Mariote Read online

  Mariote

  Book One of The Daughters of Moirra Dundotter Series

  Suzan Tisdale

  Targe & Thistle, INC

  Copyright 2018 by Suzan Tisdale

  Cover art by Wicked Smart Designs

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author and publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  ISBN: 978-1-943244-50-8

  Contents

  Also by Suzan Tisdale

  Introduction

  Love

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Epilogue

  Prologue - Esa

  Also by Suzan Tisdale

  About the Author

  Also by Suzan Tisdale

  The Clan MacDougall Series

  Laiden’s Daughter

  Findley’s Lass

  Wee William’s Woman

  McKenna’s Honor

  * * *

  The Clan Graham Series

  Rowan’s Lady

  Frederick’s Queen

  * * *

  The Mackintoshes and McLarens Series

  Ian’s Rose

  The Bowie Bride

  Rodrick the Bold

  Brogan’s Promise

  * * *

  The Clan McDunnah Series

  A Murmur of Providence

  A Whisper of Fate

  A Breath of Promise

  * * *

  Moirra’s Heart Series

  Stealing Moirra’s Heart

  Saving Moirra’s Heart

  * * *

  Stand Alone Novels

  Isle of the Blessed

  Forever Her Champion

  The Edge of Forever

  * * *

  Arriving in 2019:

  Black Richard’s Heart

  * * *

  The Brides of the Clan MacDougall

  (A Sweet Series)

  Aishlinn

  Maggy

  Nora

  * * *

  Coming Soon:

  The MacAllens and Randalls

  Introduction

  This little novella was originally released as part of the All Things Merry and Bright Collection in December, 2018. I’m proud to say we hit the USA Today Bestsellers list with that anthology!

  I have not added any bonus content to this story. However, I am using it to launch a new series titled The Daughters of Moirra Dundotter. You will find the prologue to the next story in this series at the end of Mariote’s story.

  We met the four daughters, Mariote, Esa, Muriale, and Orabillis, in my Moirra’s Heart series a few years ago. In this new series, they will be all grown up and seeking husbands. (Except for Orabillis who firmly believes men are nothing but pains in her backside!)

  I hope you enjoy the story!

  Hugs,

  Suzan

  Love

  "Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own." -Robert Heinlein

  Chapter 1

  Mariote McCullum was very much in love, or so she fervently believed.

  Why else would her heart skip a beat or two whenever she saw him? What other reason could there be for the way her stomach tingled with excitement at the mere thought of him?

  Of course, the object of her devotion - and betimes torment - hadn’t a clue how she felt. Still, she loved the warrior with all her heart. Most women did, for he was so utterly handsome and charming. But Mariote loved him for more than his exceedingly good looks and the devilish smile he sometimes flashed the lasses. Nay, she loved him because he was good and kind and decent. Never had she chased after him like the other young women ‘round her age did. Neither did she giggle at every little thing he might have to say.

  That had to stand for something, didn’t it?

  Nay, she was not infatuated with him as the others were. She was deeply in love with him.

  But he never flashed his brilliant smile her way. Nor did he pick her up and twirl her around or wrap an arm around her shoulder as she’d seen him do so many times, openly flirting with any woman, no matter her age or marital status.

  Any, save for Mariote.

  Nay, he kept a wide birth when it came to Alysander McCullum’s eldest daughter.

  ’Twas Yuletide Eve and most of the clan were gathered in the grand gathering room. There was much music, dancing, and merry-making. And right in the thick of it all was Willem McCullum. Dancing with one lass or woman after another, and completely ignoring her. Her heart would thrum happily whenever he approached the table where she sat with her sisters. Only to want to break again when he walked right by her without so much as a glance in her direction.

  And not once this night did he ask her. What she would not give for his acknowledgement of her existence.

  Earlier, he had given her a devilish wink, but ’twas only as he bent low at the waist and asked her youngest sister, ten-year-old Orabilis, to dance. Orabilis, of course, refused, for she was still of an age where she believed all men, no matter their age, were naught more than a daft, insane group as a whole.

  ’Twas all too much to bear.

  Quietly, Mariote slipped out of the gathering room – only faintly aware of her father’s gaze following her as she left -- grabbed her cloak, and stepped out doors. The sky was indigo, dotted with twinkling stars. Flames from the torches fought a hard battle against the bracing wind, dimming and brightening, refusing, it seemed, to be tamped out.

  The lass made her way up the stairs and onto the parapet. Snow twirled around her ankles as the wind stung her tear-streaked cheeks. Though chilled to the bone, it felt good to be outside, to be alone to think.

  On the morrow, she would turn eight and ten. She thought she was far too young to feel as old as she did, but she could not help it. Most of the friends she had made since arriving here four years ago, were all married. Two already had children of their own now, and three were with child.

