Chapter Twelve
Alan more than half expected tears at Lord MacRowan’s leave-taking, an hysterical stream of them, mayhap. But Annista met her father’s departure that morning with a calm and almost stony demeanor, never betraying by so much as a flicker what she felt.
A strong woman, and no mistake. One around whom he would need to step carefully.
After Lord Robert’s party rode away—an event Annista did not linger outside to observe—Mother tried once more to persuade the lass to keep her company.
With scant courtesy, she again refused.
Mother persisted, there in the entryway where the three of them had retreated while Father remained outside, a thing Alan found uncommonly strange.
Had Mother sought Robena’s company in this manner?
He tried to recall. In truth, he’d paid as little attention as possible to his brother’s wife, a thing of which he was not proud.
She’d been such a pretty, gentle, little thing.
At Evan’s hands.
He’d known all too well what that meant. In the days of their youth, before he’d grown sufficiently to defend himself, he’d been subject to his brother’s cruelties, sometimes subtle, sometimes overt. And violent.
Evan had always been bigger and stronger—he was still, but now he knew Alan could and would fight back.
Alan felt shame that he’d known, while Robena had not.
Yet—the girl was Evan’s wife. Surely even he would not mistreat her to the point of—
He wondered again how Robena had died. She’d been found by a servant, lying at the foot of the stairs, on the flagstones.
She’d had bruises, aye, and wounds to her head.
But she’d been ill for days before that—for weeks, really—and it was speculated she’d got up in the night. Been dizzy. Tumbled down.
Alan looked at Annista, who so patently wanted to get away from Mother. Robena’s sister, aye, but so little like her.
Little enough gentleness could be glimpsed beneath her surface demeanor.
Indeed, her eyes flashed with impatience, though she made an effort to sound courteous. “I am hopeless with a needle, I fear, Mistress MacKallan. And ’twould be torture for me to sit at needlework.”
“Ye need not, then. Merely keep me company so we may talk and grow better acquainted.”
Annista hesitated. Alan, standing by, could almost hear the thoughts moving in her head.
He found himself speaking. “Perhaps ye would enjoy a walk, instead.”
She turned those bright eyes on him as if taking in his presence for the first time. Not flattering, knowing he spent most the time beyond the woman’s notice.
But then, why should he care? Because she was his wife? She wasn’t, though, not in anything but name. She’d made it clear she wanted to keep it that way.
He bowed slightly. “I might show ye the grounds.”
“Aye, so.” Somewhat to his surprise again, she accepted.
Mother’s tense face relaxed into a smile. What did she fear? That Annista, left to her own devices, might fall foul of Evan?
“That’s well, then. Better for the two o’ ye to grow acquainted. But Annista, best fetch your warm cloak.”
“Aye,” Alan agreed. She’d worn only a shawl to step out and bid farewell to her father. It was cold, if clear, outside.
She went up the stairs and to her chamber where, presumably, her maid kitted her out.
Mother gave Alan a long look. “Ye’ll look after her?”
“Just wha’ do ye expect to happen, Mother?”
She gave a shiver and her glance darted to the flagstones where Robena had once lain. “She is no’ familiar wi’ the estate. She could get lost.”
Alan nodded. They both knew it was not chances of the lass getting lost that Mother feared.
****
“I ha’ already shown ye the kitchen gardens and the courtyard. But there is more to see.”
“Such as?”
Annista displayed little enthusiasm. She did not think much of this place Alan loved so deeply.
“There is the orchard which makes a pleasant place to sit when the weather is fine. Several walking paths, one of which follows along by the rill and another through our woodland. The bluebells will soon be in bloom. ’Tis an enchanting sight. ”
She gave him an incredulous glance. Did she realize, this woman who fancied herself so aloof and clever, that her every thought showed in her eyes? The disbelief. The irony. The antagonism.
She strode beside him, measuring her steps to his, but careful not to touch him even by accident.
She was obeying the rule not to touch.
Not but he would nay mind.
Now, from whence had that thought come? They had touched by requirement, aye. It meant nothing to him.
“Charming?” she repeated waspishly.
“Ye will see.” He nodded, telling himself not to feel offended. She’d been abandoned here among strangers. The place where her sister had died.
