Chapter 3 #2
Behind her, she heard Magnus and Brian begin speaking in low voices, their words indistinct but the tension between them clear.
"Dinnae mind him, me lady," Isla said as they climbed a spiral staircase. "The laird's had some hard years. He's nae usually so..."
"Cold?" Ada supplied, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I was goin' tae say careful." Isla glanced back at her, sympathy clear in her expression. "But aye, cold works too."
They reached a landing, then another corridor. This one was quieter, away from the main keep.
The blue chamber turned out to be larger than had Ada expected—a proper lady's room with a curtained bed, a wooden chest for clothes, and a narrow window that looked out over the churning sea.
"I'll have water brought up fer washin'," Isla said, moving to light candles from the taper she carried. "And food too. Ye must be starvin' after that crossin'."
Ada's stomach chose that moment to remind her she hadn't eaten since dawn. "Thank ye."
Isla paused at the door, her hand on the latch. "If ye need anythin', just call fer me. I help run the household. I'll see ye're taken care of."
"I appreciate that."
The door closed softly, leaving Ada alone.
She moved to the window, pressed her forehead against the cold stone, and stared out at the gray sea. Her reflection stared back from the glass. Pale, exhausted, with blond hair escaping from her braid in tangled strands.
That was her life now. That cold stone room. That man who couldn't even look at her. That marriage that felt less like an alliance and more like a trap closing around her throat.
She thought about her father—Conall MacTavish, who'd offered her to the king's Pact without asking, without caring what she wanted.
She'd spent her whole life trying to be useful to him, trying to earn even a scrap of his attention or approval. And in the end, he'd used her anyway. Sold her like livestock to secure his position at court.
The five Viking lairds needed Highland brides. Most fathers had refused to offer their daughters, too afraid of the rumors, the violence, the savage Norsemen who ruled the western isles with blood and steel.
But not Conall MacTavish. He'd volunteered Ada eagerly, seeing opportunity where others saw danger. A chance to prove his loyalty to the Crown. A chance to gain favor with the king.
What happened to Ada after didn't matter to him. It never had.
A knock at the door made her turn. She expected Isla with water, or perhaps a servant with food.
Instead, when she called out to enter, the man who stepped through was her father's guard, Donnan—she'd felt his eyes on her throughout the journey, hovering at the edges of her vision like a vulture waiting for carrion.
Her father never did anything without purpose, and sending Donnan to 'protect' her was no act of kindness. Whatever Conall had planned, Donnan was part of it. And standing there, alone with him in her chamber, Ada felt the trap close another degree tighter.
"Lady Ada." He inclined his head respectfully, but his eyes traveled over her in a way that felt anything but respectful. "I wanted tae make certain ye were taken care of. The laird seemed... displeased."
"I'm fine." Ada moved away from the window, putting the bed between them. "Ye can report tae me faither that I'm settled."
"I will." But he didn't leave. Instead, he stepped further into the room, his gaze sweeping over the chamber as though taking inventory. "Though I must say, me lady, yer faither willnae be pleased tae hear how ye were received. He expected better treatment fer his daughter."
Ada's hands clenched at her sides. "Me faither's expectations are nae me concern."
"Perhaps they should be." Donnan's smile widened slightly. "After all, ye're here because of him. Because he agreed tae the Pact. If the laird refuses tae honor the marriage, it reflects poorly on yer faither."
"Then ye should hope the laird honors it."
"Oh, I dae." Something in Donnan's tone made Ada's pulse quicken with unease. "I hope it very much. But if he daesnae..." He shrugged, his gaze lingering on her face. "Well. There are other ways tae ensure the alliance holds."
Ada stared at him, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. Her father had sent Donnan with her specifically, insisted he remain on Barra to "ensure her safety." But standing there now, watching the way his eyes tracked her movements, Ada felt anything but safe.
Other ways tae ensure the alliance holds.
What did that mean? Forcing Magnus's hand somehow? Using her as bait? Or worse—something she didn't want to consider but couldn't ignore. The way Donnan looked at her had always felt hungry. Possessive. Like he believed he had some claim to her that no one else recognized.
Before she could respond, another knock sounded at the door.
"Me lady?" Isla's voice, cheerful and oblivious. "I've brought water and bread."
Donnan's expression shifted back to polite concern so quickly that Ada almost doubted what she'd seen. "I'll leave ye tae rest, me lady. But if ye need anythin', anythin' at all, ye ken where tae find me."
He slipped past Isla in the doorway, nodding politely to her as he left.
Isla entered with a basin and a cloth, a small loaf of bread balanced on top. She set everything on the chest, then turned to Ada with a frown.
"Was that one of yer faither's men?"
"Aye." Ada's voice sounded distant even to her own ears.
"He shouldnae be in yer chambers alone." Isla's frown deepened. "It's nae proper. I'll make sure he kens tae wait fer escort next time."
Ada nodded, though she doubted Donnan would listen. Men like him never did.
After Isla left, Ada forced herself to eat a few bites of bread, for her hunger had vanished after the man’s visit, and to wash her face in the cold water. Then she lay down on the bed, still fully clothed, and stared up at the ceiling.
Somewhere below, Magnus Haraldson was likely still with Brian, discussing the decree. Her. Whether the marriage was worth the price of refusal.
And somewhere in the keep, Donnan was watching. Waiting.
For what, Ada couldn't say.
But the unease that had settled in her stomach during his visit refused to leave.
She closed her eyes and tried to rest, but all she could see was Magnus's face on the dock; the shock when he'd recognized her, followed immediately by cold rejection. She had been as shocked as him when she had recognized him.
He knew who she was. Knew what she'd done at the festival.
And he clearly hadn't forgiven her for it.
But what had she expected? That the man she'd used as a shield would welcome her with open arms? That he'd forgotten how she'd kissed him without permission, used his protection without explanation, and vanished like a coward?
She'd had no choice then. She had no choice now.
And somehow, that made everything worse. At least when she'd run from her father, she'd been fighting for her freedom. Now she was trapped in a marriage to a man who despised her, in a keep surrounded by the sea, with her father's spy watching her every move.
That wasn't freedom. It was just a different cage.