‘I cannot trust you both. Where are you taking me?’
‘We are taking you to your home – to your parents.’
‘To England?’ Marion asked, alarmed. ‘How can I go back? My family will never accept me.’
‘It is either that or to return to Bothwell and face the wrath of Robert. We have arranged for a coach to take you.’
‘What about you and Lainie?’ Marion asked Wallace.
‘We have work to do. We must get back to the peasant army and see if we cannot muster them again.’
CHAPTER VII
Marion sat by the fireplace with her mama.
‘I’m sorry child,’ Lady Buchane said, ‘We did not think of your wellbeing at all when we promised you to Robert Murray.’
Marion said nothing. The rigors of a coach journey to her home in London had weakened her both physically and mentally. She felt like she had betrayed Brice by not going back and attempting to rescue him and all she wanted was to end her life.
‘You gave me to him to pay off a debt,’ Marion said flatly and Lady Buchane exclaimed. ‘How can you say such a thing Marion?’
‘Because it is true. Robert told me and so did Brice.’ She began to weep. ‘And now what is to become of me?’
‘Nobody here in London knows what transpired in Scotland, so your secret is safe. You can marry again.’
‘Am I not married to Robert?’
‘The marriage will automatically be annulled after a certain period of being apart from him,’ Lady Buchane said, attempting to mollify her daughter. ‘So you have a chance to begin your life again.
Marion looked sadly at the fire, remembering an evening when she had indulged in that simple pastime with Brice. ‘I have been promised time and again that I am to be free of my ties to Robert…but it seems like I never will be. And now the only man I ever loved lies in a dungeon and is probably close to death. If he dies, so will I.’
Lady Buchane shifted uncomfortably. ‘You must not speak like that. There will be other men – you are young yet.’
‘There will not be anyone else…not for me.’
It was a spring morning some months later when Marion was looking out of her window, lost in thought. She had grown more silent and nothing that her mama or papa did could bring her out of herself. She seemed locked in a very dark world which nobody could penetrate. Lady Buchane coaxed morsels of food down her unwilling throat, watched her while she slept and encouraged her to make new acquaintances, but prospective suitors were deterred by Marion’s reticence, and soon tongues began to wag and speculations about her state of mind ran riot.
Marion could see the street from her bedroom window and always imagined Brice walking towards their house one day. That morning she saw a sight that was incongruous on a street in London – a man in a kilt. And he was riding a familiar looking horse. Marion’s pulse began to race. She recognized the gait and the untamed mass of dark hair as the man sprang off the horse and walked the last few feet of the way to the Buchane home. People on the street turned to look at the man who walked with such resolve towards the house where the pale faced young girl often stood by her window watching the passersby. Women cast more than a passing glance at him – struck by his good looks.
Marion ran down the steps and to the front door, even as she heard the frenzied rap of the knocker. She pushed past the maid and opened the door herself, crying and laughing all at the same time, as Brice swept her up into his arms. Lady Buchane came running down the steps, fetched hastily by the maid, and had to avert her gaze as Brice and Marion threw caution and restraint to the winds and embraced each other with fervor.
‘The nightmare is over,’ Brice said, finally releasing Marion’s lips.
‘It is! You are here!’
‘And you can be mine now. For always.’
‘Do you live here now?’
‘No,’ Brice answered, ‘The laird of Bothwell Castle lives in Scotland and so does his lady.’
‘The laird of Bothwell Castle?’
‘Yes,’ Brice answered, ‘And that’s why I sent Wallace to bring you back to me.’ Brice stroked her cheek. ‘When you failed to come, I realized there must be something wrong.’