Chapter 3
Alittle more than an hour later, Fiona stood with Mary outside the laird’s solar, wearing one of Mary’s finest dresses, her hair plaited with ribbons Mary also supplied, not at all ready to meet her prospective betrothed.
Her knees weakened and sparse breath left her body as Mary knocked on the door, then pushed it open.
Fiona’s head spun as she entered the room and she inhaled sharply, fighting to stay on her feet as the door closed behind her and Mary.
At the side of the laird’s desk stood the most handsome man Fiona had ever seen.
And the most frightening. If one merely saw him in passing and didn’t know who he was, Erik Ross was pleasing to the eye, tall and well-muscled.
But his dark hair and dark eyes hinted at the darkness of his reputation.
The narrowed and steady gaze he turned on her was the only indication he was aware she’d entered the room.
Was he displeased by what he saw? Perhaps he’d been mistaken, recalling another lass from Inverness and not her at all.
If so, he’d be furious, and if his temper was half so fearsome as she’d heard, and Rose insisted on going through with this, she’d be dead within a year.
It was all she could do not to whimper as Mary gently pushed her forward. She had never seen this man before in her life. What game was he playing?
“Fiona Rose, meet yer betrothed, Erik Ross…” Laird Rose began, gesturing toward his imposing companion with a benign smile on his lips.
“We’ve met,” Erik said, interrupting him. “And ever since, I’ve awaited this day. ’Tis good to see ye again, Fiona Rose. Ye are even more beautiful than I remembered.”
Fiona couldn’t find the voice to answer him.
Her betrothed? Mary had said nothing would be finalized until after they met.
What had changed? He didn’t look like he thought it was good to see her.
His expression remained solemn. So, instead, she dropped her gaze to the floor.
Perhaps if she pretended he wasn’t there, she’d wake up and find this was all a bad dream.
“The contract has been signed,” Laird Rose announced, and waved a hand over the parchment on his desk. The priest awaits on the steps of the wee kirk to hear yer vows. Shall we go?”
Fiona wanted to cry Nay!, but her betrothed stepped forward and rather than grasping her arm and pulling her to the door, he held out a hand to her.
“Shall we, lovely Fiona?”
She lifted her gaze to his. This time he was smiling at her, which took all the fierceness from his face and made him appear younger and more heartbreakingly handsome.
But a wee crease between his brows told her he was unsure of her response.
Yet he only held out his hand, giving her the choice.
It pleased her that he thought her lovely, but not as much as did his willingness to let her decide to take his hand—or not.
What else would he let her decide? And what would he do if she refused him?
His forbearance gave her courage to ask the question that had plagued her since Mary’s visit earlier this day. “Why do ye wish to wed with me?”
His head tipped to the side for a moment and he dropped his hand.
She’d surprised him. Good.
He studied her for a moment, then turned to Laird Rose. “May we have this chamber to ourselves for a few minutes?”
Laird Rose nodded, as did Mary, who gave her an encouraging smile. When her father reached her, Mary took his arm and they left the chamber, closing the door behind them.
Fiona thought for a moment that she should be frightened to be left alone with this man, but he made no move toward her. In fact, he took a step back and gestured her to take a seat in one of the two chairs that flanked the hearth.
In this, she could easily do his bidding. Her knees still threatened to betray her. She sat and waited as he took the opposite chair and breathed out a heavy sigh.
“I remember ye from Inverness, of course,” he began.
“Ye dazzled me then, though we barely met. But ye never left my thoughts. Before his death, I was prepared to disobey my laird and refuse the woman he wanted me to wed, in the hopes that I would find ye. Then everything happened between Ross, Munro, Brodie, and Rose. When the solution Brodie offered gave ye to me, I couldna refuse. Nor did I wish to.”
“I must ask ye again, why? Why me? What did I do to make ye remember me so fondly?”
He smiled and his gaze dropped to the floor as his thoughts turned inward.
“I saw ye at a market stall, haggling with a fabric merchant. Ye kenned him, I think, from previous markets, but that didna stop ye from doing yer best to acquire what ye wanted at a good price. Ye studied the quality of his goods, ye even taught him a wee bit about how the fabric was dyed. He genuinely seemed no’ to ken and grateful ye shared yer knowledge.
