Sìorruidh
Mornië
utúlië (Darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your
way
Mornië alantië (Darkness has fallen)
A promise lives
within you now
--May It Be, Enya
Scotland
It was a mockery of everything she held dear.
As the daughter of a great Laird, Samantha McCall knew her responsiblity as a dutiful daughter was marriage for the sake of land and connection. She had been prepared for this truth upon turning thirteen and began her training to run her husband's manor. Her sister Robin loudly protested the unfairness of their lot but was fortunate to catch the eye of Baron Drake's heir, Patrick. There were not many love matches but Robin managed to find hers and though she was forced to leave their home in Highlands, she was content.
Many thought Robert too indulgent of his children and far too reliant upon his wife's opinion. Always stating as example her as yet unmarried state and she had reached her twentieth summer. Yet as lord and master of these lands none could argue that he wasn't a just and fair man. He cared for his people and was diligent in safeguarding their homes and well being. Allowing his daughter a choice in the man she married was an indulgence that could be overlooked if not understood.
As the eldest, had she been born male, she would have been her father's heir. Instead all she could do for her family was to make a proper marriage. It did not matter if she was far more learned in the management of their estates than her younger brother Nikolas.
Nor did it matter that Nikolas was far too spoiled and selfish to be heir. The blame for his irresponsible behavior could be placed at all of their feet. Nikolas was the youngest of the three and had been sickly as a child. After two daughters, Anna unexpected pregnancy and birth of the heir had been heraled by the entire clan. When he was born several weeks early and continued to suffer from various ailments throughout his younger years, they had pampered him.
Now they all were suffering the consequences.
All her preparations for the spring celebration were in ruins and the day could only worsen. Her gown had been carefully sewn for the occasion. It was fashioned of deep rose velvet and trimmed with silk ribbon. Georgianna, her maid, bound her thick dark hair in the top with gold threads to allow soft curls to cascade down her back to her waist. The smile she wore a mask instead of its usual gentleness. Perhaps to cover the dourness of the occasion. Perhaps to disguise the black fear she failed to hide.
Tables were covered with the meal the servants worked all morning to prepare. Men ate from trenches filled with pheasant, rabbit and chunks of yellow cheese. Leek pottage and pork sausage were passed around by maids along with fresh carved lamb which had roasted slowly over a pit. Coarse black bread accompanied by fresh churned butter, jam and honey, sweet blackberry tarts was readily replished as each large tray was emptied. A troubadour's harp plucked what should have been joyous songs of merriment as jugs of dark red wine and honey ale poured freely.
The cause of their fear sat at the head table, neither eating or partaking of refreshment. Instead he reclined in his seat watching them all with cold eyes that seemed able of seeing straight to the core of a man's soul. At his knee was a monstrous dog, though she could barely call the animal such, who observed them all with the same direct glare. A large black gloved hand sat atop the animal's head, occasionally rubbing behind an ear and it's only response was a switch of it's long tail.
His men were postioned carefully throughout the room, two of the burliest at the doors making sure no one could run. One other dark haired man, who barely looked old enough to shave let alone stand a warrior at his side, waited behind him. A smirk twisted the guard's mouth as if he were privy to knowledge no one else shared.
Jason Morgan.
A man spoken of in whispers and considered a legend. Many said he rode with King Richard during the Crusades and he was a Templar. Others claimed he acted as an assassin for the King for many years as debt for his father's transgressions before being allowed to return to the Highlands to his clan. It was said that the only time a person actually saw Jason Morgan was moments before their death. A rumor she thought was utter nonsense, for whom would spread the tale if he killed all who saw him.
Yet she could certainly understand the urge to speak of the man so. The dark knight was clad in severe black. Tunic, claymore belt and boots were all the the tint of a raven's wing. The only emblishment was the embroidered red rose near his shoulder that many claim was in tribute to the matriarch of the Morgan clan, his grandmother Lila.
Unfortunately, not even the oppressive shadows he chose to adorn himself in could darken the fiery storm simmering just beneath the surface. At the moment, that burn was cold, turning a desperately handsome face to stone which spoke of power and ageless strenth. Imagination queried the sensuous line of his mouth framed by a perfectly trimmed goatee, would his kiss be as seductive. A wan shaft of the setting sun struck his shorn hair and it gleamed like dark gold and she wondered if it would feel as silken to her touch.
She should not be thinking of the man who held their futures in his grasp thusly.
