Chapter 4 #2
As she stepped further away from the cot, uneasiness settled deep into her bones. Her breath hitched as she remembered who she was dealing with. Laird McGowan was nothing more than a murderer, a fiend. The fact that she and Maisie still drew breath astonished her.
“If the lady is ready to dress,” the maid spoke up with more confidence now, “ye’ll find the changing curtain in the corner.”
Lavina’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing. Instead, she stepped forward and snatched the dress off the back of the chair. The fabric was fine—too fine for someone like her—and the weight of it spoke volumes about the role she was expected to play.
She moved slowly to the changing curtain, each step tugging at her heart. It pained her to leave Maisie’s side, even for a moment, but she understood all too well that she couldn’t avoid the Laird forever. She had to find the courage to wed or flee with her ailing sister.
As Lavina mulled over her choices, an idea grew on her like mold. It couldn’t be all that bad, being declared the Laird’s fiancée, but what price would she pay for such a title? And would she be able to handle all the pomp and posture that accompanied it?
When she emerged, dressed and composed, the maid bobbed a brief curtsy. She cast one last, lingering glance over her shoulder—her gaze softening at the sight of her sister resting peacefully—before finally daring to exit the chamber.
The corridors beyond were dimly lit, their shadows creeping across thick stone walls. The sound of women’s footsteps, gowns swishing lightly across the floor, brought a strange sense of comfort.
There was something about the rhythm, the murmur of voices, that reminded her she wasn’t entirely alone.
But no matter how warm the fires burned or how many furs were draped to soften the stone floors, it was clear these were not the halls of her father’s castle. She was in enemy territory now, and no amount of pleasantries would let her forget it.
“Here we are now,” the maid said, stepping aside.
Lavina halted in the doorway, her breath catching as her eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open slightly in awe.
The room was grand. Its high ceilings were framed with thick timber beams, and antlers lined the walls like trophies. It reminded her, achingly, of her father’s study.
She pulled in a long, deep breath, letting the scent of roasted meat and warm pastries wash over her. The table at the center of the room was overflowing with fruits, cheeses, baked bread, and delicate pastries. Surely enough to feed an entire village.
Has everyone been invited?
But as her gaze drifted past the table, it caught on the one figure that mattered most—the Laird himself, seated at the head. He sat straight-backed in his carved chair, a stoic expression masking his thoughts. Yet his gaze lingered on her with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine.
She didn’t need to look directly at him to feel it. He was studying her, searching her, like a man trying to read a book he didn’t yet trust.
Beside him sat a small child, no more than four years old, half-hidden in the shadow of his broad frame. The girl was pale, her chestnut curls wild and unruly, cascading down narrow shoulders.
There was no doubt in Lavina’s mind that the child was his. The resemblance was too striking to ignore.
She pulled in another breath to steady her nerves and moved forward. She could feel the tension with every step. The way his eyes tracked her made her skin prickle.
He’s disappointed. He was expecting more than what I have to offer.
She rubbed her palms discreetly down the fabric of her dress, trying to wipe the sweat.
“Me Laird,” she said softly, dipping into a polite curtsy as she reached the table.
“So glad to see ye could join us this mornin’,” the Laird replied. “I feared ye’d stay abed with yer sister.” He motioned for her to sit in the empty chair beside him.
Trying to hide her unease, Lavina circled the table and sat, acutely aware of every pair of eyes in the room. She was the outsider, the foreigner, the strange woman whispered about in corners.
“I take it ye slept well, then?” the Laird asked, pushing a plate of warm bread toward her. “Ye must eat. Ye look like naught but skin and bones.”
Without hesitation, Lavina reached for the pastries. The first bite sent warmth through her chest, the flaky crust and sweet jam melting on her tongue. Each bite was more delicious than the last.
Maisie would love these.
She should probably sneak a few into her pocket for later.
“Aaron told me that yer sister pulled through the night,” the Laird continued. “But I’m sure ye’re curious to ken who this girl is.”
He turned his head slightly, his eyes softening as they landed on the child.
There was no need for introductions. Lavina had already pieced together who was who and instantly understood that she had no allies around this table.
“And that’s yer daughter,” she said with a nod toward the girl as she reached for another pastry.
“Aye,” the Laird confirmed. “Her name is Amber. As part of yer duties as Lady McGowan, ye’d look after her. As ye can see, the lass needs a maither’s touch, and I have none to give. I’m nae fit to raise a girl on me own.”
Lavina wiped the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin. “And what exactly do ye wish for her to learn? Manners? French? Latin? Are ye tryin’ to shape her into a lady of the court?”
“I’d be grateful for whatever ye can teach the wretched thing. I’m sure she needs to learn good manners,” the Laird said flatly. “But dinnae expect her to talk to ye. She hasnae said a word since she was dropped at me door six months ago. Though I cannae say I blame her. I frighten the poor thing.”
Lavina glanced toward Amber, her heart twisting.
The girl hadn’t taken her eyes off her once. There was confusion in her eyes. Longing, too.
It baffled Lavina that the Laird had kept the child at all. A hardened man like him raising a daughter? Yet there she sat. Unkempt, maybe, but alive, and not unloved, even though he didn’t know how to show it.
“If teachin’ her manners is what’s required,” Lavina said quietly, “then that’s what I’ll do. If this is how ye wish for me to repay ye, then so be it.”
The Laird took a slow sip from his mug. “Is there something wrong?” he asked, eyeing her over the rim.
Lavina pressed her lips into a tight line and shook her head. The words sat on her tongue like honey. “It would’ve been nice to ken that ye had a daughter, is all.”
“And how would that have made a difference?” he pressed. “Would ye have turned me down?”
Before she could answer, another voice rang from the doorway.
“Laird McGowan.”
Lavina’s attention shifted to the thin man approaching the table. He had shaggy brown hair and sharp green eyes. He stood like a sentinel, his posture rigid, his clothing worn from travel.
“Stephen,” Theo greeted, nodding. “What news have ye from the realm?”
Stephen paused, his eyes flicking briefly toward Lavina. The unspoken question lingered between them.
Theo rolled his shoulders back. “Stephen, this is Lavina. Lavina…”
“Lewis, of clan McBride,” Lavina supplied.
“I take it she’s the one whose sister is in the infirmary?”
“Aye,” Theo replied. “One and the same. Lavina has agreed to be me wife.”
Shock registered openly on Stephen’s face. His mouth fell open as if his jaw had lost a hinge. “Say it again?”
“Ye heard me,” Theo said firmly. “I thought we’d hold a small gathering. Nothing too big. I doubt anyone would care to attend. But aye, we’re getting married tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Lavina echoed, nearly choking on the drink she’d just swallowed.
Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected it would take place so soon. There’d be no time to prepare Maisie. No time for anything.
“Surely, Me Laird, ye’ll allow me sister to attend?”
“Anyone can come,” Theo replied. “But I’ll nae wait until yer sister’s feelin’ better, if that’s what ye’re implyin’.”
So, it was settled. Her fate was sealed.
Lavina swallowed hard, forcing a smile for Amber’s sake.
The girl kept staring up at her in wonder.
“Ye hear that, Amber?” Stephen asked, his voice lighter now, as though trying to ease the tension that had settled over the table like mountain snow. “Ye’re goin’ to have a maither. Willnae that be nice?”