Your Money or Your Wife (Reluctant Brides #5)

Chapter 1

Cormac Stewart, otherwise known as the Shadow, raced through the woods on horseback with an urgency he had never felt before. The missive from his mother had arrived two days prior, the seal hastily applied, the wax still warm when his second-in-command Seumas had thrust it into his hands.

Your father is dead. Come home.

The words had caused his chest to seize up. His father was strong, indomitable, stubborn as an ox – there was no way he could be dead. Something must have happened to him. His initial reaction was shock, then unimaginable grief. But he had no time to spare. He needed to go home immediately.

Thoughts assailed him, and with them came guilt. He had been away from home too long, serving the last two kings. He always thought he had ample time to spend with his family once his wanderings were over. But now, there was no time.

Cormac had barely taken time to saddle his horse before racing north toward Stewart Keep.

Several of his men had wanted to ride with him, but he'd insisted it would be faster to set off alone – no waiting on a company to muster, no slowing his pace for the group.

He left Seumas to manage the band and explain his sudden departure.

None of that mattered now. His family needed him.

As the eldest son, Cormac had responsibilities.

His younger brother Ninian, his sister Nessa – they would be looking to him for leadership, for guidance.

The clan would need him to step into his father's place.

There were a myriad of issues to contend with, least of all consoling a grieving family whom he loved dearly, albeit in very small doses.

The thought made his chest tight with dread. This could not come at a worse time, especially with the king requiring his services for another mission. But Cormac shook his concerns away as he homed in on the fact that with his father gone, his family would be vulnerable to attack.

Finally, after two days of hard riding, the familiar towers of Stewart Keep came into view through the trees. Cormac urged his lathered horse faster, his heart pounding in time with the hoofbeats.

He thundered through the watch gates into the bailey as guardsmen shouted out his arrival before he'd even dismounted.

But as Cormac swung down from his horse, breathing hard, he noticed something strange.

The bailey was... normal.

Not eerily quiet with the pall of impending death. Not filled with weeping servants and solemn-faced clansmen. Just... normal.

A few chickens scratched in the dirt. A stable lad ambled over to take his horse's reins. Two guards leaned against the wall, chatting idly about something that made one of them laugh.

Cormac's grief faltered, replaced by a creeping sense of confusion.

"Where is everyone?" he demanded, tossing a coin to the young stable lad who'd appeared. "Take good care of my horse. He's had a hard ride."

The boy caught the coin and grinned. "Aye, Master!"

Cormac took the steps two at a time into the main entrance, his mind racing. A guardsman loitering near the door straightened when he saw him.

"Where's my mother?" Cormac demanded.

"Welcome home, Master. The mistress is with the laird in the Great Hall."

They're all in the Great Hall? he wondered.

Cormac's confusion was slowly turning to anger as he suspected some sort of trickery at best.

He strode down the corridor and shoved open the doors to the Great Hall.

The scene before him confirmed his suspicions.

His entire family was gathered around the long table. Not in mourning blacks, not weeping, not preparing for a funeral. They were simply having a meal.

Cormac's father sat at the center of the high table, looking hale, healthy, and consuming his mead with gusto.

His mother sat beside him with an expression that could only be described as guilty.

His brother Ninian was helping himself to a massive portion of roasted chicken. And his sister Nessa was pouring wine.

The conversation died when Cormac entered.

His father rose to his feet, his face breaking into a smile. "Son! Ye've come. Just in time to join us for the noonday meal."

For a long moment, Cormac simply stood there, his chest heaving from the hard ride, his mind trying to process what he was seeing. The inner turmoil, the hours of grief, the panic he had felt trying to return to his family – all for nothing.

His father was not dead. He looked very healthy, with a full trencher of food set before him.

"What," Cormac said very slowly, very carefully, "is going on here?"

"What do ye mean, son?" his mother replied.

"Ma." Cormac's voice was deadly quiet. "Did ye or did ye not send me a missive saying Da was dead?"

There were audible gasps around the table.

"Och, that. I may have stretched the truth a wee bit, but I needed ye to return home, and nothing short of a death would have brought ye," she replied.

