Chapter 3 #2
“Well, ye are about to be mistress to the biggest clan on this side of the mountain, so ye will have to learn. Since I am not to be married for three months, it will be my pleasure to teach ye. And I promise not to be overbearing.” She walked around and studied the dress.
“’Tis a good fit. Ye will make a beautiful bride. ”
Blushing, Sloane caught her reflection in the looking glass. The dress was a good fit. She barely recognized the woman who was used to dressing in rags. “Thank ye,” she whispered. “I got the feeling last night that ye didna care much for me.”
“I should apologize for that,” the other woman said carefully. “This is a difficult time for us, but I willna hold any resentments against ye. We are to be family and for the next three months, we will be side-by-side.”
Sloane felt some kinship to the other woman who was marrying for peace. “I will appreciate that.”
Freya grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Come. We will work on yer hair. When ye meet Lachlan outside the church, he willna know what hit him.”
A couple of hours later, Sloane’s hair was braided and coiled elegantly at the base of her neck.
Upon learning that Sloane was a reader, Freya had fetched her favorite book, one that Sloane had read many times, and the women were in a spirited debate over whether the real villain was the monster or the hunter.
Freya argued that the hunter was protecting a village, but Sloane pointed out that the monster would never have stalked the villager had the hunter not chased it from its own sanctuary.
It was not the first time she’d had the argument.
The servants at her own keep could not read, so Sloane had read to them at night.
Their lack of literacy did not dull their wit and they often debated book passages with Sloane, although this was the first time she’d been in a debate with someone as passionate as Freya.
It did, momentarily, distract her from her fear of marriage.
The knock at the door brought her firmly back to the present.
When Sloane didn’t immediately go for the door, Freya opened it. Errol Fenton stood on the other side and he looked over the women coolly. “May I have a moment alone with my daughter?”
“Of course, Laird Fenton.” Freya gave Errol a tight smile. “I need to check on the food preparation in any case. Sloane, my mother and I will escort ye to the church.”
Without looking at Errol again, Freya hurried away. Sloane’s father stepped inside and closed the door. “Where did ye get the dress?” he asked without much interest. It was a familiar tone. Sloane learned early on that there was little she could do to interest her father.
As a child, she used to seek him out until she’d been punished for her inquisitive nature.
Now, the only time she saw her father was when they passed each other in the hall or when he sought her out to learn of something about the servants.
He offered no warmth or love. When he’d sought her out to tell her to pack for a trip, she’d been too surprised to question his motives.
Now, she wondered if he would act the part of a loving father about to give away his only child.
Nervously, Sloane picked at her skirts. “It belonged to Freya. She altered it last night to fit me. I am grateful. I had not packed with a wedding in mind.”
“Hmm, I should have thought of that.”
“Ye anticipated my marriage to Laird MacFarlane?”
Without answering, Errol walked to the window and gazed out. “Look at them. All gathering at the church, all eager to see the MacFarlane Laird married. Ye would think that it was the king himself marrying.”
Confused by her father’s flat tone, she joined him at the window and gazed up at his angry face. “Father, do ye dislike Laird MacFarlane?”
“MacFarlane? He is fine enough. Young and still green in his lairdship. His father was a good man, although he was not strict enough with his daughter. Nay, MacFarlane will make ye a fine husband.” Turning his head, he stared down at Sloane. “Ye look like yer mother jest now.”
Her father never spoke of her mother, so Sloane kept quiet and hoped that her father would continue, but he just turned his head out the window.
“Father, I doona mean to speak out of turn, but I am not prepared to be a wife or a mistress. I doona know how to act or what to do. If I might have a three-month period like Freya…”
“Nay. It needs to be now. I need to have an excuse to return.” His eyes hardened and he smiled almost cruelly. “Visiting my beloved daughter gives me that excuse.”
They were the words that she longed to hear, but his tone gave her chills. “Ye want to return to check on my happiness?”
“I want to return to check on my alliance.” His gaze swept over her dispassionately as he stepped away from the window.
“Brisbane will likely be sniffing around to keep an eye on his future bride. I must make sure that he does not sway MacFarlane’s opinion against me.
Not that it matters. MacFarlane will be linked to me.
He is, reportedly, the kind of man who might want to make his wife happy. That wife happens to be my daughter.”
Sadness swept through her. It didn’t surprise her to know that her father was using her to strengthen an alliance, but she wished that her father cared a little for her happiness.
Swallowing hard, she turned away. “I see.”
“Sloane.” Reaching out, her father unexpectedly took her hand and squeezed it.
“I have not given ye the attention that I should have. Yer mother’s death devastated me and I found myself saddled with the responsibility of raising a daughter.
I had no idea what I was doing and I feel that ye paid the price for it.
I would not have married ye to a man I thought would harm ye and I will be returning to check on ye and visit with ye.
Perhaps, now that ye are a woman, we can forge a new relationship, one that I will not bungle. ”
The idea that she might finally have her father’s attention warmed her body, and she nodded. “Aye. I would like that very much, Father.”
“Good. I will take my leave. No doubt ye women still have some fussing to do. I will see ye in front of the church and we will speak again at dinner. I will take my leave tomorrow after we break our fast. I hope that ye will see me off, but I know the night might be trying for ye, so I will understand if ye cannae rise so early.”
It wasn’t until he left that she realized what he was saying.
The night might be trying.
Dear God, he was talking about her wedding night.
Feeling ill, she sat heavily on the bed. Not for the first time in her life, Sloane felt well and truly alone.