Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Marsaili walked quickly through the cold corridors, her slippers whispering against the stone as she passed beneath tapestries depicting Grant victories in battles long past, their stitched figures looming in the torchlight.
The guest wing lay far enough from the great hall that the noise thinned with every step, laughter and music fading to a dull, distant echo, and she welcomed the silence with a force that surprised her, her breath only beginning to steady once the shadows deepened and no voices followed.
She had been grateful for the distance on every night of her stay, but never more so than now, moving through the darkened passages with the weight of the evening still clinging to her skin, her pulse slow to settle despite the quiet closing in around her.
Her chambers were at the end of the corridor. A single door, heavy oak bound with iron. She pushed it open and stepped inside, letting the door close behind her with a solid thud that felt like a sanctuary.
"Me lady."
Una, Marsaili's maid since they were both girls, rose from the chair by the fire, setting aside her mending. She was a few years older than Marsaili, practical and steady, with brown hair tucked beneath a simple kerchief. Her presence here was one of the few comforts Marsaili had.
The room was warm at least, the fire in the hearth driving back the autumn chill that seeped through the stone walls. Candles flickered on the small table by the window. Marsaili's nightgown lay across the bed, already warmed by proximity to the flames.
"The feast ended early fer ye, I see," Una said, moving to help Marsaili with the lacings of her gown. Her fingers were quick and practiced, loosening the tight bindings that had had held Marsaili imprisoned in formal clothing since dawn.
"I could bear nay more o’ it," Marsaili admitted quietly. There, with only Una to hear, she could allow some of the careful control to slip. "He grows worse each night."
Una's mouth tightened but she said nothing. What was there to say? They both knew what awaited Marsaili. Both knew there was no escape.
The gown fell away, leaving Marsaili in her linen shift. Una helped her into the nightgown, the fabric soft and worn from many washings. It was one of Marsaili's own, brought from home. She held onto that small thing, that tiny piece of MacBain lands wrapped around her body.
"Will there be anything else, me lady?" Una asked.
"Nay, thank ye. Rest well."
Una curtsied and gathered up the discarded gown. She moved toward the door, then paused and looked back. Her eyes were worried in the firelight.
"It will nae always be so difficult," she said quietly. "Marriage is hard at first fer many women. But ye will adjust. Ye are strong, me lady. Stronger than ye ken."
Marsaili nodded because Una needed to believe it, even though she herself did not.
Una left, closing the door softly behind her. The latch fell into place with a quiet click. Marsaili stood alone in the center of the room and felt the walls pressing in.
She moved to the table and began unpinning her hair.
The dark chestnut curls fell around her shoulders in waves, released from the careful arrangement Una had created that morning.
Marsaili's fingers worked through the pins methodically, setting each one on the table with small sounds like dropped coins.
When the last pin was removed, she shook her head slightly, letting her hair settle past her shoulders to the small of her back.
She caught sight of herself in the polished metal mirror propped on the table. Her reflection was distorted, wavering, but she could see enough. The shadows beneath her hazel eyes. The tightness around her mouth. The weariness that had settled into her bones.
Behind her, the door opened.
Marsaili did not turn immediately. She assumed it was Una returning with the nightly herbs she sometimes brought, the mixture of chamomile and valerian that helped Marsaili sleep. She reached for another hairpin, though all had already been removed.
"Ye may leave them on the table, Una," she said. "Thank ye."
But the footsteps that entered were wrong, too heavy and unsteady. The sound of boots rather than soft slippers.
Marsaili turned. Her breath caught in her throat.
Gavin Grant stood in her doorway. His blond hair was disheveled, his doublet unlaced, showing the linen shirt beneath. His eyes were glassy with drink, unfocused and bright. He swayed slightly as he pushed the door closed behind him. Marsaili heard the latch fall into place with a sound like doom.
"Did ye think tae escape me so easily, lass?" Gavin said, his words slightly slurred. He took a step toward her.
Marsaili moved back, putting the bed between them. "Ye should nae be here. Leave at once."
"But I am here, am I nae?" He laughed, a wet, unpleasant sound. Another step. "And ye are tae be me wife."
"In a fortnight," she said sharply. "Nae tonight."
His smile widened, showing too many teeth. "What difference daes it make? A fortnight, a sennight, a day?"
