becoming bride, he wondered for a brief moment, what she would think of him were he to share the truth with her. Believing she would immediately call a halt to the handfast and send him scurrying away like an auld cur mutt, he kept his mouth shut. It came as quite a shock to his senses when he realized he didn’t want to be sent away. Was it her company he wanted to keep or the mere fact that he was growing quite weary of being alone and anyone’s company was preferable to solitude? At the moment, he could not be certain.

  “How long has he been gone?” he asked.

  Moirra tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear and looked out at the horizon. “Nearly five and twenty years now,” she told him. “I ken it be silly to miss someone who’s been gone for such a length of time,” she admitted.

  “Nay, no’ silly,” John assured her. “Ye must have loved him verra much.”

  “I did,” she said as they made their way through tall grass. “And I still do. He’d have grown into a fine man.”

  A hundred questions burned through his mind. He couldn’t understand why he suddenly found himself wanting to know more about her. Mayhap it was because they had both lost someone they dearly loved and he felt her to be a kindred spirit.