Chapter 14
Kenna was stunned the following morning when she was summoned to a meeting of the Alliance, now with nearly all its members complete; only the Kerrs were absent, and Kenna vaguely wondered what had kept them from this meeting or what they had done to be left out.
Her husband showed up at her door looking positively furious at her presence.
“Try not to embarrass me for once,” he hissed as he half-dragged her down the hallway, his grip tight enough on her upper arm that he was going to leave bruises.
Again. Usually, when they were in public, he tried to be more stealthy about his cruelty.
“Just sit there and keep your blasted mouth shut.”
In the back of her mind, she wondered who had requested her presence, if not Ashbourne. She’d assumed that he wanted to do the same thing he’d done the night prior: show her off, use her as a thin excuse for why he ought to have a say in Scottish business.
When they reached the room, however, she saw her father narrow his eyes and give her the barest hint of an approving nod. So it had been him, apparently.
That did not sit at all well with Kenna.
What was he up to? Her father hadn’t invited her merely for the pleasure of her presence, after all. That would require him to, well, enjoy her presence.
If the other lairds were startled to see her there, they gave no sign. Perhaps they, too, assumed she was there to play Ashbourne’s pet Scot.
Kenna indulged herself in a lengthy daydream about dancing in the courtyard with Arran as MacDara and MacAllan discussed trading grazing rights for sheep for a share of profits of the wool that those sheep produced around and around, despite both men fundamentally agreeing that they desired the trade.
Callahan reported on new land management strategies that had led to significant improvements in crop yields.
It was more the shift of energy in the room than any particular note in the conversation that drew her attention again. Nobody had moved, exactly, but she could have sworn that Callahan’s posture was just that much more rigid. That MacDara pressed his lips together just a little more tightly.
She chanced a glance at Ashbourne. He looked ravenous, eager.
“It’s simply impractical,” her father was saying in that way of his when he was trying to act casual. “Territory should be used to its fullest. It is nae as though we have endless farmland that we can be snubbing our noses at fertile ground.”
Ashbourne was nodding furiously as though this was the cleverest thing he had ever heard.
And, Kenna supposed, it was rather hard to argue with…
at least on the surface. The Highlands were expansive, aye, but there was plenty of land that was rocky or forested and therefore no good for planting.
Nobody would turn up their noses at fertile land.
But the other lairds looked uncomfortable, however.
“And what do ye propose, then, Laird MacBrae?” MacAllan asked, his expression carefully neutral.
Kenna’s father shrugged as though it was of no import. “Redistribution, of course.”
Captain MacFarlane was the most obvious about his displeasure. He scoffed aloud.
“Redistribution of the scant ye have left untouched, ye mean?” he asked, voice full of bitter sarcasm.
Suddenly, Kenna understood. They were talking about Lennox lands.
It was no secret that her father had functionally taken over much of the territory that had previously been controlled by the Lennox Clan.
He’d done so under the guise of protection, claiming that, without any laird to guard them, the people in the villages would be unprotected when danger arrived at their doorsteps.
Nobody believed his claims of altruism, of course. But he had provided protection with steel bought through Kenna’s marriage. And if he’d taken taxes in return, well. It had been no more than what a true laird would have taken. It was, everyone agreed, more or less fair. An even exchange.
But this was more than trading pennies for blades. This was formally claiming Lennox lands as part of MacBrae. Forever.
“Of course,” Laird MacBrae said smoothly, as if he were discussing the dinner menu and not the fate of an entire people.
“It wouldnae be right to ask them to change their whole lives for a second time in a single decade. Besides, they have come to know that I am a trustworthy ally. Have I not stood on their behalf all these years?”
MacDara looked halfway convinced. MacFarlane looked furious, even though he would not be gaining any of the lands himself.
But it was Kenna who spoke.
“But ye cannae do that,” she said, forgetting to control her accent, forgetting that she was here to be seen and not heard, forgetting herself entirely.
Ashbourne’s head whipped around to glare at her, and she knew that she would pay for this later. But she might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, so she kept on, even though every instinct she’d honed over the past three years of her marriage screamed at her to stop.
