Chapter 17 #4
at the ready, but not pointing at anyone.
“You not worry, missy,” Han told her. “Only
fool choose Gwyneth over you, and your Roark, he no fool.”
“Aye,” Bors seconded. “We’ve seen the way he
looks at you, and has since Spring’s Eve. He’ll choose you. I’d
wager coin on it.”
“Thanks,” she said. “But it may not be his
choice. There’s many things to be considered other than what Roark
and I want in this life.” In this world.
“We about to find out,” Han said, lifting his
chin toward Roark and the others as heads nodded and arms were
clasped.
They stood in front of the gallows Roark had
been swinging from only a short time ago, though so much had
happened since, it felt like days had passed. Alina licked lips
gone dry as Laird Ronan stepped forward.
“It has been agreed. Roark Bruce MacInnes is
now laird of North Shore Keep. All lands and titles are rightfully
his to be passed down to his future heirs.”
Alina let out her breath in a rush of relief
and apprehension. Her heart swelled with pride as the keep’s
men-at-arms and the villagers cheered and set up a chant of “Laird
Roark, Laird Roark.” Aware, she was certain, they’d been given a
better laird than the one they’d been living under for the past
twenty years.
Alina’s father stepped forward and the crowd
quieted.
“For your part in your family’s abduction of
our daughter, Princess Alina, with the intention of selling her
into slavery, you Linnea, who call yourself Lynette, and you
Mildri, who call yourself Myrna, wives of Rigil and Delling, will
be taken and sold in a desert slave market in Alina’s place.”
Lynette and Myrna both went ashen. “Captain Murtaugh,” her father
said. “You will sail them there for your part in my daughter’s
kidnapping, and all debts will be considered paid.”
The captain doffed his cap. “Thank you, King
Jerrik.” He'd gotten off easy and he knew it.
Neither her father nor Roark’s had mentioned
Gwyneth, who looked to have taken it as a sign that she would
retain her position as Roark’s betrothed by her preening smiles.
Alina’s heart dropped to her feet. She’d always known it was the
most likely outcome, and she told herself she understood why. But
she’d always held out hope she and Roark would find a way for their
love to transcend their dream world, allowing them to be together
in the real world.
Gwyneth giggled and smirked, and Alina swayed
on unsteady legs, an empty, hollowed-out husk.
“I’ve got you, missy.” Bors’s deep boom
echoed in her spinning head and his strong arm held her steady.
“You can do this.” He joggled her against his solid side. “Don’t
give that blonde bitch the satisfaction of thinking she’s won for
even a moment.”
“But she has.”
“Not yet,” he told her. “I will not believe
it ’til I hear your young man say it.”
Alina buried her face into Bors’s shoulder,
fighting tears. “I can’t,” she whimpered, hating how pitiful she
sounded. How hopeless she felt.
“Yes, you can, Princess. You are the daughter
of Alyssa, granddaughter of Sahar, great-granddaughter of Oona the
Swan. Warrior queens all.”
Alina sniffed back unshed tears and lifted
her head. She straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and
faced forward as Roark stepped up to stand beside her father and
his. His gaze met hers for a moment and his lips twitched up, but
there was no slow, easy grin for her. She raised her chin, took a
deep breath in and blew it out.
“My first order of business as laird,” Roark
said, “will be to deal with Leif’s death.”
“With his murder, you mean,” Lynette roused
herself enough to shrill out.
Roark ignored her. “We’ve agreed. Jenny,
pregnant with Leif’s child, distraught and provoked by Leif’s
cruelty, acted rashly and without forethought or malice.” He looked
to Jenny and her parents, who didn’t move, blink, or even breathe.
“We absolve you of Leif’s murder.” Loud gasps of collective relief
filled the square as Lynette stood with her mouth hanging slack.
“We offer you the choice of staying here at North Shore Keep to
work as you have been and raise your child, or moving to Thorn Bush
or Yew Tree.” Roark smiled kindly as Jenny burst into sobs. “You
have plenty of time to decide.”
“Thank you, Laird Roark,” Craig said, hugging
his wife and daughter to him. “Thank you, all of you.”
Roark nodded, looked out over the crowd, toed
the ground with his boot, squared his shoulders, and met Alina’s
worried, waiting gaze.
“As laird, I will need to marry,” he said.
“As you all know, my family betrothed me to Gwyneth, the only
daughter of Roger and Lynette MacKinnon, ten years ago now.”
Gwyneth giggled again and dimpled. Alina swallowed her heart.
“However, since the MacKinnons were not who or what they presented
themselves to be, I have been allowed to withdraw from this
betrothment.”
“What?” Gwyneth shrieked. “No. You cannot. I
am your betrothed. I am to be lady of North Shore Keep.”
Ignoring the still-shrieking Gwyneth, Roark
closed the chasm between him and Alina with sure, steady strides,
took both her hands in his, and grinned, slow, easy, and
melting.
“Will you marry me, my curious little owl?”
he asked. “Will you consent to be my wife and take me as your
husband? To ask me why every day and night for the rest of our
lives?” He stepped in closer and whispered in her ear. “Will you be
my wife in this world and ours, where the consequences and
repercussions of our actions will matter to more than only
ourselves?”
Alina stared into eyes as warm, soft, and
giving as summer rain. Eyes that poured a deep, enduring love into
hers. “Yes,” she said, answering him as she almost had the night of
Spring’s Eve by the lake. As her heart had answered him every night
since. “Yes, I will marry you, sir stag. With pleasure and with
honor.”
Roark laid his open palm on her cheek.
“Tha thu braegha,” he whispered huskily.
Alina placed her hand on his cheek, rubbing
the pad of her thumb over his freckled cheek. “Ni ye hen
piaoling.”
Loud sniffing caught their attention, and
they turned to where Bors and Han stood.
“What?” Bors said, tears tracking down his
cheeks. “I’m not crying.” He elbowed a grinning Han in the side.
“He’s crying.”