As her gaze traveled the chamber, she held back a fresh wave of tears at the looks of frustration and anxiety on her parents faces. Nikolas and his wife Layla sat at the end of the table, Layla with pure fear for she was always rather delicate and her brother with barely covered shock. None knew the reason for Morgan's presence, and given his status were reluctant to question him until he was prepared to speak.
She on the other hand tired of this and wanted answers. The soft rustle of her skirts on the floor rushes could barely be heard as she finally stood before their unwanted guest. His only reaction to her presence was a taunting lift of a brow, then a slow careful blink as if giving permission for her to speak.
"While we are most honored by your presence, Laird Morgan, I, as well as my parents I'm sure, are curious as to what has brought you here to Wyndemere Manor this afternoon." She sank into a very low and deliberate curtsy as if to excuse her forthright behavior. When she raised her head, she found him watching her, except where before those eyes were ice, they had softened in appreciation. For her statement, or her pretense, she could not say.
"I have come for recompense." His voice, low and smooth, sent shivers of awareness down her spine. "For an offense committed against my family, Lady McCall."
"Offense?" her voice rose, causing the pretense of conversation to die around her. All eyes turned in their direction, wanting to know exactly who had dared offend the Morgan and why. "My family has committed no such offense!" The very idea was appauling. The man was questioning the honor of her clan and though not heir she would not stand for it.
"Aye, but I dinnae have reason to lie," he murmured cautiously, the hand rubbing his dog moving to the hilt of his sword. "Ask your brother that which I speak of lass."
Furious, her head whipped toward her brother, noting the color had drained from his face leaving him pale and drawn. "Nae, Nikolas," she sighed softly, "What have you done now?"
By this time, her parents had risen from their seats and had enclosed her within their protective circle. "Laird Morgan, I'm sure whatever has been done-"
"Silence." The dark command expected immediate compliance and the strength behind the word assured it was given. "Had your son the," he paused, and raked a glance carefully over her making her want to cross her arms but manners forced them to remain at her side, "Depth of character of his sibling, I would not be here today. As it stands, I am here on behalf of my clan. My sister, Emily."
"I've done nothing," Nikolas yelled, leaping from his seat to stalk to them. "What ever she claims, she lies."
"She claims nothing, as she is dead," his voice hardened ruthlessly but she did not imagine the hint of despair she heard within it's depths. Whatever was said about this man, it was obvious to her that he had loved his sister.
"I am sorry for your loss, Laird Morgan," her condolences drew his pointed gaze back in her direction. "Yet, I don't understand what this has to do with my brother."
"My sister died in child birth."
Her parents groan was punctuated by the hand she used to cover her face in shame. This, this was even worse than she could have ever imagined. If Nikolas had lain with Emily and gotten her with child, they were doomed. Sleeping with a chamber maid while frowned upon had not the same consequences as sleeping with a Lady. Lord knew Nikolas seemed incapable of remaining faithful to his wife.
"The babe?" Her father asked.
"Is well," Jason answered spacing each word carefully. "He will remain on my lands."
"That is unacceptable," her father began ignoring the look on Nikolas' face. "He is a McCall, he belongs here."
"He is a Morgan, or have you forgotten that your son is already wed? I will not have my nephew raised here so that he may grow to be the same wastrel adulter with no concept of honor or responsiblity as the man who sired him."
"Then why have you come," Nikolas demanded, and while she wondered the same, she wasn't foolish enough to ask. She ached to smack some sense into her brother's head so that he might see the fine line he was walking. "I suppose you want money?"
"No money can replace what you have stolen from my family." Jason growled, rising from his seat as his dog mimicked his master in bristling response. The hand on the hilt of his claymore tightened, as if aching to be drawn and used. He pulled a long breath into his lungs, and she relaxed as the tension tight in his powerful form released the smallest bit. "But you will make restitution."
"You are right, of course," her mother stepped around, to place silencing hands on her brother's arm. "What are your terms, Laird?"
"Marriage."
Samantha became increasingly uneasy under his scrutiny, awkwardly, she cleared her throat, "We don't understand, Laird. You said before your sister passed on in child birth and Nikolas is already married."
When he looked at her again, the warning voice in her head was silenced as dread unfurled in her belly. Hope for from rescue from this man's wrath died a swift and merciless death. "My nephew needs a mother and as I am in need of a wife to help raise him, I believe his aunt would make a fitting solution."
"I don't understand," she breathed in shallow, quick gasps, because she feared she understood him perfectly.
"It is simple. You will marry me or I will cut your brother down where he stands."
Fin
