Chapter 8
“T
his,” Kenna said, taking a long, bracing sip, “is fine ale.”
Arran, sitting across the table with his own tankard in his hand, let out a wry little chuckle. He had a nice laugh, even if he didn’t let it out very often. He had a nice smile, too. It wasn’t even one of those crooked, teasing smiles that he sometimes wore, not right now.
Nay, now he just looked… at ease.
It was so very, very nice.
“Ye dinnae get proper Scottish ale down in London, I gather,” he said.
Unlike earlier in their acquaintance, his reference to her life in England no longer sounded like a mockery.
She shook her head.
“Nay,” she said. Then, feeling emboldened, she added, “And I’m sure that Ashbourne wouldnae allow it anyway, even if we did. Ladies,” she told him primly, “dinnae drink ale.”
Arran grunted. “Seems as though there’s a great deal of things that ladies dinnae do,” he said ruefully.
Kenna sighed. “Ye have nae idea.”
The list of prohibitions had been heaped upon her when she’d arrived in England, but she had learned quickly, mostly because Ashbourne’s vengeance when she erred was swift and cruel.
Ladies do not fidget, Makenna.
Ladies do not smile like that, Makenna.
Ladies do not use your vulgar Scottish words, Makenna.
Ladies do not speak unless spoken to, Makenna.
“It’s nice,” she said, running a finger around the edge of her tankard. “To be back in Scotland, I mean. I didnae wish to come, at first.”
“Nay?” Arran’s tone was curious, but not judgmental.
“Nay,” she said, shaking her head. “Mostly because if Ashbourne went, and I stayed ho—back in London, then I would have months to myself.”
She had changed her position on returning to Scotland, but she still thought about those months with distinct wistfulness.
“But,” she went on, “Ashbourne required me to accompany him. He thought it would help him in negotiations.” She shrugged. “Mayhap it will. I cannae say what my father will think of my being here. When I first left to be married, he made it seem as though he didnae think he would ever see me again.”
She’d been shocked by his casual approach to this, though, in hindsight, she felt she shouldn’t have been. He hadn’t had any hesitation to trade her for swords and shields. That showed, more than anything else, how little he valued her.
“But,” she added more brightly, aware that she’d begun to sound rather maudlin, “I do hope he brings my sisters with him. I’m permitted to write to them sometimes, but I would dearly love to see them again.”
Arran’s brow lowered at the word permitted, but perhaps he, like her, didn’t want to let those shadows ruin their pleasant interlude.
“How many sisters do ye have?” he asked.
“Three,” she said, smiling at the memory of them. “There’s Orla, who must be eighteen now, and Elspeth—but we call her Ellie—who is sixteen. And wee Rosalind would be… twelve.”
She hated that she had to do a bit of mental arithmetic to confirm their ages, but it had been nigh on three years since she’d seen any of them. They were all a great deal younger than she was, and in her mind, they were all still practically bairns.
“I’m sure they are just as eager to see ye as ye are,” Arran said kindly.
Kenna shrugged, hoping it hid that she did not feel at all casual about the prospect.
“I dinnae ken. Rosie may not even remember me. She was still verra small when I was shipped off.” She sighed, no longer able to keep her bleaker thoughts at bay.
“I suppose it will be Orla’s turn soon enough.
Or even Ellie’s. I’m sure there is another commodity that my father would be happy to buy with his next daughter. ”
Arran frowned. “I thought ye said Ellie was only sixteen,” he countered.
She shrugged again, this time a helpless sort of gesture.
“My marriage was settled by the time I was sixteen,” she said.
“And my father would have happily shipped me off sooner, if Ashbourne didn’t think it would look improper, to have me come out in Society earlier.
I had a chaperone in London for a few months, but I was still seventeen when I was wed. ”
Christ, she had been so frightened. And she was right to have been afraid.
“I’m sorry,” he said, echoing her words from before. “It is cruel that ye were treated so.”
She tried to make her lips twitch into a smile. “Other women have had it worse,” she said. Ashbourne was controlling and vicious, it was true, but he was also controlled. She’d never worried that he would lose his temper and kill her by accident. If he wanted to harm her, he did it intentionally.
“Fine gowns dinnae make up for cruel treatment,” Arran said sternly, mistaking her meaning.
“Nay,” she allowed. “Ye may call me shallow, if ye wish, but at least I dinnae need to add the likelihood of starving to my list of concerns. And I suppose some good did come of it, if my marriage settlement allowed my father to protect some of the people who used to live under Lennox protection.”