She turned away from him in disgust, unable to bear the sight of his leering face.
"We are tae be wed," he said, his voice dropping lower as he moved closer. "I see nay harm in claiming what is already mine."
Fear flooded Marsaili's veins like ice water. Her heart slammed against her ribs so hard it hurt. She backed away without thinking, her body moving before her mind could catch up. Her hip struck the table behind her. The metal mirror clattered, the sound sharp in the sudden silence.
She opened her mouth to command him out of her chambers. To scream for help. But her voice had fled. Terror had stolen it, left her mute and frozen.
This cannae be happening.
Gavin took a step toward her. Then another.
Marsaili's voice returned in a rush as she stared at Gavin. "Get out."
The words came out stronger than she expected, cutting through the silence like a blade. Gavin paused, surprise flickering across his face.
"Get out o’ me chambers," Marsaili said again, forcing steel into her voice. "Ye are drunk. Leave now, before ye dae something ye will regret."
Gavin laughed, the sound harsh and ugly. "Regret? What is there tae regret?" He took another step forward. "We are betrothed, lass. What happens between us is nay one's concern but our own."
Marsaili's mind raced. The door was behind him, blocked. The window was too small and too high to provide escape. The only furniture between them was the small table and the bed. She grabbed the metal mirror from the table, holding it like a weapon.
"Stay away from me," she said.
Gavin's eyes narrowed. "Put that down."
"Nay." Marsaili backed around the table, keeping it between them. "Leave me chambers. Now."
"Or what?" Gavin moved to follow her, circling the table slowly. "Ye will strike me with that toy? Go ahead, lass."
Marsaili's grip tightened on the mirror. Her whole body was shaking but she forced herself to stay calm, to think. She had to get past him to the door.
Gavin lunged.
Marsaili swung the mirror at his face. The edge caught his cheek, drawing blood. Gavin roared and stumbled back, one hand flying to his face. Marsaili darted toward the door, her bare feet silent on the stone floor.
Her hand touched the door latch.
She almost made it. Then Gavin's hand closed around her arm and yanked her back. Marsaili cried out and twisted in his grip, trying to wrench free. But he was stronger, bigger, and the whisky had burned away whatever restraint he might have possessed.
"Ye little bitch," Gavin snarled, his other hand reaching for her.
Marsaili brought her knee up hard between his legs. Gavin's eyes went wide and his grip loosened just enough for Marsaili to tear free and run.
She fled through the door and into the corridor, her torn nightgown streaming behind her like a tattered banner. Her breath came in ragged gasps that burned her throat. Behind her, she could hear Gavin's heavy footsteps, his cursing, the sound of him recovering and giving chase.
That part of the castle was empty at that hour. The feast still raged in the great hall on the opposite side, which meant the corridors near the guest wing were deserted. There was no one to hear her if she screamed.
She kept running, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and the man chasing her.
Marsaili's mind raced. Where could she go? The great hall was too far. So were her brother's chambers. There was nowhere close that could be safe.
Gavin's hand caught the back of her nightgown.
Marsaili felt the fabric pull tight, choking her. She twisted violently, heard the sound again of tearing cloth, and wrenched free. But the movement cost her balance. She stumbled, her hand catching the wall to steady herself.
His hands grabbed her shoulders and slammed her back against it. The impact of the stone wall drove the air from Marsaili's lungs. Stars exploded across her vision. She opened her mouth to scream but Gavin's hand clamped over it, cutting off the sound.
"Ye think ye can run from me?" he snarled, his face inches from hers. His breath was hot and sour with whisky. Blood still dripped from the scratches on his cheek where she had struck him with the mirror. "Ye are mine tae dae wi’ as I please."
"Nay!" The word tore from her throat as she tried to crawl forward. "Get off me!"
Gavin dragged her back, his weight pressing down on her. Marsaili kicked and thrashed, her nails clawing at the stone, seeking purchase.
She screamed. It ripped through her chest and throat, raw and unshaped, the sound carrying her fear into the cold stone around her.
"Shut up!" Gavin's hand found her mouth again, but Marsaili twisted her head and screamed again before he could silence her. The sound was raw, primal, everything she had been holding back for ten days finally breaking free.