Chapter 4
Agnes
On the opposite side of the door, Agnes allowed herself a heartbeat of time to calm. No one had discovered her so easily before.
Something told her that Lord Barden would not go down without a fight. Neither should he, she thought ruefully. He knew what he had seen, and she knew that he had been right. Their match – whatever it may have been destined for – was already over.
When he had pulled her towards him, she had thought, for a strange, dizzying moment, that he was about to kiss her. Which would have been absurd, of course, and terribly offensive.
So why had it made her heart beat out of time?
Forcing those thoughts aside, she quickly hurried down the corridor to find her sister. Muriel, it seemed, had vanished. Agnes made a quick search of the lower floors and, being unable to find her, had headed towards the guest chambers.
She nearly collided with a groom halfway down the corridor. He gave her a startled look, bowed, and then dashed on. There was a folded piece of paper gripped tight in his hand.
Agnes pushed the door open without knocking. Muriel jumped from the table at which she had been sitting. There were ink stains on her hands.
‘Agnes,’ she breathed, rushing over. ‘Are you well? Here, sit—’
Muriel guided her to the bed, forcing her down.
‘What—’
‘Agnes, please.’ Muriel was desperate. ‘I need you to come home. You do not need to marry him.’
‘I know I do not need to marry him.’
‘Then—’
‘But I am not returning to Scotland.’
‘But you must.’
‘I must?’
‘You can come home, and marry Francis, and all will be well.’
‘I will not marry Francis.’
‘Why?’
Agnes swallowed. Muriel stared at her. Both remained silent.
Muriel backed down first. ‘This is because of what happened between you when we were young.’
There was an icy lump in Agnes’s stomach. ‘I do not know what you’re talking about.’
‘Yes, you do. You still hold that against him, after all these years!’
Agnes bit her lip to keep her words locked behind her teeth. I will always hold it against him.
‘He was only doing what was right for you. He was only doing what was best, Agnes, please—’
‘What was best?’ The words battered through, unstoppable. ‘He— he—’
‘You still resent him after all this time. Did you learn nothing? Are you willing to tie yourself to a man like Lord Barden just so you can avoid Francis?’
‘If I tie myself to a man like Lord Barden it will be because that is my choice,’ Agnes said. ‘Francis mac Cainnich has nothing to do with that.’
It was a lie. Muriel knew that too.
‘I love you, Agnes, but this cannot last. Please come home.’
‘No.’ Agnes straightened her back. ‘I will not. If you think Francis is such a fine choice, then you marry him.’
Muriel made a soft, startled sound. Her eyes filled with tears. She turned – hesitated – then fled from the room. Agnes sat down heavily on the bed, her head in her hands.
She had no doubt at all that her siblings and parents loved her.
But they didn’t understand her. They didn’t know her as she wanted to be known, as she knew herself.
And try as she might, she couldn’t make them see that person, either.
They could only see the person they had raised or grown alongside, the person they expected her to be.
Her family loved her. But oftentimes she wondered if they loved her, or just the person they imagined her to be.
She headed back towards the room in which she had left Barden.
If she could not deal with the problem of her sister, she could deal with him, at least. And Muriel was not entirely wrong: her first impressions of his character had been very poor.
At least he was unique, she supposed. Unforgettable in his own way.
He had been the first of her suitors to call her a whoreson.
And … well. She was not blind. Were he not being difficult, he would be handsome.
Very handsome. He was tall, far taller than herself, and his dark hair and eyes held a certain intenseness.
His shoulders were broad, his arms wide.
He was scruffy – his red beard unkept and hair shaggy – in a way which her mother would have hated but she found very appealing.
She found it difficult to blame him for his poor mood.
He was grieving and embarrassed after making a fool of himself.
What sort of idiot fell into a deer trap, for God’s sake?
To add to all that, the insult of discovering the woman he had come to meet was a degenerate?
She would be impressed if he remained in the keep at all.
As she approached the room, she heard shouting – several men, the clanking of armour, a dog barking.
What in God’s name was happening? She dashed around the corner and into a scene of chaos. Barden was on his feet, flanked by a pair of household guards. His dog – the huge, grey deerhound – was barking at them.
‘Good God, men!’ At her voice, the guards turned. ‘What is going on here?’
‘Your sister called for us, my Lady,’ one said, chin high. ‘Said that you needed assistance with this brute.’
‘Will you unhand him, please,’ Agnes said, trying to keep herself calm.
‘But Lady Muriel said—’
‘But nothing. Lord Barden has done nothing to warrant such behaviour. Unhand him or I will have you both removed. Now!’
The guards shared a look, then took a swift step away from Barden, who looked deeply relieved.
