Chapter 5
“Y
e are looking particularly dour this morning,” Declan observed over breakfast the next morning.
“Have ye ever considered finding a lass? A man isnae meant to live like a monk… unless he is, ye ken, a monk. I dinnae wake up feeling nearly as sour when I’ve had a bonny sweet thing with me the night before. ”
This little speech was, Arran decided, rather impressive, given that Declan scarcely stopped inhaling his bowl of porridge to give it.
“I’m fine,” he said shortly.
Declan did him the great consideration of pausing, his spoon halfway to his mouth.
“Ye should try that again. A bit more feeling, this time. Might make it more convincing.”
Arran kicked him under the table, which made Declan laugh. It even stole a little smile from Arran, though it vanished as soon as Makenna entered the room and, without making eye contact with anyone, took her seat and began filling her plate from the communal servings at the center of the table.
Arran had slept poorly the night before, consumed with thoughts of what he’d learned about the MacBrae lass. He had turned every interaction they’d ever had over and over in his mind, viewing them differently with the understanding that if she didn’t behave to appease Ashbourne, he would hurt her.
It changed everything. Why she’d had remained quiet whenever her husband had been at his most boorish. Why she corrected herself whenever she let her accent slip. Even the few times she’d said something approving of Ashbourne, it had always been when he was there to hear her.
It painted a dire, wretched picture. And Callahan’s comment that Arran had refused to see it?
Aye, now that the veil had been lifted from his eyes, it seemed painfully obvious.
Ashbourne entered the hall soon, taking the place next to his wife. Makenna’s smile was thin, barely there. When Ashbourne turned to speak with Callahan, ignoring Makenna entirely, she relaxed a little.
Hell, it had been so bloody obvious, right in front of his eyes.
He tried to turn his attention to his food, but his gaze kept wandering back to Makenna.
He didn’t know how to feel about her now, and the absence of his hate felt like a void inside him.
It was clear that she was a pawn in all this…
but he still struggled not to feel jealous that her family, at least, was still alive, even if they had dealt her a very poor hand.
But he had to admit that he and Makenna MacBrae had more in common than he’d ever thought possible.
A messenger came into the hall and delivered a missive to Laird Callahan. The Laird broke the seal, skimmed the contents, and then smiled.
“Ach, good news,” he said, a rare smile on his face. “Laird MacBrae shall ride for us soon. I gather ye will be pleased to see him, eh, Makenna?”
Arran’s eyes had flicked to Makenna the moment that Callahan had said the word MacBrae, which meant that he saw all of her reactions.
The way she stiffened, ever so slightly.
She hid it well, but Arran didn’t miss it.
Neither, it seemed, did Ashbourne. He narrowed his eyes, just a little, and then settled his hand on what he supposed was Makenna’s knee under the table.
To anyone else, it was the gesture of a husband, offering encouragement or comfort.
But she flinched. She tried to hide that, too, but Arran was watching for it.
Ashbourne had done something to her. Pinched her, maybe, or dug his fingers into her flesh. Whatever it was, he had clearly left another one of those horrid bruises. Furiously, Arran wondered just how many of them littered her skin, hidden beneath those fine, expensive clothes.
When he looked back to Callahan, he found the Laird meeting his gaze knowingly. Callahan nodded, the movement infinitesimal.
Arran nodded back, just as minutely.
“Of course I will be delighted to see my father,” Makenna said, her accent as crisply English as Arran had ever heard it.
Her smile was so clearly forced; again, Arran castigated himself for not noticing sooner how thin her performance really was.
“Do you know if my sisters will accompany him, Laird Callahan?”
Callahan paused long enough to glance back down at the letter in his hand.
“I’m afraid that he doesnae say, lass. Why do ye nae send them a letter? We can spare a rider to send your request.”
Kenna’s smile shifted, became more genuine. “Thank you, my Laird, that would be wonderful.”
But Ashbourne scoffed, speaking over her quiet gratitude. “There is no need for that. Idle letters between girls are hardly pressing matters. Don’t waste your resources on her.”
There was a world of scorn in the word. Arran couldn’t suppress the low sound of anger in the back of his throat.
He might have even risen from his seat, if not for the gentle knock of Declan’s foot against his under the table.
When he looked back to his friend, Declan was giving him a quelling look.
Not for the first time, Arran was reminded that Declan’s cheerful exterior didn’t mean that he was foolish or unobservant. His friend saw more than he let on.
Arran offered him a tiny nod, too. Apparently they were all communicating in wee signals this morning.
Callahan raised an airy hand. “Ah, the lass will need something to occupy her while we ride for MacDara. We plan to leave at once. Ye did wish to speak to them about your candidates for the Alliance, did ye nae, Lord Ashbourne?”
