Chapter One #2
Should she attempt to hide the less acceptable things about herself? The late-night wandering, the hunting, the racing, the running, the cursing and general disorder? All the things that made her who she was. Her very soul.
It was too late, she thought, as she watched Hannah take his arm yet again.
Besides, it was no matter what happened today, for, in the morning, Brenna would be wed to Ronan and they’d have the rest of their lives, without Hannah’s presence, to get to know one another.
And maybe, someday, even fall in love. Not that she knew much about falling in love or how one went about making it happen.
Her parents, while always respectful in their dealings, weren’t overly fond of one another.
But Hannah often spoke of the emotion as if it was the most coveted thing one could hope to acquire.
She described it as a partnership where the subjects accept each other through their faults and shortcomings.
The idea that someone would take her as she was and choose to be with her above all others sounded divine.
She didn’t know how to get her new husband to fall in love with her, but she would stop at nothing to make it happen.
She spent all her days feeling as if she didn’t belong in her own family, always falling short and disappointing them when she acted herself and failing when she tried to be who they wanted her to be.
Hannah once told her she was most likely a changeling, an inept replacement for the proper sister who fairies had taken.
Despite her mother’s promise it was untrue, Brenna thought it made a good bit of sense.
If the real Brenna Innes lived with the fairies, did she feel as out of place as Brenna felt here among her clan?
This marriage would be a fresh start, a chance to belong.
She could not make a mess of it.
***
As soon as Ronan extricated himself from the green-eyed beauty who’d escorted him to his room, he left his chamber to speak to his grandsire.
Having only spent summers with the Grants since his mother married the MacPherson laird when Ronan was ten, he wasn’t as close with his grandfather as most heirs would have been.
But he felt comfortable enough to complain about the man’s plan formally.
“I canna marry the hellion. Did ye see her?”
“Aye. My sight has not abandoned me yet. The lass is feisty.”
“Feisty? She’s a menace. How am I to take such a woman to wife?
I believe she was drunk, based on the inability to keep on her feet, calling me the wrong name, and the cursing.
” He rubbed his forehead. “She was wearing men’s clothing, and don’t even get me started on the sticks in her nest of hair. Is that the way she greets guests?”
His grandsire offered a wink. “The spirited ones are better in bed. I can think of worse things than having a bride unafraid to get some sticks in her hair.”
Ronan rolled his eyes. At twenty summers, he had more on his mind than taking a wife.
He’d had no trouble getting women to warm his bed when he’d shown interest. There was much more to life than bed sport.
The glory of being a soldier, for one. But if he didn’t agree to this ridiculous arrangement, his grandsire would not allow him to go to the war in France with his stepbrother, Shane.
They’d entered into this agreement a few days before.
But now Ronan felt sure he was getting the worst part of the deal.
As an heir, only his grandfather could grant his permission to leave Scotland.
The man had refused until, thanks to Ronan’s uncle, he’d needed Ronan’s help.
The lift of his grandfather’s bushy, gray eyebrow proved he knew he had Ronan by the cods. Still, there might be another way…
“The older daughter,” he said. “She’s quite lovely, and from the way she gripped my arse before leaving me, she’d be agreeable to a match.”
Before he’d even finished speaking the words, the laird shook his head.
“The pretty one is already betrothed to the MacIntosh clan. There’s no getting her free of it. I’d marry you off to the MacIntosh laird if it could be done.” The man chuckled at his jest.
Ronan felt a strange relief at learning the other woman was already spoken for.
Despite her being the more acceptable of the sisters, the eldest—dressed in her fine silks and air of entitlement—put him in mind of his mother.
Lady Deirdre MacPherson expected all to fawn over her.
She’d undoubtedly found a man to do her bidding.
But Ronan didn’t wish to fall victim to a cunning bride.
Still, while he didn’t wish to be manipulated by a woman’s beauty, he didn’t want such a mess for a wife.
“Why can’t Ewan marry the girl? His doing has gotten us into this mess in the first place.”
Ewan, only four years Ronan’s senior, was Uncle Ewan. They’d grown up more like brothers than uncle and nephew because of their ages. Ronan had followed the older lad across every hill on Grant lands as a boy, wanting to be like him.
When Ronan’s father died, and his mother married the MacPherson laird, Ronan begged to stay behind with Ewan and the Grants.
For the first week after arriving at Cluny Castle, Ronan had refused to speak to his new stepbrothers and stepsister.
Eventually, the walls were broken down, and Shane became the older brother Ronan had once had in Ewan.
Now, as adults, Ewan had taken to drinking and carousing, while as heir, Ronan was taught the ways of being the laird in his father’s absence.
“You are the heir, not Ewan. My youngest isn’t even war chief because he refused the honor.
No laird is going to marry his daughter to a second son.
We need a strong alliance with the Innes clan.
If anyone were to discover what Ewan has done, there’d be war between us.
A war we’d not win against the Inneses, especially with the MacIntoshes at their back. ”
His grandsire rubbed absently at his chest. Ronan wasn’t sure if there was pain or if the gesture was to remind Ronan that his grandsire was not a young man. If the laird were to fall ill and die, it would end Ronan’s plans to go to France, not to mention Ronan cared for the old buzzard.
“Very well, I’ll see it done.”
His grandfather clapped him on the back. “Marry the lass, bed her, get an heir on her, and then ye can take as many lemans as ye wish and forget about her.”
Ronan swallowed at the thought of doing such a thing.
He did not pretend to harbor feelings for Brenna Innes, but he’d never treat a wife in such a way.
Perhaps his years of seeing how the MacPherson laird doted on Ronan’s mother, Deirdre, had made an impression.
He didn’t plan to be as obsessed as his stepfather was with his mother, but he’d not betray his vows.
What was a man without his word? His grandsire must have seen the disgust on his face, for he softened and patted Ronan on the shoulder.
“Who can say what might come of it? It could work out quite well.”
Ronan would marry the lass, bed her to consummate the union, and then go to battle as planned. However, recalling her entrance earlier, he doubted the lass would be easy to forget.