‘Thank you,’ Agnes said. ‘You are dismissed.’
The two guards hurried away. Barden gave her a strained look.
‘Shall we sit?’ she asked.
He followed her back into the side room. She resisted the urge to bolt the door behind her.
‘I am sorry for worrying your sister,’ he said, as soon as she had settled into a chair.
Agnes was surprised. She had not expected him to apologise.
‘It is … fine,’ she said slowly. ‘And I must apologise to you for her taking such drastic action. Had I known what she intended to do …’ She deflated. ‘I am very sorry, Lord Barden. I do hope you can forgive her.’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘She was worried for your safety. Any worthwhile sibling would do the same.’
Agnes could not help feeling a little bitter. ‘We are currently struggling with some … differing opinions.’
‘Oh.’
‘About this arrangement.’ Agnes gestured between them.
‘Oh.’
‘It is not your fault,’ she clarified. ‘Not entirely your fault.’
Barden barked a laugh. ‘That is cheering to hear. Most things are entirely my fault.’
Some of the tension left Agnes’s shoulders. At least Barden was not offended at the mess with Muriel: many men would be, taking her behaviour as an accusation against his character. It did not, however, lessen her other concern of how he had discovered her in the grounds.
‘Lord Barden,’ she began, already dreading what she knew she needed to say. ‘I must confess. Our discussion before Muriel interrupted us …’ She took a deep breath. She would not insult his intelligence. ‘You were correct. It was I who found you.’
He winced. She steeled herself, ready for the rejection.
‘In that case, my Lady,’ he said, ‘I must apologise again.’
Agnes stared at him. ‘What?’
‘For the things I said to you! My God!’ He dragged a hand down his face with a laugh. ‘I called you a— Oh God’s teeth, I called you a—’
‘Lord Barden.’
‘Truly, my Lady. Had I known it was you …’
She raised an eyebrow, amused. ‘You would have said those things to another man without apology, I take it?’
‘Quite plainly I would have, yes,’ he said. ‘I did not mean to offend you. Or rather – I did, of course I did – but …’ He stuttered over his words, eyebrows tightly knitted together. ‘I apologise. Truly. It has been a difficult time.’
Agnes paused before responding. She truly could not understand him.
‘Lord Barden,’ she began, speaking slowly, ‘you are worried that I am offended because you cursed at me?’
He nodded. She could have laughed, were she not about to ruin everything.
‘I am sorry to say, it is you who ought to be leveraging offence.’
‘Whatever do you mean? You pulled me from that pit, and you tried to warn me of it, but I was being too damn stupid to listen to you. How could you have caused offence?’
Perhaps he had hit his head during the fall. Perhaps he was mocking her.
‘Any other man upon finding the woman he has ridden so far to court dressed as and behaving as a man would be … shocked,’ she said. ‘Appalled.’
Barden blinked. His mouth opened – slow, brutal realisation. ‘Oh.’
‘If you wanted to turn around and return to Dunlyn you would be well within your rights.’
Barden drummed his fingers on the table. He peered into the fire, deep in thought. Agnes could not stand this waiting.
‘Lord Barden?’
Finally, he spoke. ‘It will take more than that to shock me, my Lady. And frankly … it would be within your rights to have me removed for insulting you.’
‘I do not intend to do that.’
‘And I do not intend to leave.’
For the first time in a long time, Agnes felt out of her depth.
‘Lord Barden,’ she said at last, ‘I have heard many interesting things about you. May I ask you something?’
‘You may,’ he said, cautiously.
‘Did you start that brawl at your father’s funeral?’
He barely even hesitated. ‘Aye, I did.’
‘Why?’
‘… my sister,’ Barden said, after a long pause. Agnes waited for him to continue. ‘My cousin insulted her. Said she ought to be— to be forced.’ His voice was stony. ‘He said that was the only way she would be made a wife, if someone forced her. I could not let him talk about her in that way.’
Agnes’s stomach clenched. She found herself agreeing with him. The confession cast the incident, and the other whispers that followed him, in a new light.
‘Thank you for telling me,’ she said. ‘I know it is difficult, but those rumours …’
Ash nodded. ‘I understand. You would be mad not to seek the truth.’
Agnes relaxed into the chair. Despite it all, it felt easy.
‘Would you care for a tour of the grounds?’ she asked.
He grinned. ‘Only if you swear not to lead me into any more traps.’
‘You led yourself into that trap.’
‘In my rush to get away from you.’
‘Barden, you are truly unique.’ Agnes laughed. She stood, lingering beside his chair. ‘Thank you again. For being honest with me.’
He looked genuinely relieved. ‘Thank you for giving me the chance to be honest. Lead on, my Lady.’