Chapter Eighteen #2
“And what is it, dear cousin?” Iain asked. “Grandmother and ye coming home to Tuath Tower, Jasper Whitt’s guilt, or wedding Cyrus Mackinnon to journey to Dun Haakon in the morn?”
Laria felt numb with indecision and doubt.
“All of it,” she said. Could she be mistaken about her cousin?
She looked at Cyrus, who wore worry in every inch of his body and face.
Did he fear for her sanity? Or was he concerned that she might say yes to locking him into a marriage when he was supposed to wed advantageously to unite Skye?
“Let’s get some food into ye,” Cyrus said, taking her arm and leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Ye look pale. Should I take ye back to yer bedchamber and bring food up?”
She shook her head. “I need to observe him.” She let her gaze rise to Iain, who had taken Grace’s arm and was talking to Kenan Macdonald about the talents of Tuath Tower’s cook. Cyrus nodded and escorted her to the table.
The meal was tasty and filling, better than anything she’d been able to scrounge for her people over the last two months.
Guilt that she was warm and fed while her people still struggled made her stomach churn too much for her to thoroughly enjoy the food.
She watched Iain gaze on Grace with fondness and attention appropriate for a groom reveling in his new bride.
Laria noticed Kenan watching her several times. Was he trying to assess her credibility? Judge the level of madness plaguing her? Or was Cyrus’s friend weighing her worth? No doubt he found her lacking in that category. He would never place her name on his list of brides to strengthen Scotland.
By the end of the meal, Laria was drained. “I think I’ll retire early. I have much to consider.” She stood from the table, and all three men rose.
“I’ll take ye up,” Cyrus said.
“Nay,” Iain said and gestured to a maid waiting in the alcove. “Penny will see to my tired cousin tonight.” He waggled a finger at Cyrus. “Ye’ll have to find a different bed this eve in case the wedding occurs in the morn. We must have some sense of decorum upheld here.”
Laria was too tired to complain, and she needed time alone to think. “Good eve to you all.” She gave a small curtsey. Even though the maid was at her elbow, Cyrus walked them to the alcove that led to the stairs.
“Are ye unwell?” he asked, concern tightening his gaze and mouth.
She looked up into his eyes. “I would never force you to wed me to save me, Cyrus. I am…ashamed of the predicament Iain has put you in.”
His lips curved slightly into a modest grin.
“If I hated the idea, I would fight against it.” He raised her gloved knuckles to his mouth for a chaste kiss.
“But if Jasper is the culprit behind all this, ye will be safe until I return within a fortnight. I don’t want ye to feel forced to wed, either. ”
“What if he’s not?”
His face tightened, and he frowned. “Then my sister and ye are in danger.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If ye remain at Tuath, ye could see Grace to safety until I return.”
“So you want me to stay?”
“Nay. I…” He exhaled. “Damn this need to leave.”
She knew he tortured himself with the thought that he’d put his sister in jeopardy. It was easier to think this was all some misunderstanding and Jasper was behind any foulness, but she’d grown up with Iain. Ever since Tomas fell from the cliffs, he’d gotten worse and worse.
She exhaled. “I will consider everything tonight, and we’ll talk first thing in the morn.
” He gave her a smile, one that accented how handsome he was.
It made her heart flip as she remembered the pleasure they’d given each other that afternoon.
She could have that pleasure her whole life, and a safe place for her and her grandmother.
It would only cost the lives of her brother and all the imperfect souls remaining under Iain’s tyranny.
…
“I guess I’ll keep the list of brides for Asher, if we ever find him,” Kenan said. Asher MacNicol, the fourth man in their brotherhood, had left Skye with four of his mightiest warriors, and scouts sent out had yet to find them.
Cyrus snorted. “Like Asher would ever take a bride from a list. The man is too independent and stubborn. He may never soften enough to actually care for a woman.”
Kenan’s mouth twisted to the side. “He’d probably scare the blood right out of a virgin anyway, and a dead daughter would cause war instead of stopping it.”
Cyrus rubbed the back of his neck as he paced Kenan’s room. “We don’t need to marry to make an alliance.”
“Laria didn’t answer when ye asked her to wed ye?” Kenan lowered himself onto the pallet on the floor.
“I’ll take the floor,” Cyrus said, waving Kenan toward the bed.
“Not on the night before yer wedding. If there is one.”
Cyrus pulled off his tunic. “Laria will likely decide to wait until I return now that Jasper’s been implicated.
” Iain had finally ordered men to search Jasper’s cottage in the village when he didn’t return, and they’d found Jane’s ring.
The discovery had changed everything, and Iain said he was ready to hang his second-in-command for treason and murder.
