Chapter 2

Chapter 2

There were two types of silence that Jocelyn had come to know since the death of her father, and shortly after, her mother. There was a kind of silence that was comforting. The kind that let her know that her and her sisters were safely tucked away in their rooms, with no one lurking in the hallways outside. Then, there was the kind of silence that brought a sickness to her stomach that she couldn't shake. That was the silence that preceded situations where Jocelyn and her sisters were in dangerous spaces.

Walking down the hallways toward the Laird's study was one of those events where no one spoke. The only thing that could be heard was the gentle tapping of the soles of their boots as they headed closer and closer to danger. Jocelyn often imagined herself preparing to walk into a room with a whole lot of bears, and nothing but her smile to protect herself with. To everyone else around them, it seemed as if the Laird was welcoming, even protective of the girls, but they knew better. They knew they had to make him happy in order to keep Bram under control. Their uncle was the only thing standing in the way of Bram killing them, and Jocelyn was pretty sure her uncle knew that.

Jocelyn hadn't been prepared to take over as the girls' protector when Blair left, and even more in shock when she wasn't able to get them out. She could still remember the night that she changed, shifting from the young girl to the protective sister. It had been storming outside, just like the night that her father died. Jocelyn was so young then, but she could still remember that night and the horrors that she felt with every crashing strike of lightning. Just like the night her father died, the girls were all huddled together in Jocelyn's room, looking for comfort, for answers. Without Blair there, she panicked, but it didn't take long for that panic to resolve and she vowed to cloak her sisters in protection and find a way out.

The sound of raucous laughter and slamming of mugs startled Jocelyn from her thoughts. Maeve glanced over at her with a look of concern. Jocelyn steadied herself and gave her a nod of assurance as the three came to a stop outside of the Laird's study. Maeve went ahead of them, stepping into the room. The Laird waved them in, sitting at the fire with Laird Breathnach, who was sitting with his back to the door, telling some sort of story.

Jocelyn and the girls lined up next to the door, standing prim and proper with their hands folded in front of them. Laird Breathnach continued his story, not yet aware of Jocelyn's presence, "So, there I was, knee deep in mud, takin' a piss, and I look up tae see a huge burly beast of a boar. I looked at him, he looked at me, and I swear tae ye, he glanced at me pecker and gave me a nod. Then, like I had been given a pass from the gods, he wandered off."

Both men bellowed in laughter. A small peep came from Deirdre, and Aoife lightly elbowed her. Deirdre pressed her lips together, stifling a giggle and shuffled her feet a bit. The small sound hit their uncle's ears quickly and his eyes darted over toward them. While the common person wouldn't be able to pick up on his agitation, Jocelyn had made it a point to be able to read him in any situation. His glare was only present on his face for a moment before he put on his mask of kinship and stood, putting his arms out in a stretch nodding toward them.

"I think we can finally make our way tae the feast, Breathnach."

Laird Breathnach stood and glanced over his shoulder at Jocelyn. Her teeth immediately ground down and her jaw firmed. His eyes twinkled with delight as he adjusted himself beneath his kilt, his peppered beard and mustache covering most of his lips as they smacked together. He was a tall and burly man, fatter than most of the Lairds she had met in the past. He wasn't a warrior like her father had been. His clan was known for the massive amount of farming they did, something Laird Breathnach now supervised from his keep rather than partaking in it. His years, nearly three decades her senior, had turned him lazy, she could tell. Not having a wife for all of those years had taken a toll on his manners.

As a girl that had never had any real contact with men before her agreement with her uncle, Jocelyn found Laird Breathnach's eagerness toward her uncomfortable. Or maybe her uncomfortableness was just with him as a whole. She couldn't ever truly be sure. What she did know was that he was the Laird to a very large clan, a very wealthy clan, and his mind was more on heirs to his title than true love. Not that Jocelyn ever had hoped that the man her uncle would choose for her would be searching for kinship outside of a Lady's duties to the clan. She had given up hope a long time ago. In a way, it made the idea of marriage to a man like him a little bit easier to swallow.

Jocelyn braced herself as Laird Breathnach hurried over to her, a big grin on his lips. He immediately grabbed her hand and yanked it up to his lips, pulling her forward just a bit. Standing so close to him, she felt so small and overshadowed. He could wrap her and her sisters together in a hug with one arm.