Well, and so had Robena been abandoned here. Had he lifted a finger to cheer her?
Nay, but Robena had not been his wife.
This woman was.
Not but they’d been constrained, forced to wed one another. Such often happened among their class. Few had the privilege of choosing for love.
Love. Did he still believe in it? No.
Yet he felt an undeniable sense of responsibility toward this woman, if only because she was his wife.
The orchard, even though not yet leafed out, did appear bonny on such a day. Sunlight slanted soft through the branches and the new grass showed virulent green.
Did a measure of the tension leave Annista’s shoulders?
It was quiet here but for the birds that twittered among the trees. Was she a woman who sought quiet?
“’Tis a pleasant place,” she allowed. “Did my sister come here?”
“Not that I know, mistress. Robena kept much to the house. To her chamber.”
Annista glanced back toward the house, the rear of which could still be glimpsed from here, past the stable block. She bared her teeth in an unfriendly smile but said nothing.
“D’ye like poetry?” he asked.
That made her stare at him full on. “Do I look like a woman who fancies poetry?”
“Yer sister did.” He thought back to one of the few times he’d actually encountered Robena, wanting to give her sister a clear memory. “She used to search out volumes in the library.”
Annista’s gaze softened. “Aye, that sounds like Robena. We were as different as—” her voice broke off—“as chalk and cheese. But we were bound at the heart.”
“I am sorry,” Alan told her, and meant it. “I never had that kind o’ relationship wi’ Evan.”
Annista snorted. “I should think no’.” She gazed away through the morning sunlight. “Robena was everything that I was no’, growing up. Sweet and dutiful and a joy to those around her. So pretty—”
Ye are pretty, Alan surprised himself by thinking, though it wasn’t strictly true. Standing there with the sun lighting her chestnut hair to red and her hazel eyes bright with memories, she was something far more than pretty.
Beautiful. Proud and fiery and—
He heard himself say softly, “And I imagine ye were everything she was no’. Strong and courageous, able to stand up for yoursel’.”
She stared at him again, this time in astonishment. Her lips trembled a bit before she said, “We filled in each other’s missing pieces, Robena and me.”
Alan nodded, pretending he could understand. Well, he could, in part. He and Evan were also opposites in many ways.
But not bonded, nay.
“When she was sent here to wed, awa’ from me, I thought my heart broke. I was wrong. It broke only after, when I learned what had happened to her.”
“Let us walk.” He could not stand here and look at her, behold the pain on her face.
Still not touching, they walked through the orchard to the meadow beyond. At harvest time, Alan worked here right alongside the others who belonged to the estate. No differences between them while sweating beneath the sun.
He enjoyed those days. Getting close to the soil, using his body for something basic and meaningful. Maybe even earning the respect of those beside whom he labored.
When they were young, he and Evan both worked the harvest. Then Evan grew old enough to rebel, and after a few battles, Father let him get away with it.
After that, Evan had sneered at Alan for playing the obedient serf.
Alan never had the courage to admit how much he liked those days and would hate to lose them. Mayhap he’d never had much courage at all.
Time he was honest with himself.
He could feel Annista looking at him, making him the focus of her attention for once.
“Wha’ is it?” she asked.
They stopped walking in the middle of the field. He looked at her.
“Just thinking o’ my brother. How things used to be between us. I want ye to understand—”
He broke off. For once she did not burst in with heated words, but waited for what he might say.
“I ha’ lost count o’ the numbers o’ times he thrashed me, when we were lads. Brutalized me. Left me broken and bloody.”
She blinked at him. This was not what she had expected.
“Wha’ I am saying,” Alan stumbled on, “is that I more than anyone else should ha’ known what he was capable o’ doing to your sister. Och, no’ that he lifted his hand to her. I saw nay real signs o’ that. None o’ us ever saw a mark upon her until—”
Annista stared coldly. “The cruelty.”
“Aye so. I should ha’ remembered how cruel he could be to anyone weaker than him.”
He drew a breath. “I wish to apologize. I do no’ expect ye to be able to forgive me. But I regret it, fro’ the bottom o’ my heart.”