Chapter Six #2
‘Not then.’ It was all he thought about now. That and how Frederick looked at the time. His eyes not on his daughter tending a dying man, but on the rest of the Hall as if it would mutiny. As if the battle that should have been in the field would erupt between dining tables instead.
‘Why did you knock it out of your father’s hands? If this is merely a McCrieff against a Lochmore, why did you suspect the wine to be poisoned for him?’
She was silent again and he imagined the tightening of her lips.
No McCrieff would have allowed Lochmores on their land or to dine at their table.
The poison was more in keeping with what had gone on in the generation before them.
He’d been blinded by the marriage proposal, by the false hopes of his own future.
And that was the bitterest truth of it all.
Nothing would take him by surprise any more. The first matter that needed to be understood was why, after generations of hate between the clans, did the poisoning surprise Fredrick and Ailsa?
‘What is happening here, Ailsa?’
A pause. ‘I don’t know.’
Still mistrust. Still a McCrieff and his friend could be dying.
Enough of this. Enough of indecision and nothing happening.
Enough of not knowing what his past was.
This day was to be his future. This morning he thought it would begin with bloodshed.
In that room, he thought it would be done by marriage.
Bloodshed or marriage, he didn’t care. He merely wanted it to begin. He stood and faced her. Her complexion was pale and she clenched the pillow in her lap.
He couldn’t trust anyone. They couldn’t trust him either, but he was promised something this day and he would take it.
‘We’ll marry. Tonight. I’ll allow for you to arrange what needs to be done, but it will happen.’
She threw the pillow on the floor and stood. ‘I’m not marrying you.’
‘You will go back on your word?’
Ailsa yanked on her gown as it snagged on the chair. In her worry for Paiden, she hadn’t tied the laces and now it hung indecently. ‘Your friend—’
‘Just because you marry me, does that mean you will no longer be the healer?’
This man who stood before her wasn’t sane. He couldn’t be. He’d come here to conquer the McCrieffs. To wrest the land a king had given to his clan. Instead, he’d been welcomed and fed and given fine ale.
He’d been given her. Another tug and her gown was free, but she clenched it to her chest like some maiden in a tower.
What was happening here today? She had no idea.
Her father had sold her and, though he’d acted with guilt, he’d meant every word.
She refused to believe it was with ill intent, so there must be a reason for the secrecy and betrayal.
Never could she imagine a marriage between the clans that would be sanctioned by Hamish or the majority of elders.
This plan and decision came solely from her father, who had protected her all her life.
This decision could not have been made lightly and came at a price to him.
Her father wouldn’t sacrifice her for the clan.
No, he was Tanist, that was true, and a rightful heir to the clan.
He’d always been a good father and, after her mother’s death, he’d been devoted to his children.
He wouldn’t, couldn’t simply sacrifice her. But he would protect her.
When she told Rory that she didn’t know what was happening here, she meant it. ‘You want to marry me when you must be worried I’ll murder you in the marriage bed?’
‘Worried isn’t the word I’d use for how I feel right now.’
She couldn’t tell how he felt right now.
His words were clipped as if he said them through a clenched jaw, but his hands were unclenched, his body almost relaxed.
His dishevelment, brown hair loose, clothes dusty from the ride, from the day.
Stained from the armour that he had worn earlier and now was piled in the corner as if it wasn’t valuable.
He was half-careless, half-dogged. Who was this man and why had she readily agreed to marry him?
From his silence it was obvious he wouldn’t share the truth of his feelings...
if he had any. She should have fought more against the proposal.
It wasn’t only the leaders or the men who had gone mad, it was everyone.
Hastily, she adjusted her gown, found the laces and clumsily tied them.
She didn’t care if they were crooked, she just couldn’t storm out of here naked.
She felt exposed now though the fabric swamped her. He might not share his feelings, might be able to keep his expression neutral, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t trained in the art of lies and deceit. In truth, she encouraged open dialogue to better heal.
How could she ever know if Rory spoke the truth? One moment, he didn’t want her, then when no facts were changed, he did. He hated her, but he also wanted to marry her.
And yet, a part of her still wanted what they had agreed to in that small room downstairs.
Outwardly, she had agreed to the marriage to end the killing, to possibly stop future strife.
Inwardly... She wanted to curse at the old healer Rhona for telling her stories and filling her head with possibilities that there wasn’t only hate in the world between McCrieffs and Lochmores.
That there could be something more. Daydreams from a child. Every one of them.