  And where be ye? She asked herself. Standin’ atop the parapet feelin’ sorry for yourself.

  Known amongst her family — and everyone she’d ever met — for being a most practical and logical thinking young woman, Mariote understood ’twas ridiculous to be feeling this way. Especially about a man who barely acknowledged her existence. But ’twas next to impossible to push all those feelings aside.

  While her heart might be breaking, there was so much for her to be to be thankful for.

  She’d been four and ten when Alysander MacCullum married her mother. A few short months later, he adopted Mariote and her three younger sisters and, together, they moved back to his ancestral home. Since then, their little family had expanded. Three years ago, her mother had given birth to twin boys, and now was once again with child. Come spring, there would be yet another McCullum brought into this world.

  Alysander openly prayed for this child to be another boy, because, according to him, having four beautiful daughters already was enough to turn a man’s hair white or put him in an early grave. We need to even the sides, he had often remarked playfully to his young sons, for we are seriously out-numbered. But Mariote knew it mattered not a whit to him what Moirra might have, as long as the child was healthy and naught happened to her mother.

  Mariote’s life had changed dramatically since Alysander came into it. So much so, that ’twas no longer recognizable. He had given her and her sisters a formal education, fine gowns, and a beautiful home. But he had given her much more
than that; he’d given her the ability to trust again. Considering what had happened with her mother’s previous husband, that was no small feat.

  Delmar — her mother’s third husband — had tried to rape Mariote on a cold winter’s night. Had her sister Muriale not been there, he would have succeeded. Delmar hadn’t known the lengths to which one sister would go to protect another. That ignorance had cost him his life, and very nearly Moirra’s, when she’d been falsely accused of his murder.

  ’Twas a good long while before Mariote could trust any man again.

  But with time and Alysander’s unfailing devotion to her mother and family, Mariote was able to put that horrid night in the past. With steely-eyed determination, Mariote chose to make the best of her life. It helped, of course, knowing she was safe and protected. No one would dare try to attack her as long as her stepfather was around.

  Now she was a woman full grown, even if her father still insisted otherwise. Under the tutelage of the clan’s healer, Eric McCullum, Mariote was learning to become a fine healer in her own right. Over the years, she’d lost count of the number of people she had helped nurse back to health, the number of hard McCullum heads she’d stitched up, and the number of broken bones she had helped to set.

  Aye, she had a life many would be envious of.

  Still, she longed for a husband and bairns of her own.

  She longed, deep in her heart, for Willem McCullum.

  The wind increased, howling like a macabre spirit from the netherworld, bringing with it bits of snow and ice. Drawing her cloak about her a bit tighter, she stared at the night sky. ‘Twould probably be best to get back into the keep before she either froze to death, or her father discovered her missing. Knowing Alysander as she did, he’d probably send out a search party.

  Just as she was about to go back in, she saw a bright light flash across the sky. ’Twas a falling star! She laughed, thinking of how her mother believed that if you made a wish upon a falling star, ‘twould come true within a fortnight.

  Deciding a wish could not hurt, she made hers. “I wish…” she searched for just the right words. “I wish to be married before I turn nine and ten.”

  ’Twas a simple, heartfelt wish. ’Twas all she wanted in life.

  What she could not know at that moment, was that someone else was out on the parapet, at the opposite end. Standing in the shadows the young man made a wish of his own.

  Chapter 2

  One year later

  The Yuletide wish she had made more than a year ago had not come true. Having just turned nine and ten, Mariote nevertheless believed there was still hope.

  She read the letter from Conner MacGavin once again, smoothing the parchment with a fond smile.

  My Dearest Mariote,

  My heart beats with love and adoration for you and only you. You have made me the happiest of men by accepting my hand in marriage. I feel as though I will not draw breath nor sleep again until I have you in my arms and as my wife.

  I shall meet ye in the glen near the stream at dawn in exactly six days, just as we have planned. Until then, I am and always will be,

  Your humble servant and future husband,

  Conner

  With care, she folded the parchment and slipped it into her satchel. Her heart skipped a beat or two — more out of fear than any other emotion. If she were caught, her father would certainly lock her in the south tower until she turned forty. Oh, she knew he would not really lock her away, but one could not be entirely certain what one’s father might good and truly do were he pushed to the ends of his patience. And she had pushed him thusly on more than one occasion over the past few years.

  Quietly, so as not to wake her sisters, she tucked one last item into her bag. ’Twas a sprig of heather, twined with a bit of string. Old and dried, it had been a gift from a young man who had quickly become her friend within days of her arrival. Lachlan MacCaully. Lachlan was three years her senior, a kind and giving young man with a tender heart. He was like an older brother to her and their friendship was one she would always cherish. Though in truth, she had at one time harbored a secret crush on the lad. But when he had remarked how glad he was for their friendship, she soon realized they would never be anything more than friends.

