Chapter Twenty-Six
Alana followed Edna into the entrance of Caer Rannoch and shivered at the sudden chill in the air. It felt colder inside than it had outside. She rubbed her hands against her arms to try to warm up.
Edna regarded her and nodded. “Yer trunks were dropped off earlier and brought up to yer bedchamber. We can go there now so ye can change into something warmer. Then I will show ye around the castle.” They quickly moved through the Great Hall and Alana barely had time to look around.
What she did see was that it was dark. Everything was dark here.
The walls, the wood, the stone. It was cold, depressing.
So unlike the home she had left behind. She would wager that Hartsmoor, Rory’s home, was warm and inviting.
The very opposite of Caer Rannoch. None of the lush greenery of the Highlands they had trekked to get here was present within these walls.
A landscape that she had learned to love once she saw it through Rory’s eyes and experienced it herself.
She followed Edna up three flights of curving steps, the stones so narrow that she had to place her feet sideways to climb them. She couldn’t imagine how they delivered her trunks to her chamber up these narrow passageways. There was nay room.
On the fourth floor, Edna turned left. “Yer chambers are this way. Laird MacDonell’s are to the right.” She pointed in the other direction as if Alana didn’t ken her directions.
At a set of double doors, Edna paused. “My laird gave no instructions other than to deliver yer trunks. If there is aught that ye need, please do tell, and I will do my best to see to it.” She pushed open the doors and stepped aside for Alana to enter.
Surprisingly, the room was larger than the chamber she’d had at Auchenford.
There was a large window covered with a dark blue tapestry with the MacDonell coat of arms weaved into it.
A massive hearth offered warmth, or it would once the fire was built up.
Across from the hearth, was a four-poster bed that held two pillows, a plaid in the MacDonell colors, and a throw folded neatly at the foot.
A thick embroidered canopy was pushed back and tied to the wall on each side.
“Now that ye have arrived, I will have someone start the fire so ye dinnae get a chill when we return here.” Edna took in her dress, muddy and dirty from their travels and clucked her tongue.
Normally, Alana would be mortified to present herself in such a matter, but not today. Each patch of dirt, each smear of mud, was a reminder of a moment with Rory.
Rory.
She closed her eyes at the pain that suddenly speared though her. Would she ever see him again? She didn’t believe so.
Edna rummaged through Alana’s trunks and pulled out a thick, green woolen dress, wool hose, a thicker shift, and clean boots.
“Let us get ye undressed and into this.” She held up the clothes in her arms and then placed them on the bed.
“I could use a bath, methinks.”
Edna tsked. “My laird doesnae care for such things other than for himself, but I am for certs that he will accommodate ye for yers. But he hasnae given permission for such a luxury yet, so I cannae fulfill yer request. Mayhap this eve after ye have had a chance to speak with him.” She pushed Alana into a chair and began to tug her mud-caked boots off.
She hid the disgust she felt at having to acquire permission to bathe.
What kind of man denied such a request? Apparently, the kind that she was to marry.
For the umpteenth time, she tried to understand what her father had been thinking in making this arrangement, finally realizing that he had only been thinking of himself.
An hour later, Alana was seated at a long dining table across from her betrothed, a filled chalice of honeyed mead in her hands. Edna had done her best to clean Alana up and make her as presentable as possible, but the man across from her did not look happy.
She assessed him and determined that it should be she who was the unhappy one.
The man was not old, but he looked old. Rory had mentioned they were close in age.
She could not see that, and if she had met the man under different circumstances, she would have assumed he were closer to her father’s age.
Short and stout, with a round belly that affirmed he had never missed a meal.
His balding pate was accentuated by the three long strands of hair he combed over to the side, trying, and failing, to hide the fact that he was, indeed, balding.
His pockmarked skin was red and pale both at the same time.
He didn’t look healthy. He looked gluttonous.
He was a completely different visage than Rory. She would indeed be thinking of him oft whilst she was in the company of this man that would soon be her husband. Alana did all she could to control the shudder that overtook her at the thought.
“Is there a reason why ye have come to me dirty from yer travels?” he snarled, his lip curled in disgust.
“I-I thought I needed yer permission to bathe, my laird.”
He scoffed. “Aye, weel, permission granted. As soon as we finish this conversation I expect ye to bathe. In the future, dinnae disgrace me with yer filth.”
Alana only nodded. She didn’t ken the circumstances regarding Edna and she would not say aught to get the girl in trouble.
“And ye will address me properly. Dinnae disrespect me with a nod.” He pierced her with a glare until she understood his meaning.
“Aye, my laird.”
“That is better. The wedding will take place in three weeks’ time.
The ceremony will be here. Yer parents may attend if they choose, but they are not needed.
” He spoke coldly, as if he were making a land deal.
There was naught personal about his words.
As a matter of fact, he had yet to ask her how she fared, or aught about her.
“Ye will see,” he continued, “the Highlands are a much tougher climate than yer lowlands.” He laughed. “I dinnae e’en ken why we bother with keeping the lowlands as part of Scotland. We might as weel offer the land to England. ’Tis the same thing.”
“I dinnae believe that is the case at all. The land is quite lovely. Of course, ’tis no’ nearly as mountainous as ’tis here, but it has ’tis own beauty.”
MacDonell scoffed. “Spoken as someone who has only kenned that land. As I said, the King should order it be granted to England. ’Tis quaint with its flatlands and meadows.”
Alana tried very hard not to feel affronted at the dismissive way he spoke of her home. But he was so cynical and dismissive that it was difficult.
“The Highlands build warriors. True warriors.”
She couldn’t fault him there, thinking of Rory. A definite true warrior. What was he doing now, she wondered. Scaling mountains that he couldn’t when she was with him. Was he thinking of her as she was of him?
“Are ye listening?” MacDonell snapped.
Her gaze clashed with his angered one and he banged his fist on the table, causing her to jump.
“I apologize, my laird.” She quickly tried to come up with an excuse for her not paying attention to his words. “I was only thinking of how lovely yer home is,” she lied.
He regarded her for a moment, and then licking his thin lips, he smiled.
“’Tis lovely is it no’? It has been in our family for generations and I dinnae see that changing anytime soon.
We have a small chapel off the left wing.
That is where our ceremony shall be held.
Then we will have the bedding ceremony.”
Bedding ceremony? Alana’s heart jumped into her throat. Of course, he would expect to have a bedding ceremony. Lord help her. How? She did not ken how she could either get out of the bedding ceremony or manage to fool him into believing she was a virgin.
She smiled, but quickly stopped when he noticed.
“Aye, ye’re looking forward to the bedding ceremony?” His eyes slid down to her bosom and then he leaned to the side, taking in the rest of her body. “It might be pleasurable—for me,” he added with a chuckle.
Alana wanted to retch.