It was a neat bit of maneuvering. Ashbourne didn’t even appear to know that he’d been ensnared.
“Ah, right,” he said conspiratorially, as if he and Callahan were scheming together. “Of course. Good to have the womenfolk from getting idle. Gives them ideas, eh?” He chuckled. It was an awful, unkind sound.
Even the maid who was bringing a fresh plate of bannocks from the kitchen looked annoyed at this.
Makenna, though, wore that same expression of genuine pleasure.
How many horrid things must he have said to her, Arran wondered, that she didn’t mind if he was awful just because she was being permitted to write to her sisters?
“Arran!”
Arran was once again pulled from his musings—he’d been doing a great deal of musing these past few hours—by Callahan’s voice.
“Aye, my Laird?” he asked.
“Ye will serve as guard to Lady Ashbourne while her husband and I travel to MacDara. Ye will make certain that no harm befalls her, aye?”
Och, that scheming old fox! Arran understood now why Callahan had come to him yesterday, why he had given Arran the push he needed to truly understand Makenna’s situation.
Callahan probably wanted him to spy on the lass, get any information that could help him in his negotiations with the English lord. But Callahan had been the one to ask Arran not to press a woman already struggling, so he was destined to be disappointed by how well Arran followed that advice.
“Of course, your lairdship,” Arran said.
Makenna was quiet through the rest of breakfast, but there was a humming satisfaction about her that Arran couldn’t ignore. All this, just from being allowed to write a letter. It made him want to punch Ashbourne until his smarmy, ruddy face was twice as bruised as Makenna’s back.
He forced down the rest of his breakfast bite by flavorless bite, though he could not fault the kitchen staff for his lack of enjoyment in the meal. That was all down to his own preoccupation.
Callahan and Ashbourne left before Makenna finished her meal. The English lord bent to whisper something to his wife before he departed, and again, Arran was struck by how what seemed, at first glance, like a loving reassurance was actually another sign of the man’s malice.
When the group destined for MacDara lands was finally gone, Makenna lit up like the sun. Arran almost felt as though he were looking at a different woman.
She finished her meal and stood to leave. Arran abandoned his own place to follow her.
They’d only made it a few steps out of the Great Hall when she paused and frowned, turning back to him.
“Ye dinnae need to follow me,” she said. She was speaking like a true Scotswoman now, he noticed. “I’m hardly likely to get in trouble walking back to my own rooms.”
He made a sharp noise of dissent in the back of his throat.
“Perhaps not,” he agreed. “But I willnae shirk a duty assigned to me by my laird.”
Her frown grew more pronounced, maybe even a little wounded.
“I apologize, then,” she said, the words acidic and not at all apologetic. “For ye have made yourself perfectly clear. I ken that safeguarding me is a duty that ye will find onerous, indeed.”
It was almost as though using her true accent freed Makenna MacBrae to say her true thoughts, too. Though Arran now understood that both aspects were related to Ashbourne’s departure from the castle.
He ran a frustrated hand over his face.
“I apologize for my words,” he said. The words came out a bit too tensely for his proclamation to sound genuine, either. He fought to soften his tone. “I was wrong. I shouldnae have judged ye so harshly.”
She gave him a long, skeptical look, narrowing her green eyes.
“Are ye ill?” she demanded eventually.
Arran blinked, startled. “What? Nay, of course not.”
A smirk played around her lips. “Are ye certain? Because I cannae imagine another reason why ye would make such an admission, unless… Has saying the words struck ye ill?”
Oh, well he was pleased that she was enjoying herself, at least.
“Och, ye are the wee harridan, are ye nae?” he commented, though there was no real heat to it. Nay, he was smiling a little. He couldn’t resist it.
She spotted it, and her own crooked smile grew a little bigger. It was very unlike the smile he saw her wear more frequently—less guarded, far more genuine.
Far lovelier, too.
He pushed aside those thoughts, then stuck out his hand for her to shake.
“I allowed prejudice to guide me,” he allowed. “I truly am sorry. If ye will allow it, I would like for us to begin anew. A blank slate, aye?”
She paused again. He supposed that thoughtfulness likely made a big difference when living with an intolerable bully.
He was more pleased than he ought to have been when she clasped her hand in his.
“Aye,” she agreed. “Thank ye, Arran.”
He liked hearing his name on her lips more than he ought, too.
“Ye are verra welcome, Lady Makenna,” he said.
Another hesitation, this one containing just a little bit of shyness to it.
“Kenna,” she said. “Ye can call me Kenna.”
“Kenna,” he agreed.
And, hell. That felt good, too.