Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“Ishould make ye visit this castle’s healer right away,” Liam said out of the side of his mouth, his arms crossed over his chest, his back rigid.
“If ye usher me into the castle now, we will miss the auction,” Lady Agnes, his grandmother, retorted.
She carefully adjusted the sleeves of her gown, the movements incredibly refined for a nearly eighty-year-old woman who had just been sprawled on the ground.
“I may nae have much longer on this earth, but it will take more than a fall to usher me out.”
“I wish ye wouldnae speak so flippantly about yer age,” Liam said, scanning the women for a beat before searching the crowd for his man-at-arms. The idea of her, the woman who raised him, no longer being alive wasn’t something he liked dwelling on.
“And I wish ye would stop tryin’ to find excuses to avoid gettin’ yerself a wife,” she replied, grabbing his elbow as she stepped in closer to let more bidders join them. “When the biddin’ starts, I believe the woman who kept me from havin’ a more serious fall should be yer choice.”
“Nay.”
The word left his mouth almost immediately. It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered it the moment he’d laid eyes on her. At his grandmother’s behest, they were attending an auction. It was only natural to wonder.
But I cannae say any of the other women have caught me eye.
“And I’m sure ye have yer reasons,” she said sarcastically.
“Ach, I do,” Liam said, nodding when he finally caught sight of Cillian. “That woman is too young.”
And she wouldnae like bein’ stuck with a brute like me.
“All of these women are young,” Lady Agnes replied, her gaze never leaving his face despite his not looking back.
“I came for a wife that would bring order.” He frowned, squinting against the sunlight as a coordinator guided the women. “Someone that is suitable to raise Agnes and protect her while I’m rulin’. That is all. I need someone older.”
His grandmother sighed. She watched him with quiet patience, holding her tongue until he finally gave in and met her eyes. It was disarming just how much of him she seemed to see.
“Ye ken that’s nae truly why we’re here,” she replied, keeping her voice low and private. She delivered each syllable with a sureness born of years of knowledge. “I’m dyin’, and ye ken it.”
Liam’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away.
While he wasn’t keen on acknowledging the biological truth, his grandmother had been openly planning for when she’d no longer be with them.
If it hadn’t been for her, he wouldn’t have bothered with finding a wife.
He could hire a tutor, a young, educated woman who would be able to teach his daughter in his grandmother’s stead.
“When I’m gone, Agnes willnae have anyone to offer her warmth,” she said bluntly. It wasn’t a judgment on his character, rather an acknowledgment of the reality his only child would be facing. “All she will have is discipline and order.”
“Discipline and order are more than enough to raise a child,” Liam replied, the argument so familiar that it was almost a comfort to have. “Me daughter will be strong, capable, and prepared.”
“A child needs to be more than strong and capable and prepared,” she said with an exasperated click of her tongue. “Ye may nae remember what it was like to be me wee grandson, but ye werenae always so guarded. It’s nae healthy to disallow children to be children.”
Lacking a proper answer for her, Liam turned away once again. Cillian was nearly there now, wearing the kind of smirk that said he found more humor in this situation than he’d dare speak. Had he not been bringing his grandmother along, Liam would have much preferred to make this trip alone.
Ach, but if he and Grandmother werenae along with me, I wouldnae have attended this gatherin’. A wee lie to her would have spared the three of us a mess of time.
“I’ve spoken with the owner of the horses,” Cillian reported, positioning himself on Lady Agnes’s other side. “He agreed that the boy handlin’ the beast shouldnae have been in charge of such a creature though he was adamant that the horse had been thoroughly desensitized.”
“A poor handler could certainly cause an animal to behave erratically,” Liam said, wondering if he should have been harsher on the boy.
In spite of what his grandmother said, he was certain that she hadn’t come away from the fall without injury.
“Regardless, it seems the issue has been taken care of now that the crowd’s settlin’. ”
A voice, the same one that had come from the gorgeous young woman with freckles across her rosy cheeks, rose above the chatter.
He couldn’t make out what she’d said exactly, but he picked up on the laughter from the women that followed.
Next to him, Cillian made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.
“She’s drawin’ quite a bit of attention,” Cillian said casually though years of working with him told Liam his query was anything but.
“Too much attention,” Liam replied, watching as her bright green eyes flashed in the sunlight. His gaze drifted lower to her high, firm breasts and hips that promised to bear strong heirs. “She speaks with the others too freely.”
She makes herself a target.
“Nay sane man would leave a woman like that to another,” Cillian said before dropping his eyes to Lady Agnes. “I do hope ye’ll excuse me for bein’ crass, Me Lady.”
“If ye’re tellin’ him that she’s the one he should choose, I agree with ye,” she replied, flashing him a smile. “And I am willin’ to excuse ye for bein’ crass, but only because ye’re on me side.”
“I will behave for the rest of the trip,” Cillian promised, bowing his head a bit dramatically. “Ye have me word.”
Ignoring the exchange happening beside him, Liam continued to observe the woman. She was striking, and as Cillian said, the kind of woman a sane man wouldn’t leave to another, but that was precisely why she was trouble.
For me own sake and Agnes’s safety, this betrothal must go as quietly as possible. Me wife needs to be undetectable and quiet. And she is anythin’ but quiet.
* * *
Katherine’s back grew impossibly straight as the chatter faded away.
A man stepped forward, cleared his throat, and welcomed the patrons with warm words that didn’t reach her mind.
When she was socializing with the other women, it had been easy to fool herself into thinking this would be a positive experience.