It was hard to give her father any credit at all, but it wasn’t the first time she’d had this thought. Maybe it was delusional of her, but it helped, sometimes, to try to convince herself that at least something had come from her suffering.
Arran looked down at his tankard. “Hm,” he said vaguely.
“They are good people,” she insisted, not certain why it felt so important that he believe her.
“The Lennox Clan, I mean.” She smiled fondly.
“The Laird and his Lady were so kind, too. Whenever they came to do business with my father, Lady Lennox would bring sweets for me and my sisters, once they were old enough. She often had these honey buns, fresh from her kitchens, and they were so lovely.”
Her voice grew fond with reminiscence. Arran looked at her, a little awed. Maybe he hadn’t had enough loveliness in his life, either. She let herself be drawn into memory.
“My mother died when I was young,” she said.
“That’s why my sisters are so much younger.
My father married again. My stepmother isnae terribly warm.
She isnae cruel, just nae affectionate. Lady Lennox would give me a hug, though.
” If Kenna closed her eyes, maybe she could still feel that hug.
“I thought she had to be the most wonderful mother, though I didnae seem to remember her children. They died in the explosion. The whole family.”
She hadn’t meant to take this sudden turn to sadness, but she’d gotten swept away. Subtly, before Arran could see, she dashed away a tear that threatened at the corner of her eye.
“It’s good,” he said gruffly, after a long moment in which Kenna feared that she had utterly humiliated herself. “That ye remember them fondly. It… keeps them alive, in a sense.”
He fell silent again but Kenna, sensing that he had more to say, just waited.
“Callahan isnae like that,” he said. “He lost his wife that night and… I ken he mourns her still. Ye just have to look at the man to ken that. But he doesnae talk of her, either.”
“And he hasnae remarried,” Kenna said, less a question than an expression of awe. Her own father had done as little waiting as was appropriate before marrying again.
“He’s a good man,” Arran said, as though this were an explanation. And mayhap it was.
“The world is too short on those,” she said, a note of bitterness creeping through. “We met briefly with the MacFarlanes on our way to Callahan lands. Their Laird is cruel—and his heir, Brodie, is just as bad. Ye willnae hear a kind word from me about Elara Kerr, either.”
She was a little shocked at her boldness, speaking so, but there was something easy between them, at least for right now. Maybe it was because she was in this tavern, where she could pretend she was just Kenna, not Lady Makenna Ashbourne. Perhaps Arran was pretending, too.
She would take the respite. God knew all too few of them came her way.
And maybe Arran felt the same, because he spoke as bitterly as she had. “Is that nae how it always is, though? The good suffer and the cruel survive.”
Even though she’d felt her own spasm of anger mere moments before, Kenna felt oddly compelled to reassure Arran.
“The MacAllans arenae so bad,” she said. “They’re still serving as healers. That brings kindness with it, I suppose.”
Arran made a sound in the back of his throat—a distinctly Scottish kind of sound of dissent. Kenna felt both thrilled and soothed just hearing it, to hear home.
“And I suppose ye would count your father among those that ‘arenae so bad’.”
There was the tiniest note of mocking in the way he repeated her words, but Kenna felt strangely confident that he wasn’t truly angry with her.
Besides, she would not say any such thing about her father.
She snorted. “Nay,” she said. “My father cares only for duty, and from my earliest years, he made certain that I knew that the only use he’d ever have for me was a dutiful marriage.
” She shot Arran a wry look. “And you willnae be surprised to learn that my husband didnae want me for passionate love, either.”
Indeed, she would adore it if the only thing that Ashbourne did was not love her. Instead, he took every opportunity to let her know how he resented her, how he loathed being forced into a marriage for business reasons with a woman as undesirable as she. As if Kenna had had any say in the matter.
And then, when he was out of words, he would use his fists, too. It wasn’t as constant as the snide comments and outright insults, but it was frequent enough that she was never completely unmarked by bruises.
Without thinking, she touched her wrist. The bruises there were fading, but not enough that she could wear any of her dresses without long sleeves.
She tried to move her hand away as nonchalantly as possible, but Arran’s gaze remained fixed on the sleeve. As if he could see through it. As if he knew.
There were some things that she might have been able to admit. But there were some… She couldn’t bear his pity.
She didn’t dare look at his face as she tucked her hands back into her lap.