Chapter Fifteen #2
It was the laird who spoke, not loudly but with broiling authority.
I suspected it wasn’t Laird Mackenzie’s style to yell and force his will at his brother’s impulsive behavior, especially in this very public arena.
I had no doubt he knew exactly what Wilkie intended to announce.
He looked on the verge of erupting. The laird, as far as I could tell, was a patient, thoughtful and highly honorable man, and one who carried the weight of his entire clan quite clearly upon his shoulders.
Occasionally, though, I detected a glimpse of a fiery inner turbulence in him, as though under his diplomatic exterior was a strictly tamed wildness—not unlike his younger brother’s—that shone out of his flashing light gray eyes.
The sheer size of him made his anger a terrifying prospect.
He rose from the table, making his request with a forced calmness.
“We’ll discuss your announcement in my private chambers before we share your news with our guests. ”
But Wilkie was too far gone.
“I mean to share it now, brother,” he said, to which several of the partygoers cheered.
“Wilkie!” roared the laird, and it was a forceful enough command to silence Wilkie, for now. “Come with me,” Laird Mackenzie added in a tone that left no room for argument. “We will meet in private to discuss this matter further.” He walked from the room in quiet outrage.
Wilkie grabbed my hand and pulled me along behind him.
Maisie watched us go with wide eyes, and the frightened look on her face indicated she was almost having second thoughts about chaining herself to a man who might in fact be half lunatic.
Wilkie led me down the narrow hallway and into his brother’s private den, the same room where I’d dined with the Mackenzies and the laird’s officers once before.
The fire and a number of candles were already lit, and a pitcher of ale with its matching cups waited at the center of the round table, as though this room was kept at the ready for impromptu meetings, like this one, at all times.
Laird Mackenzie was already seated at the table, and he was pouring three cups of ale. “Sit,” he said.
We sat, and Wilkie’s manner remained one of confidence. This comforted me and allowed me to cling to my last thread of hope.
“This has gone far enough,” said the laird brusquely.
“I quite agree, brother,” Wilkie replied. “I intended to settle the matter once and for all.”
The laird continued, and his voice was blazingly direct.
“I am not a man who hungers for power, Wilkie, nor one who abuses it. I have always taken my brothers’ and my officers’ opinions to heart, and most of all yours.
Today, however, is a day in which I must exercise my right to lead.
Your judgment has clearly been impaired by your...
feelings. But the decision has been made.
You will marry Stella Morrison. It has been somewhat clear to us all that you do not favor Maisie.
Taking that fact into account and also due to recent events regarding his daughters, Laird Morrison has decided that Stella will be the one to secure the new laird, as she likely should have been all along.
She’s second in line, after all, and the eldest sister will leave for the nunnery, I’m told, as soon as the wedding has taken place.
The arrangements have already been made.
Laird Morrison and I have discussed it in detail, just hours ago.
I sought you out to discuss this with you, brother, but you were nowhere to be found.
The decision is final. The wedding will take place on the morrow. ”
Hearing the words delivered in that authoritative, resolute timbre, I felt a numbness envelop me, as a thin gauzy film settled over me, stifling me and closing me down.
“Stella?” Wilkie said, in more of a statement than a question. I couldn’t quite tell if the ruling was disagreeable to him or beguiling, and the uncertainty only amplified my despair.
But then, Wilkie stood, balling his fists.
His movements were lithe and powerful as he paced, his countenance dark and menacing.
To me, he was glorious, even in his hotheaded state.
Maybe even especially in his hotheaded state.
I knew now, intimately, about the sensations his impetuousness could inspire.
I grew secretly damp at the mere thought of it, even now, when I knew he was no longer mine.
In my mind I was losing him, but my body was not yet willing to give up or give in.
“I’ll not marry Stella,” Wilkie growled, and his next phrase was spoken in deliberately emphasized single words. “I will marry Roses.”
He might have acted on his tempest, but the laird spoke his name in a calming and entirely forceful command.