"Ye exaggerated a wee bit?" Cormac's roar echoed through the hall. "I rode two days without stopping! I thought I was coming home to bury my father!"

"Now, now," his father interjected, shooting a glare at his wife. "Dinnae fash, there's no need to shout, lad. Besides, I knew nothing about this ridiculous plan until ye arrived."

"Liar!" Cormac shot back. "Ye're terrible at deception, Da. Ye always have been."

"I'm excellent at deception. Remember that time I convinced the Buchans that we had twice our actual numbers? I had them convinced for a fortnight."

"That was twenty years ago!" Cormac exploded. "And everyone knew ye were lying. The Buchans just pretended to believe ye because they felt sorry for ye."

"They did not feel sorry for me. It was a masterful ruse."

"It absolutely was not," his brother Ninian interjected cheerfully, finally looking up from his chicken. "Their laird told me so himself. Said Father was the worst liar he'd ever met, but because the Buchans were tired and wanted to go home, they let it go."

"Ninian, that's not helping," his sister Nessa murmured.

"I'm not trying to help," Ninian replied with a grin. "I'm trying to enjoy watching Cormac lose his temper. It's been ages since we've seen him properly riled."

Cormac turned the full force of his glare on his younger brother. "Ye knew about this harebrained scheme of Ma's?"

"Of course not," Ninian replied, before chortling. "I'm as shocked as ye are."

"This is not funny!" Cormac roared.

"Och, 'tis a wee bit funny," his mother replied.

"'Tis not funny at all. What is the matter with all of ye? Are ye not even slightly superstitious making up falsehoods about someone's death? What if ye've cursed Da with yer lies?"

"Dinnae be daft. 'Twas just a wee lie to get ye home. And it worked, didn't it? Here ye are, in the flesh."

"Ma, I left important matters unattended. I nearly killed my horse getting here." His voice cracked slightly. "I thought I'd lost Father."

The room went quiet at that admission.

"Son, I'm sorry. Truly. If I'd kenned it would affect ye this much, I would have put a stop to it," his father said, his expression softening.

"Would ye?" Cormac asked pointedly.

His father hesitated just a fraction too long.

"That's what I thought," Cormac muttered.

Before he could say anything else, his family rose from their seats and descended on him like a flock of birds, greeting him like the prodigal son and thinking nothing of his outburst.

Ninian clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to bruise. "Calm down, brother. 'Tis not like ye were doing anything important. Last we heard, ye were riding about the countryside like a common bard."

"For the last time, I am not a bloody bard!"

"Well, I hope not," Ninian replied, his grin widening. "Because ye have a terrible singing voice."

"No, I don't."

"Aye, ye do. Remember that time at the Midsummer festival when ye tried to serenade that lass from Caithness and she threw her ale in yer face?"

"That was because I insulted her brother, not because of my singing."

"Are ye sure? Because I'm fairly certain it was the singing."

Cormac opened his mouth to argue further when he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve.

He looked down to find his sister Nessa gazing up at him with sympathetic eyes. Unlike the rest of his unruly family, Nessa was soft-spoken, thoughtful, and possessed the temperament of a saint. How she had survived growing up with the rest of them, Cormac would never understand.

"Dinnae fash so, brother," Nessa said quietly, with the hint of an apologetic smile. "Ye ken they haven't changed at all since ye were last home."

The simple observation, delivered in Nessa's gentle tone, took some of the edge off Cormac's fury. He sighed heavily and pulled her into a hug.

"How are ye, sprite?" he asked.

"Surviving," Nessa replied, her voice muffled against his chest. "Barely."

Despite everything, Cormac found himself smiling. "Aye, I can imagine."

He released her and looked around the hall. Now that his initial panic and rage were subsiding, he could see the scene more clearly. With the exception of his siblings having grown taller and his parents looking older, not much had changed.

His mother was now arguing with a servant about the placement of a tapestry, insisting it was crooked despite the poor man's protests that it was perfectly level.

His father had returned to his seat and was now engaged in what appeared to be a heated debate with himself about whether the wild boar needed more salt.

And Ninian was attempting to juggle three apples while simultaneously trying to convince a serving girl that he was an excellent catch, despite clear evidence to the contrary.

