Chapter 18
18
On the night before her wedding, Alyth did not sleep a wink, since she was tormented by thoughts of what would be happening to her in a few hours. She had no illusions that she would enjoy Laird Robertson as her husband. Indeed, she could hardly stand the sight of him.
He had the kind of twisted mentality that would revel in making her suffer, and would enjoy seeing the fear in her eyes. Alyth knew that men in power preferred a quiet, obedient wife, but she was not one of them. Even the thought of it made her shudder.
She thought again of trying to escape, but her clothes and shoes had been taken away from her, leaving her at the mercy of the bitter cold night air. There were guards outside her door, of course, but they were not her father’s guards, since they were dressed in the livery of the Robertson Clan. Then she wondered if she could climb down the wall outside.
Alyth sighed as she looked down. The room was at the front of the castle, unlike her own cosy chamber, which was at the back and enjoyed a view of the gardens. Here, there was a sheer drop to the ditch, where she would be impaled on vicious stakes if she fell. Alyth was agile and fit—she could scale walls of a moderate height and climb trees, but she could never scramble down a wall like that.
This was the reason she had been moved here, she realised. She had no idea if that was to be the room in which she would spend the first night of her marriage, but there was no way of escaping it, so she settled down to try and get some rest.
However, she tossed and turned the whole night, and in the morning Alyth did not have to look in the mirror to see that she looked like a wreck. Her dark grey eyes were bloodshot, and there were shadows underneath them.
Good, she thought viciously. The worse I look, the better. Maybe he will leave me alone then.
However, Alyth knew that this was a forlorn hope. The more Robertson could intimidate and humiliate her, the better he would like it. She guessed that he would enjoy using insults and foul language to intimidate her.
She laughed inwardly at that thought. Having listened to the kind of insults the guards tossed at each other every day, she was completely immune to it!
Yet Alyth had one ace up her sleeve; Robertson had no idea how fit and well-trained for combat she was. If he tried to use any violence against her, he would find that he would receive the same amount and more back again. Alyth was quite capable of flattening him with a few well-placed blows.
That would be a surprise for him tonight, she thought, then a sinking feeling of disappointment assailed her. Unless her action was accompanied by an escape plan, it would prove fruitless. Robertson would love the violence, and would be ready to turn it into a game. Either that or he would take revenge on her for hurting him.
No, if she was going to use force against him, it had to be enough to kill him. Could she do that with her bare hands? Alyth knew she could, but she had no intention of giving up her own life in the process, since there were so many of Laird Robertson’s guards about.
When Shona came in with her breakfast, she looked at Alyth with dismay.
“Ye look very tired, Mistress,” she said, her voice filled with pity. “Did ye no’ sleep?”
“Not very well, Shona,” Alyth answered, yawning.
“I expect ye are nervous about the wedding,” Shona said, nodding. “Most brides are, Mistress. Dinnae worry. Ye will be fine.”
“Thank you.”
Alyth pasted on a smile and began to tackle her breakfast, once again having to force down every bite. A headache was beginning to throb behind her eyes, and she pushed away her plate after eating only a few mouthfuls of food. She felt nauseous at the thought of confronting Laird Robertson, but her mind kept straying to the terrible prospect of what lay ahead that night.
“Is that a’ ye can manage?” Shona asked as she took Alyth’s plate away.
“I am feeling a bit sick,” Alyth replied. “But I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
“Aye, well, as ye say, ye are nervous, Mistress,” Shona said soothingly. “But I am sure ye took the right decision fer yer people.”
Yet Alyth could tell by the tone of Shona’s voice that she was only trying to comfort her, and that she herself was uneasy about her marriage to Laird Robertson.
“Do you really think it is right for me, Shona?” Alyth asked. “Or are you just saying that to comfort me?”
Shona looked awkward for a moment. “I think after ye get tae know yer husband, he will be good for ye,” she replied with a sigh. “But it might take a wee while.”
She stopped speaking as Alyth’s bath was brought in, then helped her into it. The warm rose-scented water was soothing, but Alyth could not relax.
“Did ye find somebody else while ye were away?” Shona asked, looking down at Alyth suspiciously.
Alyth stared up at her, considering what to say.