"Me bride tae be, ye look awfully beautiful this evening." He leaned in a bit closer to her, and Jocelyn plastered a smile on her lips, trying desperately to shut out the wafting odor of ale and pork emanating from his mouth. "We've already begun preparations fer yer arrival at the keep. We had tae make sure it was up tae par fer a lady like yerself. It's been without a Scottish woman's touch fer a very long time."

Shocking , Jocelyn thought to herself.

Of course her reply was much more demure and innocent. "I'm sure that yer home and yer clan are more than I've ever dreamed of, but I thank ye fer yer want tae make it a home fer me."

Laird Breathnach nodded, pleased with Jocelyn's response. He elbowed their uncle and chuckled. "Gotta make sure it's a proper place tae get tae the matter at hand, creatin' me heirs. Cannae have me wifey runnin' around barefoot and pregnant with muddy floors and barren gardens now, can I?"

Jocelyn's lip twitched but she kept the pleased expression. Inside, her body twisted and lashed out, the thought of being bedded by the Laird with a tangled beard and aged fat body completely repulsive to her. It was the choice she made, though, and she only hoped that his clan would be kinder and a safer place while she waited for her sisters to be freed from their prisons. Still, she couldn't help but feel a bitterness at the idea of being primed for the old Laird like a broodmare.

As if Jocelyn's uncle could sense her inner turmoil, he slapped Breathnach on the back and led him toward the door. "Shall we go tae the feast tae celebrate this forthcoming union? The whole clan has come tae feast in yer honor. We will soon be joined by blood, me friend."

"I'm starvin'," Laird Breathnach declared, dropping Jocelyn's hand and walking off with her uncle.

As soon as they reached the doorway, Jocelyn let out the breath she had been holding to avoid the breath of the farmer Laird. Aoife glanced over at Jocelyn and reached out, squeezing her hand. With Deirdre behind them, Jocelyn and Aoife turned and began to follow the maid from the study and toward the Great Hall. Aoife kept her hand tightly around Jocelyn's, giving her as much support before they entered the feast as she could.

"Ye're doing good," Aoife whispered. "Let's do what this party was intended for, and celebrate ye. Though nae fer love, ye greatly honor our parents by making this sacrifice fer us. And we will do the same tae save the mighty bloodlines of our parents."

Jocelyn, surprised by the wisdom of Aoife's words, looked at her curiously for a moment. "When did ye grow up? I swear, just a moment ago ye were hiding hideous sewn creations under yer bed, absolutely terrified and enthralled by the idea of a boy."

Aoife lifted her chin and took a deep breath. "Me time tae be the protector grows close. I have watched fer years now, and ken me daydreams are just that…dreams. Me reality is nae something I can blindly walk into. I must prepare meself."

"I'm sorry fer that," Jocelyn whispered. "Ye both deserve more. And by the way, it may say it's tae celebrate the Laird and I's union but we both ken it's tae celebrate the connection and prosperity of the alliance that will strengthen between the clans. They are nae celebrating me."

All three girls and Maeve stopped outside of the Great Hall, taking a deep breath. As the doors opened, Aoife leaned over toward Jocelyn with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. "They can celebrate anything they want, but tonight, I celebrate me dear sister and the sacrifice she is makin' fer us."

Jocelyn squeezed her sister's hand one last time before all three girls plastered their fake smiles and pleasantries on their faces. While it was all for show, the people of the clan were especially curious as to how the girls were doing, growing, and lavished in their sudden reentry into daily life in their clan. Bram despised it, especially since it was attention that had been focused on him for many years. Jocelyn could tell, though, her uncle was pleased by the fact that it began to push back the rumors he knew had been floating through the clan for years. That worked in the girls' favor.

The maid led the girls up to the head table and they stood until their uncle was seated. He sat in the center of the table with Bram on one side of him and Deirdre on the other, followed by Aoife, Jocelyn, Laird Breathnach and several of his men. The feast began almost immediately with food laid out on the long tables in front of them, clan members, guard, and guests surrounding the food. The girls knew on that one occasion, when they sat, they were to engage with Laird Breathnach, showing their interest and support of his betrothal to their sister. They had already practiced the questions they would ask, choosing ones that were curious, polite, but not too deep or intrusive.