“Those lands are Lennox lands. They dinnae belong to ye. They arenae yours to barter.”
Her father’s eyes were murderous, and Kenna knew now that she was meant to have agreed with him, to smile and nod and perform her daughterly duty. Well, to hell with that—to hell with him! He hadn’t performed an ounce of fatherly duty when he’d married her off to a brute.
That brute in question grabbed her arm, once again not bothering to hide the ferocity of his grip. He yanked her from her chair—Blake MacFarlane half stood, as if he intended to intervene, but she was grateful when he lowered himself to sit once more. That would only make it worse.
Ashbourne dragged her into the hall. His face was so red with fury that it was almost purple, and Kenna could only hope that he would give himself an apoplexy and drop dead right at her feet. She’d never been that lucky, however.
In the corridor, he shoved her hard enough that she stumbled into the far wall, her back ramming painfully against the stone.
She scarcely had time to take a single breath’s recovery before he was standing before her, his expression a mask of fury.
Spittle flecked at the corner of his lips like he was truly a dog gone mad as he seethed.
“How dare you?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
“What made you think that you have the right to interfere in the business of men, let alone in that savage accent of yours? Did you think to humiliate me? Well, let me assure you, wife, any discomfort I suffer will be showered back upon you sevenfold. Your opinion is not wanted, Makenna. I did not marry you for what little brains you have. I married you for what you carry between your legs, and you cannot seem to use that properly, either. You are completely useless to me—and that’s before you even open your stupid mouth. ”
There wasn’t much of this that Kenna hadn’t heard before. But, for some reason, today, it made something inside her break.
Instead of being clever and bowing her head in submission, she stood tall. He was not a tall man—just a cruel, vicious one.
“How dare I?” she asked, laughing bitterly. “How dare ye, Edmund?” She watched with satisfaction as her use of his given name landed like a slap. “Ye came here to, what? Help my father steal from a murdered man? Ye are nothing but a grave robber.”
She hit the floor before the pain registered in her face.
He’d struck her, she realized as her head reeled. Hard. Across the face, with the back of his hand.
She didn’t think he’d ever hit her in the face before. Not when it was a place that people could see.
The worst part of it all was that he didn’t even respond. He just looked down at her like she was no more than a piece of dung that he’d scraped off his shoe, then turned on his heel and strode back into the room to discuss business with the rest of the men.
For the span of a few breaths, Kenna sat there, brimming with impotent fury. She’d stood up to Ashbourne at last and—
And nothing. He’d acted much as he always had. Perhaps a little worse, though for all the dramatics of hitting her as he had, it did not hurt more than some of the worst injuries he’d dealt her. Her rebellion meant less than nothing to him because he held all the power over her.
She pressed cool fingers to her cheek, which was starting to throb. She knew from experience that it would probably bruise only a little. More was the pity. She would have let every person in this Keep stare directly at the proof of Ashbourne’s villainy.
With a slow exhale, she dropped her hand and blinked back the tears that wanted to spill over. She needed to find Arran.
No. She wanted to find Arran.
And she would have something she wanted, just this once.
She found him out in the training yard, clearly finished with drills for the day.
He was laughing with some of the other guardsmen as they tended to weapons.
He looked beautiful, smiling in the morning sun.
His hair looked a lighter blond in the light, the gold outshining the bronze.
There were crinkles around his bewitching amber eyes.
For a moment, she just watched him. Lord above, was it selfish of her to draw him into her troubles? No doubt it was… but she could not resist the pull she felt toward him.
And he must have felt it, too, because he looked up as though he could detect her presence. For an instant, his smile went impossibly brighter—and then his expression darkened as he took in her rumpled gown, her messy hair, or even the bright red bloom on her face.
Kenna ducked back into the shadows and she didn’t have to wait long before Arran appeared around the corner she’d hidden behind, his face creased in worry.
His frown intensified as he took her in up close.
His fingers lifted toward the place where Ashbourne had struck her, though he didn’t make contact, as though afraid of hurting her.
This was the thing that finally tipped Kenna over the edge. Tears welled, a few fat, hot drops spilling from her eyes.