Shona had been Alyth’s maid since she was twelve years old, and could practically read her mind. Now, something about her mistress was bothering her; for a bride-to-be, she seemed desperately unhappy. She had seen plenty of arranged marriages where the two parties hardly knew each other, but eventually settled down into some kind of relationship where each accommodated the other.
However, she had come to feel a great affection for her young mistress and hated to see her upset. She also disliked Laird Robertson, but it was not her place to say so, and there was nothing she could do to stop the wedding.
“I did find someone,” Alyth replied at last. “While I was away I fell deeply in love with Laird Carrick.”
“Carrick!” Shona cried out in horror. “But Mistress, that was the clan that killed your mother! How can ye fa’ in love wi’ your enemy?”
Alyth shook her head and put her face in her hands. “I knew you would say that, Shona,” she said sadly. “But you don’t know him. He is truly a good man, and inside he is very gentle, but he has to cover it up to look strong for his men. Even though he appears tough on the outside, he is really very soft inside. He cares about all the members of his clan, and they are all completely loyal to him. He has a little daughter called Davina who is seven years old. Her mother took an arrow in the heart to save her life, and for three years the wee girl was unable to speak. He is so tender and caring towards her, and she adores him. ”
Then she smiled. “But for some strange reason she started speaking to me, at first just a word at a time, then more and more. The Laird asked me to read her bedtime stories, so I did, and we became very close. One day, we went out riding and were attacked by the Robertsons, and Lachlan, Laird Carrick, saved our lives. Is that the act of a bad man?
And that was when I fell in love with him. He has been so good to me! But the people who have not been good to me are the Robertsons, and my father wants me to marry one of them. And not just anyone, but the worst of all of them, the Laird. How can you marry a man you hate, Shona?”
Shona sighed and helped Alyth out of the bath. “You know Laird Carrick is your family’s enemy, Mistress. Your father willnae like this at a’.”
“My father will never know.” Alyth’s voice was firm, and she looked at her maid threateningly. Shona nodded in understanding as she helped Alyth into a dressing gown. “Because what I just said will never leave this room, will it?”
“No, Mistress—have I ever betrayed ye?” Shona looked hurt, and Alyth felt wretched.
“I’m sorry, Shona,” she said, sighing. “I should never have said that. I should not take out my fear and anger on you. You have been so good to me all these years.”
Shona smiled. “Thank ye, Mistress,” she said. “Now, shall we dae your hair?”
Now was the part of any celebration that Alyth hated. She had always wondered why it was that women had to be squeezed into corsets, have their faces painted, and their hair twisted into plaits, curls and coils. As well as that, they needed to bedeck themselves with enough jewellery to sink a battleship!
Men had to do none of these absurd things, and they seemed to be perfectly content. There was nothing like a handsome man in a kilt, especially if his name was Lachlan Carrick; he needed no adornment of any kind.
Alyth thought of his beautiful blue-green eyes, and her throat began to choke with tears. She remembered the cry he made when he came to his climax, the way he laid his head on her shoulder afterwards, the feel of his silky chestnut hair. Those times would never return, and all she would have of him would be beautiful memories to sustain her in the years to come.
How she wished there was a way to record those recollections so that she could look back on them and relive them! Yet, there was no good yearning for the impossible, she realised.
Alyth’s wedding dress was not new. In fact, it had belonged to one of her aunts, who had left it in the castle by mistake. It was very old-fashioned indeed, perhaps twenty years out of date, and she screwed her face up as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her reflection was not pleasing.
The garment was made of layers of pale grey velvet with an underskirt of white lace. It had puffed sleeves trimmed with more lace, and Alyth thought it was the fussiest, most overdecorated dress she had ever seen. However, she had chosen it on purpose, since she had no wish to appear attractive for Laird Robertson.
Just as she stood up, there was a heavy banging on the door and a Robertson guard barged in without invitation. He looked rather disappointed to see Alyth standing looking in the mirror fully dressed; perhaps he had been expecting to surprise her in a half-naked state.
“The Laird wants ye in the chapel, Milady,” the man said with a perfunctory bow.
“Tell the Laird, he can wait till I am ready,” Alyth replied in a pompous tone.