Aoife sat with a small bit of food on her plate, her hands crossed in her lap. She cleared her throat and looked down at Breathnach. "Laird, we have heard many things about yer clan and the farming ye have done for hundreds of years. What do ye farm, exactly?"

Laird Breathnach chomped sloppily on his food, grease dribbling down his beard. Thankfully, he at least waited until he was finished chewing to answer the question. "Well, young one, the Breathnach Clan has been and still is the largest farmin' clan in all of the Highlands. We grow all manner of things from crops for food, tae flowers, tae wheat and barley. We've been tryin' out some new seeds purchased in England tae expand our crop. But we dinnae just grow, we create goods as well."

Aoife nodded. "Very interesting. Goods fer yer clan and the surrounding ones?"

Breathnach leaned back, his chest puffed in a showing of overly empowered pride. He seemed to like being able to brag on his clan. Then again, most Lairds did. "Nae just fer the Highlands, but we take our goods across the seas too. We use the food fer storin' fer winters, sellin' tae the clans, and then we make tinctures, salves, baskets, flours, whatever we need. But our biggest wealth increase has come from our woven fabrics. We take our goods all over Scotland, tae England, and tae the islands. The textile business is rather large, and we're even gettin' tae see some of the new machinery that has been invented recently. It's nae longer a bunch of Highlander women sittin' around weavin' solely by hand. We are nae only the largest farmin' clans here, but we're one of the wealthiest, thanks tae me interest in innovations and such."

Jocelyn had a hard time picturing the Laird sitting around discussing new inventions and machinery foreign to the Highlands and actually understanding any of it. She absolutely could picture him, though, standing knee high in mud, pissing at a boar. She used the humorous thought to help her smile become more genuine, even though the Laird would never know what was really fueling it.

"Will me sister be able to learn to use these machines?" Deirdre asked, initiating a pleased nod from Aoife.

Jocelyn looked to the Laird, for the first time entertaining the thoughts of what her life might be like there, outside of the beddings, mud, and birthing of heirs. Until that point, she really didn't think there would be anything else. The Laird took a chug of his ale and laughed heartily. "Wee child, the Lady of Breathnach will be far too busy creatin' little Angus and Caras tae be worryin' herself over learnin' anything as complex as machinery. She willnae be havin' tae worry about a thing. She'll have the dream Highlander wifey life, raisin' and rearin' me heirs."

Any hope she had for an answer that would help Jocelyn further embrace her fate immediately fell away. Aoife cleared her throat and looked down, blotting her lips with her napkin. Jocelyn could tell it was to hide her irritation at the implied ignorance of Highlander women. Aoife quietly reached over and squeezed Jocelyn's hand. Down the table, Bram scoffed, talking just loud enough for the girls to hear him, but not so loud as to grab Breathnach's attention.

"Great," he said, throwing his meat down on his plate. "Ruin me appetite with thoughts of the whore and the pig makin' heirs."

"Quiet down," his father whispered. "You will nae embarrass this clan in front of the Breathnachs. This is an important union tae be had."

Bram chugged his ale, obviously already slightly inebriated. He wiped the dribble on his sleeve and snorted, looking down at the girls. "They'd be better used as fertilizer fer his farm than anything else. We dinnae need any more little roses bein' bred. I dinnae care whose blood they're mixin' with."

"Enough," his father barked. "If ye cannae respect this feast and these guests by keepin' yer mouth shut, then ye dinnae belong here."

Bram looked wildly at his father and then angrily over at the girls. He slammed his napkin down on the table and stormed off, taking his men with him. While Jocelyn was happy to see him gone, the last thing she wanted was another reason for Bram to hate them. She knew her uncle had not said those things on their accord, though. It was for the clan and their uniting with the Breathnach Clan that was most important to him. The money and power that would bring the McMillan Clan would be enormous for the Laird and he wasn't going to let whiney Bram stand in the way of that.

"M'Lady," Breathnach said, clearing his throat, completely unaware of what just happened. "May I have this dance. The people will be wanting tae see us together. It's customary."