It was as if nothing had happened.

It was exactly as he remembered.

And despite his lingering anger at being tricked, Cormac felt something in his chest loosen slightly. He was grateful everyone was alive, because he missed this. Missed them. Even if they were all utterly irritating.

"Tell me what's truly happening," Cormac said quietly to Nessa. "What was so urgent that Ma had to fake Da's death to get me home?"

Nessa bit her lip, glancing toward their parents before leaning in to whisper, "They want ye to marry."

Cormac went very still. "What?"

"They've chosen a lass for ye," Nessa continued in an undertone. "From a well-to-do family in the north. Ma wants ye to meet her."

"Absolutely not," Cormac said flatly.

"I tried to warn them," Nessa replied. "But ye ken how Ma gets when she has an idea in her head."

"Like a dog with a bone," Cormac muttered. "Who is this lass?"

"Her name is Annag Ruthven. I met her once at a gathering last spring." Nessa paused, choosing her words carefully. "She's very bonnie."

"But?"

"'Tis a good thing she is bonnie, because her character leaves little to be desired," Nessa finished delicately. "She's a wee bit unkind."

"Of course she is," Cormac said. "Mother always has a talent for finding me shrews."

"Aye, but there is a wee bit more to it. I overheard our parents talking. Annag's half-brother, the eldest son and heir Torin, has been missing for years since the battle of Halidon Hill. Without a strong alliance, Laird Ruthven could lose his lairdship."

"Surely Torin must be dead," Cormac said.

"Or worse, imprisoned," Nessa replied.

"Either way, I dinnae pity the man. But that does nae mean I can marry his sister."

"Cormac!" Their father's voice boomed across the hall. "Stop whispering with Nessa and come join us. Now that ye're here, we need to discuss yer future."

"I dinnae have time for this," Cormac replied, already backing toward the door. "I have to return to my men. I've important matters to see to that ye interrupted with yer lies."

"Surely yer friends can spare ye for a few days," his mother said, finally abandoning her argument about the tapestry. "Whatever ye are doing cannot be that important!"

If only they knew, Cormac thought. But he couldn't tell them. His work as the Shadow was a secret, known only to the king and his closest advisors. Except for Nessa, as far as the rest of his family and clan were concerned, Cormac was just a travelling bard and occasional hired sword.

"Ma, Da, I appreciate the thought," Cormac said, trying for diplomacy. "But I've told ye before – I have no interest in taking a wife. Not now. Not ever."

"But there are so many lovely lassies who could give ye bairns and make ye happy," his mother protested. "And the Ruthven lass is suitable. Her father has extensive lands, good connections, and a most agreeable temperament."

"I dinnae care," Cormac replied. "I'm not marrying her."

"If ye would only meet her," his father said, standing and moving toward him. "Just meet her. What's the harm in that?"

"The harm is that ye'll take it as encouragement. Ye'll start planning a wedding, and I'll end up shackled to some wench I dinnae ken."

"That's how most marriages work, son," his father pointed out.

"Not mine," Cormac replied firmly.

He could see his mother gearing up for another argument, but before she could launch into it, Nessa touched his arm.

"Stay for tonight at least," she said softly. "Ye've ridden hard to get here. Rest, refresh, eat a proper meal, and leave in the morning if ye must."

Cormac looked at his sister's earnest face and felt his resolve weakening. She was right; he was exhausted from the ride, and his horse needed rest as badly as he did.

"All right," he replied grudgingly. "One night. But I'm leaving at first light, and I'm not meeting this Ruthven woman."

"Of course not," his mother replied, her smile too sweet to be trusted. "Whatever ye say, dear."

Cormac recognized that tone. It was the same one she'd used when he was a child and she'd promised not to make him drink the healer's ghastly tinctures, just before she shoved them down his throat.

He was no fool, but he was suddenly too tired to argue anymore.

"I need a drink, a bath, and a bed," he muttered, heading toward the table.

His mother cried out with delight. "Wonderful, then ye'll stay for now. Come join us for a meal. I'll have a maid prepare yer bed and bath."

"Welcome home, brother. Welcome home," Ninian laughed from behind him.

***