The guard frowned, nodded and retreated.
She turned to Shona. “Well, I suppose I am as prepared as I’m ever going to be,” she said, sighing.
“It willnae be as bad as ye think, Mistress,” Shona said soothingly.
“Oh, god, Shona, I hope you’re right,” Alyth said fervently, wiping a tear from her eye. “Because I feel as though I am walking into hell itself.”
Laird Colin MacAdams was standing at the back of the castle chapel at Cairnloch, waiting for his daughter to arrive so that he could give her away to her new husband. Give her away—it sounded as though she was a commodity, something to trade, instead of the most important person in his life. Was he trading her? Yes, but for a noble cause—peace.
Robertson was strong, and his soldiers were ruthless. However, that was not what worried him; it was James Robertson himself, whom he knew to have a streak of cruelty running right through him, and now he was handing Alyth over to his dubious care.
Care? He did not have a caring bone in his body.
Just then, he saw Alyth coming into the chapel with a fully armed guard on each side of her and her maid a few steps behind. He knew at once that she had not had much choice over her own dress; it was fussy, frilly, years out of date and did nothing to flatter her at all.
He swallowed nervously and smiled at her, holding out his arm, “You look lovely,” he lied. “I am very proud to be your father, Alyth.”
Alyth linked her arm with the Laird’s, but she did not return his smile, merely gave him an ice-cold stare in response. “Thank you,” she said coldly. “Now, let me tell you something, Father. I was planning to run away from everything, but then, I could not just leave you alone. I thought I could count on you, but you betrayed me, selling me away. Now let us get this farce over with.”
She squared her shoulders and tilted her chin, then began to walk down the aisle, feeling utterly ridiculous and embarrassed in the hideous dress. As she did so, she saw the leering, skeletal face of Laird Robertson, looking as though he were anticipating the prospect of devouring her like a favourite treat.
If only Lachlan was standing in Robertson’s place, she thought sadly. He would be dressed in his clan tartan great kilt, with the plaid over his shoulder sporting the clan crest. He would be wearing a snow-white shirt under his plain woollen jacket, but she would still be able to see the breadth of his shoulders and his strong, muscular calves. She knew that their wedding night would have been glorious.
And his face—his sculpted, masculine face with its square jaw and full lips. Alyth knew he would be smiling at her, his eyes shining with love. She was certain that she would be walking, not into paradise—she was a realist after all, but into a happy future with the man she loved. Instead, she was marching into hell with a monster.
When her father put her hand into Robertson’s icy cold one, Alyth gave him such a venomous look that he took a step backwards as if she had given him a physical blow. Then he walked away to sit in the front pew.
The ceremony was very sparsely attended, since Laird Robertson had wanted to organise the ceremony in great haste so that it could not be stopped or interrupted. Alyth doubted that any of the guests actually wanted to be there at all.
They were mostly men who traded with the Laird and their wives. However, Alyth was glad there were not more people there to witness her disgrace because she felt dirty, as if even standing beside Robertson was staining her with his filthy character.
“You look wonderful in that dress,” he whispered. Alyth was just about to thank him, merely for the sake of politeness, when he said, “But I am sure you will look even better without it. I cannot wait to make you mine—you should feel the same.”
Alyth looked into his leering dark eyes and felt like spitting at him. She wished she had brought a knife with her because then she could have cheerfully put an end to Robertson’s miserable life and smiled while doing it.
Damn the consequences! she thought. Anything is better than living with him.
The minister, Reverend Morrison, was late, which was very unlike him. He had been serving the village of Cairnloch for over twenty years—for all Alyth’s life. In fact, he had baptised Alyth when she was only eight months old, and she had an enormous affection for him.
Now Alyth wondered if he had come to any harm because she had a growing feeling of dread inside; something was about to happen, and it was not going to be pleasant. She pulled her skirts up to her knees, ready to take to her heels if she had to.
Laird Robertson was not gifted with such foresight, however, and neither was Alyth’s father. Robertson frowned in irritation.
“What is keeping him?” he grumbled. He looked at a clock on the wall and tutted. “Five minutes late,” his voice was a growl, and he turned to call one of the guards, only to find himself face to face with the last person he wanted to see.