Jocelyn's first instinct was to refuse, claiming illness or something of that sort. She knew eventually she would have no choice but to be that close to him, closer even, but the thought of his hands around her actually did invoke nausea. However, with a quick glance toward her uncle, she could see she had no option. He stared at her with knowing eyes, and the kind of knowing that told her if she didn't do what she agreed to do, he was not against taking everything back, including their promise of safety.

"Of course," Jocelyn finally replied, putting her hand in his.

As they made their way to the open area of the floor, the crowd quieted and the other dancers moved to the side. Jocelyn no longer got nervous with all eyes on her, and in some ways, knew it could only help in her desperate need for safety. The more the clan loved her, the less likely it was that her uncle would ever allow Bram to hurt them.

Laird Breathnach slid his hand around Jocelyn's waist, pulling her close to him. Her body pressed against his round belly and she forced a chuckle as everyone else laughed and cooed. She set one hand into his greasy palm, and the other resting awkwardly on his shoulder. As the music played, they danced. Jocelyn didn't know the dance he had started, and could only assume it was something he learned in his travels. She was at his mercy, begrudgingly releasing some of her control so she didn't stumble to the floor.

As they moved around the floor, Jocelyn tried to get her sisters in her view, but she was spinning and whirling too quickly. She absolutely hated every single long, drawn-out second that they danced. Her skin crawled at the feeling of his hands on her, his eyes shifting recklessly over her chest and hips, and the way she knew he was already imagining the wedding night. However, no matter how miserable she was, the thought of the war that would ensue if she recanted and ran for safety kept her firmly in his arms. She knew that she would not be the only one to die.

Several moments later, the song finally ended and Laird Breathnach released her from his grasp. The guests all clapped for him as he waved proudly. Surprising Jocelyn for a moment he turned and put his hands out to her, initiating an even larger applause. For a moment, Jocelyn had a small blossom of hope that perhaps Breathnach wasn't as bad as she was thinking. However, she managed to catch a momentary exchange of looks between him and her uncle, quickly realizing he was in on the show. It was all for show.

Jocelyn could feel herself beginning to reach the end of her rope as she took his arm and allowed him to escort her back to the main table. As she approached her seat, she found Aoife standing with their uncle and another man. He was tall and thin, his beard rather wiry and his clothes oddly mismatched with pieces not of Scottish make. He wore trousers and a blouse, taller riding boots, and a tailcoat, something she had only seen on visitors, and from her books. His long hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and from the indentation of wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, she could tell he wasn't much younger than Laird Breathnach.

"Ah, Jocelyn," her uncle said, putting out his arm. "I'd like tae introduce ye tae Eamon Murphy, the selected Lord Mayor of the largest port on this side of the Highlands. Lord Murphy has asked fer proper introduction to yer sister, Aoife, in hopes that a slow courting may begin fer future plans of marriage."

Jocelyn's stomach rolled and she gently reached out, putting her hand on the back of the chair. She was enraged that there was even talk of it yet. Keeping her composure she glanced over at Aoife who stared strongly at Jocelyn before smiling and taking her sister's arm. Jocelyn could tell her sister was letting her know it was alright, that she was alright and could handle the situation.

With a quiet deep breath, mustering her emotions, Jocelyn put her hand out to shake Lord Murphy's. "Me sister is a special young lady. She has always been very interested in the seas, and the stories of the port cities."

"Ah, well the oceans are definitely something tae be curious about. They hold the secrets of the world within their depths. They can be calming and life-giving, but she can also be angry and vengeful. It all depends upon the Mistress of the Sea."

As he continued talking about himself, as those types of men tended to do, Jocelyn squeezed her sister's arm, feeling the desperation taking over. She always knew that day would come, and it shouldn't have been a shock to her, but Jocelyn was finding the thought of her sister being sold away to marriage elicited very different emotions in her. She knew it was their only chance to stay safe and alive, but that was not the life she so desperately wanted for her or her family.

Jocelyn was beginning to think she was going to have to find another way out. Either she saved them, or they were faced with a life as nothing more than makers of heirs. Had her agreement with her uncle led them to a life where they would always be controlled by men?