“Wilkie. The Morrison keep—Glenlochie—as you know, is a prosperous one, with rich lands, strong walls, a large and picturesque manor, a growing, industrious clan. You wish to pass all that up? You prefer to remain here, as second-in-command, when you could be laird of your own jurisdiction, to guide and build and foster through your own learned, earned leadership?”
Wilkie’s heavy sigh was laden with layered frustration, the sound of it filling me with a small but insistent sense of dread. “I am willing to forego leadership of Glenlochie, aye,” Wilkie said. “Am I not a useful soldier to you, Knox? A contributing counselor and supportive second-in-command?”
“Of course you are, Wilkie. I cannot imagine a better officer. But that is not the point—”
“Knox,” Wilkie said, cutting off the laird. “I am secure in my contribution to my clan and family here, as your brother, and as your first officer, and I would prefer to remain in this role if it means I can remain true to myself—and to our mother’s last wishes.”
Laird Mackenzie contemplated his brother intensely, remembering, perhaps.
“Wilkie.” The laird paused, running his hand through his hair as though attempting to control his emotions and his temper, which radiated in all directions.
When he continued, his rage was no less pronounced, but his voice was even.
“I am laird of this keep. You are my brother and one of the most respected men I know. But it is your duty to help this family grow and prosper. For all intents and purposes, you will double the size of our lands when you marry the daughter of Laird Morrison, who has chosen you personally to take over his lairdship. She is a pleasing lass, by any man’s standards.
And ’tis a plentiful, easily accessible keep with a strong army.
” His focus, at Wilkie, was unequivocal, his emphasis clear.
“A strong army that will assist us in our quest to defeat Campbell and to avenge the death of our father. Gaining control of the Morrison troops may be the only way we’ll become strong enough to ensure that Campbell and his recruits do not gain control of Ossian Lochs, which is a pivotal military position. ”
It was this last point that hammered home its impact.
Wilkie might be willing to forego his own lairdship, and this in itself was no small matter to overlook.
But he would not be willing to pass up an opportunity to strengthen the collective army that would avenge his father’s death.
I knew the warrior in him—all of him—rose at this opportunity, which he may not have considered fully before this moment.
To lead his own army, aside his brother’s, and challenge the rebellion that had killed their own father: it was the ultimate score.
And one that he could not, and would not, refuse.
“I understand love, brother,” said Laird Mackenzie quietly, and it was the first time I’d detected a crack in the armor of the powerful laird, as he addressed his brother.
His voice had a rigid edge that was flecked with emotion.
“’Tis not always the easiest path. Nor the best one.
You can learn to love, and you will decide how the situation between the three of you will play out.
Whatever is decided in that regard, your marriage to Stella will take place tomorrow at midday.
Laird Morrison wants the deal finalized.
Roses, you may remain here at Kinloch, for now, or we will escort you to Macduff’s if you prefer that option.
Or, if Wilkie chooses to take you with him to his new home, that may be another choice available to you.
I would guess that he will likely want you close to him, although his new wife will likely have some say in the arrangement.
But Wilkie’s fate has already been determined.
’Tis the only reasonable outcome. And it will be the final outcome. ”
It may have been the layered emotion that clung to Laird Mackenzie’s direct and impassioned words that silenced the argument once and for all.
I didn’t know the finer details of the laird’s tragic love story, but Wilkie did.
And that, along with his duty as a brother, a son and a warrior, was enough to quiet his personal rebellion.
Wilkie walked over to sit on a small bench near the open door, and no one spoke for several seconds.
A cold chill settled into my bones, seeping with all the stealth of a deadly poison.
My drifting hope that I would ever be considered as a bride for the coveted Wilkie Mackenzie had been entirely unfounded.
I could see that now. Maisie was right: I wasn’t worthy of him.
I was a servant, a wanderer, a thief. A whore.
A witch. My secret mark hardly mattered now, in light of this new arrangement.
Wilkie said nothing. He did not protest, nor argue, nor did he move at all.
And that was the only sign I needed. I stood. “I would request to return to my chambers, Laird Mackenzie. You will have much to discuss. With your permission, I will take my leave.”
Wilkie did not look at me, locked in his own sifting dilemma, as I stood.