Ye never raised yer voice, never falsely flattered him.
Ye negotiated smartly for what ye wanted and went about getting it with grace.
With honor. I recall congratulating ye as ye walked from the stall when ye were done, though I dinna ken if ye heard me.
Ye laughed at something ye saw, and I couldna move. I could only watch ye.”
“I dinna remember ye.” His dismayed expression surprised her.
He had thought she did. That she might be as besotted with him as he with her.
She wanted to laugh at the folly of the man, thinking every lass who encountered him would remember him for the rest of her life.
And long for him, too, no doubt. But she didn’t dare disrespect him so much to his face.
“But perhaps ye were one of many men I saw that day. And like most of them, we had barely a chance meeting, and ye were probably covered in blood.”
“The games, of course.” He grinned. “There might have been some, but none of it mine.”
She waved away his small jest, though she liked the way his face lit up when he smiled.
Or grinned. It told her he had a sense of humor, perhaps a bit of a wicked one.
But this conversation was too important to dwell on that.
“How is the brief encounter ye claim we had enough upon which to base a marriage—and a life together?”
“Many have begun with less.”
“I never thought I would be one of them.”
“Ye are nay. Aye, we are strangers, but no’ entirely. If ye fear Ross, ’tis due to my predecessor, nay to me. I wish for ye to give me the chance to prove that I can be a good husband to ye. If ye will, ye will also bring peace, for as long as it may last, to four clans, and perhaps more.”
“Ye—all these four clans—require much of me. A great deal of trust, at least. If we dinna suit once we are wed, it canna be undone. And the same of ye,” she admitted with a dip of her head.
“Then let us face them together, aye?” He reached an open hand toward her again, but did not rise.
She studied him for a moment. He was sincere and hopeful.
How could she be less, when so much depended on the two of them?
She took his hand and he helped her to her feet.
His grip was strong, his skin warm and rough as befitted a warrior of his reputation, but he held her fingers gently.
Perhaps she had been wrong to fear this man.
But of course, he would be on his best behavior on such a day, in another laird’s keep.
She gathered her courage like a shawl around her shoulders, knotting it over her heart to hold it in place lest it slip off and fall to the floor.
Should she do this? The laird, and even Mary, certainly thought so.
Could she do this? She studied his expression.
He looked calm, pensive, perhaps. Hopeful, though he needn’t waste any energy on hope.
In truth, with an alliance that benefitted four clans, she had no choice.
She could not honorably refuse. He knew that.
Did he know that she knew it as well? Or did he fear she would turn him down, and in honor, he would be forced to accept her refusal despite her own laird’s assurances to him in the signed betrothal agreement.
Or would he dismiss her wishes and take home a reluctant bride.
Even a hostile one. What would that mean to him and to his new and perhaps unsteady control of his clan?
He’d been drawn to something he saw in her.
Something that made her more appealing to him.
He’d called her lovely, but said he was attracted to her for her haggling?
What a curious man! Was that the kind of wife he wanted?
He praised her beauty, but chose also to praise her skill.
That told her he valued more than her appearance.
It shouldn’t please her so greatly, but she couldn’t help the satisfaction it gave her.
But it also gave him a slight advantage over her, given that she hadn’t remembered meeting him.
Despite his infatuation, he didn’t really know her, either.
He didn’t love her. Perhaps he never would.
Could she live with that? He might think her beautiful and biddable, but he would come to know she had many sides, many moods, and many abilities that he’d neither expected, nor counted on.
She would show him who she was, and the kind of bride he’d brought home to his people.
Just as he would show her the kind of husband and laird he would be. Which would take precedence in his dealings with her? The husband? Or the laird? So far, in his dealings with her, she’d seen what she hoped was a little of both.
She’d always enjoyed a challenge, and Erik Ross would be the greatest she’d ever faced.
She gave him the first smile she’d managed since entering the Rose laird’s solar. “’Tis a lovely day for a wedding, aye?”
He brought her hand to his lips. They were firm and warm as he kissed the back of it. His gaze never left hers as he replied, “And to bring peace to four clans, aye. None better.”