Chapter 16
Nora slowed. The guards surrounded her, while MacPherson stared.
She took a moment to look at her intended. He was tall and lean like a man who was used to get everything handed to him, not physically fit and muscled like Callan. His brown hair was neatly combed and tied at the back of his head, his brown eyes were inquisitive.
“Laird MacPherson! I’m Nora Sinclair. I hae been trying tae find ye,” she cried out.
Laird MacPherson approached her. The air seemed to shift, becoming more frigid.
He looked down his nose at her. He pinched her chin and turned her head from side to side.
There was a glazed look in his eyes and she couldn’t quite tell whether he was relieved at finding her or disappointed that she was not someone else.
A desperate part of her wished for him to be different from what Callan had described.
He had lied about everything else, why not about MacPherson?
But then she had seen the truth with her own eyes.
The neglected villages, the struggling people.
This was a man for whom kindness did not come easily.
And now she was standing before him… could he smell her stain?
Did he know that she was no longer a maiden?
If he didn’t and she never told, would that make her any different than Callan?
“Nora, I wondered what happened tae ye. Yer brother dinnae offer any explanation. How did this come tae pass?”
“Bandits, my Laird,” Nora said. He released her chin and her head dropped. “They came out of naewhere and killed the guard. I managed tae escape. I hae been looking for ye ever since,” she said, omitting a lot of what had truly happened.
She angled her head so that she could look over her shoulder in the direction of Callan’s hut.
Should she tell MacPherson where he was?
Callan might finally be able to pay for his crimes then.
However, she was still wrestling with something inside and she could not bring herself to utter Callan’s name.
Not yet.
“Ye are a survivor then. Ye are strong. That is good. I need a strong lass tae bear me many bairns.” As Laird MacPherson said this there was a hungry glint in his eye and his lip curled in such a way that it might have been mistaken for a smile, but it was somewhat more sinister than that.
Nora felt a wave of unease sweep across the surface of her skin. It only intensified when Laird MacPherson held out a hand to one of his guards. A black blindfold, just like the one she had been wearing before, was draped across his palm.
“Let’s get ye somewhere safe, lass. Ye hae been out in the Highlands for too long,” he continued. Nora stared at the blindfold.
“What’s that for?” she asked, leaning back, voice trembling.
“Just a precaution, lass. The fewer people who ken where I am, the better. We’ll gae somewhere safe, somewhere nae bandits will ever find us.”
His voice dropped and Nora did not like the way he sounded at all.
However, she failed to utter a protest as he pulled the blindfold around her eyes, shielding her from the world.
He moved behind her and formed a knot, pulling it tight.
She gasped in pain and noticed that his hands were cold. Nothing like Callan’s.
Nora chastised herself for thinking about Callan like that. He was a thief, a killer. He’d murdered her parents and yet… and yet he had made her feel things.
Things that made her want to vomit.
Laird MacPherson took her wrist, his fingers pressing firmly enough that it hurt. Nora took hesitant steps towards the carriage. She bumped her head as she entered, the Laird failing to warn her.
“There we gae, lass. Ye are all safe and sound now,” Laird MacPherson said, patting her thigh a little higher than would have been comfortable.
The Laird barked an order to the guards and then the carriage was away, shaking and rolling across the uneven roads.
Laird MacPherson said nothing, which was somehow more unsettling than if he had asked her prying questions.
Only the soft wheeze of his breath reminded her that she was not alone.
Nora held her hands in her lap and chewed the inside of her mouth, too frightened to question him about the state of the villages.
What if he got angry and threw her out of the carriage, leaving her to the mercy of the Highlands?
Nora wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the carriage rolled to a stop.
She was careful to lower her head as she exited the carriage this time.
Laird MacPherson placed a hand at the small of her back, the very lowest part of her back.
He was close enough that she could feel his breath against her neck.
He pulled the blindfold away. As he did so, his fingers became tangled with her hair.
Nora gazed at her surroundings. The estate was framed by trees so thick they blocked the sun, framing everything in a verdant glow.
A river flowed nearby, while vines crept up the walls, as though attempting to pull the estate into the ground.
It was a remote place, far from anything she had ever known.
It was all unfamiliar to her, and if she wished to escape, she would have had no idea in which direction to run.
“Here we are, lass, ye are safe here. I will send word tae yer brother that ye hae been found. We shall get married taemorrow. We hae waited too long already,” he said.
This time he took her hand and led her into the residence.
Unlike Callan’s hand, his palms were soft and chilling.
He pulled Nora close to him, walking side by side.
Servants stepped to the side and bowed their heads as they passed.
The quiet estate was home to long shadows.
Nora’s footsteps echoed down the hallway.
The entire place might as well have been empty.
“My Laird, may we speak about what is tae happen after we are married?” she asked in a small voice.
“Of course, lass, but there is time for all that. Rest for a while. The maids will come and fetch ye for dinner, then we can speak more,” the Laird said.
They stopped in front of a door, which stood ajar.
The Laird nudged it open and then led her inside.
The chambers were lavish. There was a wide bed with thin, almost transparent curtains pulled aside.
A dresser stood at the side of the room, home to a large, clean mirror.
A thick tapestry of many colors hung near a wardrobe.