Sitting with his legs outstretched on his pallet, Kenan crossed his arms. “She didn’t answer when ye asked?”
Cyrus frowned at the man. “I didn’t really ask.”
Kenan balled up one of his hose and threw it at Cyrus’s head.
Cyrus ducked, and the ball of wool hit the washstand. “What? She said she would consider everything tonight. I didn’t want to badger her for an answer in the alcove.”
“A lass wants to be asked, you great ox! I thought ye were the one of us that knew about wooing lasses.” He shook his head.
Cyrus folded his arms. “When did ye ask Tierney? From what I heard, there were some complications.”
Kenan leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. “Ye should go officially ask Laria, on one knee as a sign of respect, like she’s yer queen.”
Would that help sway her to wed him before the priest in the morn?
Then the anxiety about leaving her would abate.
Even if Iain wasn’t a monster who murdered his own mother, the two cousins did not get along.
But Laria wouldn’t be in danger. Nay. If there was danger at Tuath Tower, he couldn’t leave Grace within its walls, or he’d be a careless failure of a brother.
And he couldn’t delay going to Dun Haakon.
Everything seemed to hang on Laria’s answer. What answer do I want?
Did he want to marry her? His entire body yelled the affirmative, but despite Kenan’s understanding, Cyrus had long accepted that he would wed for an advantageous alliance.
What a hypocrite he was becoming. The Macqueens were now their allies because of Grace’s union with Iain.
There was no need to wed Laria. But I want her.
The thought of Laria wedding someone else, being caressed by some other man’s hands, made Cyrus’s own curl into tight fists. “I should officially ask her.”
“If ye want to marry her, and ye want her to say she will in the morn, then aye.” Kenan nodded and settled on his side, his head propped in his hand. His comments about furthering alliances with other clans on the isles remained unsaid this time.
“But ’tis late,” Cyrus said. “After midnight.” He stared at the door, leaving his belt still hitched to keep his plaid in place.
“If ye’re up thinking things over all night,” Kenan started and then yawned widely, “so is she.”
Kenan was right. He should have asked Laria in a romantic way to wed and leave with him in the morn. Why hadn’t he? I just met her. She could be mad. I don’t want to push her into something she doesn’t want. I really should be thinking about alliances.
But with each step he took toward her door down the hall, those thoughts became either more ridiculous or less relevant than he’d thought a week ago. Cyrus had always sought out the ladies, but none had caught his attention like Laria Macqueen. ’Twas the right decision.
Rap. Rap. “Laria,” he said, his voice low. “’Tis Cy. Can I come in for just a moment?”
Silence.
Maybe she was asleep.
Rap. Rap.
Laria woke easily. She seemed always on alert for potential danger.
“Laria?”
He tried the handle, but it was locked. She could be asleep. She’d seemed so tired after the meal.
Rap. Rap. He pressed his ear to the door, but there was no noise beyond the thick oak panels.
Alarm shot through him, tightening his muscles, but he made himself take a deep breath and release it.
He just needed to see her, to hear her voice.
Daingead. He’d only left her four hours ago, and he was already worried about losing her forever.
She needed to marry him in the morn, or he might never sleep well again.
The rapid thumping of his heart spurred on his thoughts.
She must marry me. The decision made, a sense of urgency pricked him with little stabs of panic.
He felt like a thirsty man finding water but needing to drink it before it seeped away through his fingers, lost forever.
Kenan poked his head out of the door to their room. “She’s not opening up?”
Cyrus shook his head, frowning. “Something feels wrong.”
Kenan didn’t question him, just turned to grab his plaid, wrapping it around his waist as they headed for the stairs. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“To the back exit from her room.”
The Great Hall was dark as they moved through it, the embers of the hearth fire glowing as wind blew down the chimney. The damn tribute pile of tarts and jams had grown since that morn. He saw Kenan grab a dessert on his way past.
Kenan nodded to the guard at the front door as they strode outside, giving him some excuse about needing fresh air.
Cyrus continued to walk, hardly noticing the cold on his bare torso.
He broke into a jog, glad he’d kept his boots on as he heard Kenan curse behind him, moving more slowly over the dirt and pebbles around the tower.
He found the door behind the bushes, and his heart gave a deep thud as he saw it ajar.
Entering, he found a glassed lantern on the floor at the bottom of the steps, along with a folded piece of parchment.
He lifted it, opening it as Kenan continued past him to climb the stairs to the room above.
One glance at the message scrawled across the paper, and Cyrus knew the room would be empty.
The panic in his chest ignited, burning.
Cy,
I cannot marry you. There was nothing between us except lust. I am returning to the forest. I must keep my grandmother safe. Don’t try to find me. Farewell.
Laria