  Mariote sent a furtive glance about the dark bedchamber. Thankfully, her sisters were still fast asleep. ‘Twould be hours before any of them rose and discovered her missing. ‘Twould be hours more before any alarms would be sounded. When they woke to find Mariote’s spot empty, they would not consider it odd or strange, for she was always up long before any of them.

  They would think she had left to help Maryd McCullum birth her third child. Mariote had carefully planted that seed last eve as she and her sisters readied for bed. “Maryd is due any moment now,” she had told them. “I do hope she waits until daylight this time, for I be awfully tired.” To which her sisters had no reply, for they were too busy discussing the upcoming Yule Tide, and lads, and romance. All save for Orabilis, her youngest sister, who had no interest in romance or lads, for she was still of a mind that lads were naught but nuisances.

  “I shall miss ye,” Mariote whispered. Taking one last glance at each of her sleeping sisters, she quietly slipped out into the hallway.

  At this late hour, everyone within the keep was abed. Even the torches that lined the walls flickered low, as if they too were exhausted.

  Blood began to rush in her ears with the excitement of stealing away in the middle of the night. Mariote did not consider herself to be running away, but rather running to something. ’Twas the only way she could deal with the deep seated guilt of having made the decision to become Conner MacGavin’s wife. He loves me, she reminded her rapidly beating and guilt-ridden heart, and he has made me love him with his beautiful letters. Who would not fall in love with such a man? I will be his wife and the mother of his children. I will finally have all that I ever wanted.

  As she tip-toed down the dark corridor, she paused just outside her parent’s bedchamber. Her mother, she was convinced, would understand her reasons for doing what she was doing. Her father, however, was an altogether different story. ‘Twould undoubtedly break his heart when he discovered she’d run off to marry. Do no’ cry, she cursed her heart. Conner has promised ye can visit as often as ye wish. ’Tis no’ like ye’ll never see them again. Gently, she touched the door with her fingertips and bid her mother and father a silent farewell.

  Effortlessly, she made her way down the hall to a narrow set of stairs often used by the servants.. At this hour, the gathering room would be filled with at least a dozen sleeping men. The risk of waking any of them was far too great. Even if she lied and told them she was leaving to tend to a sick patient, they would undoubtedly offer to escort her. With a pounding heart and shaky hands, she took careful, measured steps downward.

  The stairs spilled out into a tiny room with two doors. The one to her right would take her back to the gathering room, the one to her left led to her father’s study. If she could get there without being caught, then she’d have naught to worry about until her wedding night.

  Knowing every inch of the keep, she made her way through the dark without coming across another living soul. Letting out a sigh of relief, she slowly opened the door to the study before peering inside. Empty - just as it should be at this late hour.

  Grabbing a torch from the wall, Mariote slipped into Alysander McCullum’s study. Next to the cold hearth was a heavy trunk. That trunk was now the only thing standing between her and Conner. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she set her satchel on the floor before shoving the torch into the iron holder.

  For a long moment, she stood in silence, staring at the trunk. Behind it was a small narrow door that led to the secret passageways beneath the keep. One little door that hid the path to her future as Conner’s wife. Her heart began to beat faster, her eagerness to finally meet the man behind the letters increasing a hundredfold.

  Mariote bit her lip hard. Guilt and sorr
ow reared their ugly heads. Guilt for stealing away in the middle of the night like a thief. Sorrow for leaving her family behind as if they didn’t matter.

  But there was naught to be done for it. Conner’s father had betrothed him to some feeble-minded lass from the MacCreary clan. A lass he truly had no desire to marry, for he was so in love with Mariote. “And I with him,” she murmured stoically.

  Undoubtedly, her own mother and father would be against the union with Conner; Alysander had no kind feelings for the MacGavin clan. They’d been at odds for decades, the McCullums and McGavins, for reasons no one knew or could now remember.

  So steal away the young couple would. They would travel north to Inverness where they would marry and consummate their union before anyone realized what was happening. Then ‘twould be too late for anyone to do something about it, such as to try to have their marriage annulled.

  The plan to run away together was Conner’s idea. Whilst Mariote would have much preferred a more honest approach, she could not disagree with his reasoning. Besides, he loved her more than breath, more than life. He’d told her so in the many letters he had sent to her in secret these past months.

  Lost in her quiet reverie, Mariote did not hear the quiet footfalls of someone entering the room. Panic seized her heart when she heard a soft voice ask, “What are ye doin’?”