There were no windows. A jug of water stood on the dresser, along with unlit candles, the group of them held together by a thin piece of twine. ….
Laird MacPherson reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, an intimate act that he had not earned. He left without saying another word, closing the door softly. The turning of a key in a lock was audible.
Nora tested it, finding the door impossible to open. She retreated to the end of the bed, sinking upon it and putting her head in her hands. When she looked up she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Dark locks of hair slashed across her face and her puffy eyes were ringed with tears.
Did he know?
Was she safe?
Was Callan telling the truth about Laird MacPherson even though he had been lying about everything else?
Emotions overwhelmed her and she began to weep. Just a short time ago she had been blissfully happy with Callan, preparing to shut themselves away from the world and forge a life together. Now she was here, and what kind of life did Laird MacPherson have planned?
She would soon find out.
When hunger began to gnaw at her stomach there was movement behind the door. Three maids entered, each of them gaunt, pale, and silent. Nora smiled at them and greeted them with polite words, but they did not speak. Only one of them caught her eye, but the glance darted away immediately.
They carried in a dress. Without asking, they began to undress Nora.
Although she had been undressed by maids before, this time felt awkward.
There were signs on her body of the passion she shared with Callan.
Marks left by his fingers, indentations of his teeth.
It went deeper than that of course, but the other marks Callan had made were invisible to others.
If the maids recognized these signs of passion, they did not say anything.
They pulled on the dress. It was not something Nora would have ordinarily worn.
Before she could protest they were already pulling it on.
The shoulders were heavy and she felt as though she was being pressed into the ground.
The waist was tight, digging into her skin.
Then the maids pulled the strings and the dress squeezed Nora.
There was a strain against her ribs and her lungs felt as though they were going to burst. Her eyes popped and she gasped loudly, but there was no mercy to be found with the maids.
They stepped aside. Nora placed her hand on her abdomen. It was challenging to breathe and difficult to walk. The dress offered little in the way of mobility, but the door remained open for her.
Nora followed the maids to the dining hall. Laird MacPherson was sitting on a high chair at a high table, which was laden with food. He smiled as he rose from his chair and came towards her.
“Ye look wonderful,” he said, his eyes settling everywhere but upon her face.
He took her arm again, his other hand resting against the sharp curve of her waist. He took her to the table, but she was puzzled because there was only one chair. The mystery was solved when she saw a blanket draped across the floor beside him. There was a single cushion for comfort.
“This is yer place,” he said, and held out his palm.
Nora tilted her head, confused.
“Sit down,” he added in a biting tone.
Nora didn’t understand, but she did as she was told.
The dress only allowed her to fold her legs one way, and it wasn’t comfortable at all.
Laird MacPherson took a plate and started filling it with food, which he placed before her.
Then, he relaxed in his chair and looked down at her, the corners of his mouth upturned in a faint smile.
“Ye will be a fine addition tae the clan. Ye should ken that the MacPherson Clan is one of bravery and grandeur. Any son I bear must hae these qualities. Yer brother assured me that ye are strong. I hope that he is nae misleading me,” he said.
He watched her carefully, then bent down. She hadn’t taken a bite yet, but that was about to change. He grabbed a piece of meat and shoved it in her mouth. She had no choice but to chew, even though the dress made it difficult to swallow. She coughed but managed to hold the food in her mouth.
“Would ye like some wine?” he asked.
Nora nodded. He held out a cup while Nora held out her hands. However, he had no intention of giving it to her.
“Open yer mouth” he said.
Nora did as she was told, believing that she had no other choice.
He tilted the wine. Only a small part of it landed in her mouth.
The other drops splashed against her cheek and trickled down her chin, leaving her dress darkly stained.
Laird MacPherson offered nothing in the way of apology or anything with which she could clean herself.
Nora bowed her head, thinking that this must have been punishment for her dark deeds. She had abandoned her duty to her people for selfish gain and ended up sharing a bed with a killer. All this time her place was to marry Laird MacPherson and thus ensure the safety of her people.
“My Laird, might we talk about yer villages? I wandered intae a few of them as I searched for ye,” she said.
“Aye?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Aye… it seems that many people are suffering. It dinnae seem right that people who belong tae such a great clan should live in such squalor.”
Laird MacPherson gave a sneering laugh. “People? They are nae people. They are animals,” he spat. “Actually, they are less than animals. Cattle and sheep are more valuable tae me.”
Any hope Nora had that she might be able to improve things for the villagers vanished in an instant. Laird MacPherson’s eyes were cold, and she realized he was every bit as evil as Callan warned, perhaps even worse.
But at least he hadn’t killed her parents. She kept repeating this to herself because there was a large part of her that wanted to be with Callan again. He might have been a killer and a thief, but she had felt safe with him. She had felt…
Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash. Guards stormed into the room. Laird MacPherson grew angry, but before he could chastise the guards a heap of flesh was thrown at his feet.
“A thief came tae ye tae beg for mercy,” the guard said, his words rolling on a wave of laughter.
Nora’s face went pale. The thief’s clothes were torn. Blood dried on his nose and lips, while bruises shadowed his green eyes.
Eyes in which she had lost herself.
Eyes that had made her believe anything might be possible.
Callan turned himself in? No that couldn’t be.