Now, standing on display as though she were a slab of meat at the market, every part of her recoiled at the spectacle.
“Before the biddin’ will officially begin,” the man, who had called himself Laird Bickerson at some point during his introduction, was saying when she finally forced herself to focus on his words. “We will conduct an appraisal of the women available. When ye’ve asked yer questions, we can proceed.”
In a way that ignited an inexplicable bubbling of dread in Katherine’s stomach, the men, the prospective buyers, stepped forward.
They formed a loose counsel, speaking quietly amongst themselves as their gazes devoured each tribute.
Refusing to show any outward signs of discomfort, she watched them back.
Finally, a man stepped forward, looking at one of the quieter women in the group. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Have ye ever assisted anyone with plannin’ a ceilidh?”
“I havenae,” the girl replied, struggling to look at him as her fingers worried at the fabric of her fine, pink gown, “but I’m quite resourceful.”
The man examined the girl, ignoring the person she was for the skills she could offer.
Maybe Katherine spent too much time daydreaming, but it felt wrong for marriage to be so…
transactional. Still, she supposed it could be worse.
The men might be crude, but at least she and the others were being seen as true members of the clan.
“What about orderin’ for the pantries?”
“I’m good with numbers,” the other girl offered weakly, clearly embarrassed at having so much attention directed toward her. “I used to spend hours in me father’s study readin’ his ledgers.”
That answer seemed to satisfy not only the man asking the questions but also a few others who had been listening intently.
As he stepped back, the girl took a visible breath, her hands trembling as she still fiddled with her dress.
Katherine looked down at her own hands, feeling a small jolt of relief when she saw they weren’t trembling.
“Miss,” an older man said to Katherine, stepping closer but stopping more than an arm’s reach away.
Several other men were nearby, clearly interested in the outcome of this interrogation.
“Ye seem as though ye’d be an excellent hostess.
What are yer favorite topics to discuss when ye’re hostin’ company? ”
“I suppose most would give a safe answer, such as the weather or what kind of flowers they’re plannin’ on askin’ the gardener to find,” Katherine said to fill the air, her voice a bit too loud.
Taking a deep breath and adjusting her tone, she said, “But I believe that discussin’ stories is much more interestin’. ”
“Stories?”
“Aye,” she said, ignoring the way his blank look made her feel completely bare before the other strangers. “Everyone has a favorite story, or perhaps someone has read somethin’ with a particularly movin’ message. I believe it’s a much better method of gettin’ to ken someone.”
“Durin’ dinner, though?” the man asked, taking a step back.
His brow was raised, and Katherine felt as if she’d failed some exam that she hadn’t been aware she was taking.
“Discussions of stories can quickly change from polite to heated. I would be more apt to discuss stories in the privacy of me solar.”
“Then I suppose the two of us have different ideas of what successfully hostin’ guests looks like,” she replied.
The man was unimpressed with her reply but didn’t push any further. A few of the men chuckled quietly while one turned away. As the group shifted, another stepped forward.
“It seems ye’re comfortable with speakin’ freely. Am I correct in thinkin’ ye would be capable of managin’ the household while yer husband attends to matters pertainin’ to his land?”
“Aye,” Katherine said, feeling a bit steadier answering this. “I’m quite skilled at identifyin’ what needs to be done and delegatin’ to the proper staff. And I’m nae opposed to takin’ care of somethin’ meself if it’s small.”
That answer seemed to please them, and they finally moved on. Even though she wasn’t able to relax, she let out a short breath. She knew that her father was watching her, likely furious at her first answer.
I want to get away from him, but he cannae expect me to be someone I am nae.
“If ye’d speak about stories durin’ dinner,” another laird said, so close to Katherine that she couldn’t help but wonder when he got there, “wWhat subjects would ye discuss havin’ after dinner beverages?”
“Philosophy,” Katherine said, immediately realizing the mistake she’d made.
As soon as the word landed, heads swiveled to look at her.
The man in front of her sneered, and it dawned on her that he had given her a chance to correct her earlier answer.
He probably thought she was being difficult on purpose.
It wasn’t an unfamiliar problem; she often misjudged her words with her father, so she was used to being chastised, yelled at, and even slapped by him for her insolence.
Another burst of laughter rippled through the gathered men. Everyone’s eyes returned to her, but their gazes were no longer filled with curiosity. Some looked down on her, others showed disgust, and some appeared to be plotting how to knock her off her pedestal in private.
And, worst of all, that intimidatingly large and handsome man stood at the back of the group, watching her with something that wasn’t quite interest.
“I believe we’ve heard enough,” an older, pink-cheeked man said. His tone was unkind, his impatience fueled by early-morning drinking. “I’m ready to begin biddin’.”
The air was pulled from Katherine’s lungs. When she glanced at her father, she saw his anger at her performance. She didn’t think she had earned any favor during the questioning, and clearly neither did he. Dreading what might happen if she didn’t get any bids, she cleared her throat.
“Just one moment,” she said, projecting her voice loud enough that everyone else quieted. “I havenae yet finished sharin’ all me skills.”
“By all means, daenae keep us waitin’,” the man spat.
Not letting his anger shake her, Katherine stepped forward and rolled her shoulders back. Then, after taking a deep breath, she began to sing. As the Gaelic words left her lips and the sound of her singing silenced the courtyard, she allowed herself to get lost in the traditional tune.
Singing always made her feel steadier. Even now, it was no different. It didn’t matter how many eyes were on her or just how uncertain her future was. She could always rely on these lyrics, on this melody.