Chapter Seven
Annista could barely feel her legs beneath her, or her feet upon the floor. Indeed, she could scarce feel any part of her body for the pure anger that poured through her.
Anger and hate.
Here before her stood the man. The one who hurt Robena.
She wanted to pull out the dagger that even now lay secreted in her skirt. To plunge it into his neck. She could do it. At this moment, she knew no fear.
She could feel Alan, though, willing her to stand down, longing to step between her and his brother. Like—like some guardian or husband.
He was naught to her. All that mattered was dealing out to Evan what he deserved.
“Wha’ is that ye say to me?” she asked in a voice that did not sound like her own.
“Yer sister,” Evan scoffed readily. “That timid, whey-faced—”
Annista leaped. She did not take time to draw the dagger. She had her fingernails, her fists and feet, her teeth if necessary.
She struck him in the center of his chest and the unexpected motion almost took him over backward. If rational thought had not fled her, she might have noticed the stink coming off him, that of liquor and sweat. Might have realized just how inebriated he was. She did not pause to think.
Her fingernails found flesh. Dug and tore.
Everyone else reacted at once. The wedding witnesses leaped to separate the two of them. Earl MacKallan inserted his body between them—whether to protect Annista or Evan, she could not tell—and collected some blows from her fists in the process.
Iron bands came around her waist from behind and she was lifted off her feet.
That, she felt. Shock poured through her, but not enough to chase the anger. She fought against the restraints.
Whoever had caught hold reacted with a grunt when a backward kick caught him. Annista could hear him breathing in her ear.
Evan had not fallen, but he stood now with his feet planted apart in a half crouch like a feral animal.
Robena had been married to this? Gentle Robena, at his mercy?
By God, he deserved to die! An unholy thought to entertain inside a chapel, perhaps, but Annista supposed it would have struck her no matter where they were.
When the wedding witnesses had dragged them farther apart, Earl MacKallan turned on his older son.
“How dare ye come here and mak’ such a furor?”
“Should the heir no’ attend a wedding?” Evan raised a hand to the furrows Annista had left in his cheeks, which oozed blood. “Particularly the one in which I was meant to tak’ part.”
“No longer. The thing is done.”
Evan’s gaze moved back to Annista. His eyes were an odd color, reddish brown almost like his hair. “That wench raised her hand to me and deserves a beating.”
“Try it.”
For an instant Annista thought the words came off her own tongue because they stood so tall in her mind. Then she realized they were spoken instead by the man who had hold of her. Alan.
Her husband.
They came in a snarl that made Evan switch his gaze to his brother and scoff, “Who’s going to stop me? Ye?”
Alan said nothing, but Annista could feel his tension, feel it in the hard body behind hers.
Do no’ underestimate him. But she would not say that to Evan. It would do her good to see Alan’s fist crash into Evan’s face.
But what was this? Father was turning on her, looking scandalized. “Daughter, wha’ way is this to behave?”
“Ye heard wha’ he said. He insulted Robena.” Father should have been the one to jump in and defend Robena. But when had he ever done that?
“Get her out o’ here,” Father said, as if disgusted, to Alan.
Completely offended—was she to be led off like an errant hound?—Annista said nothing.
Alan set her back on her feet, unwound his arms from about her waist and took her hand.
“Come. Let us awa’ out o’ this.”
He, at least, did not sound disapproving, and the disgust in his voice might well be aimed at Evan rather than at her.
He led her outside into the pretty day where sunlight washed over them, and down the path a distance before she dragged to a halt and pulled from his grasp.
“Ye promised no’ to touch me. And ye’ve already done so at least three times.”
He directed a look at her that said his patience—which till now had been remarkable—was not bottomless.
“I promised no’ to touch ye in a way ye did no’ welcome.”
“I do no’ welcome being lifted off my feet.”
“Do ye no’?” He narrowed his eyes on her. “Well, ye should thank me. For do no’ let Evan’s intoxication fool ye—he can hit back, and hit back hard. He would ha’ swatted ye like a fly.”
Some—not much—of Annista’s anger drained away. “Ye were protecting me, then.” Aye, she’d sensed he wanted to do that.
“Trying to. I can see it may be a hard task.”
She drew a breath that failed to calm her agitation. She supposed, aye, she should be grateful. No one had reached a hand to protect Robena.
At least she had this man. For what he was worth.
“Come,” he said again, not touching her. “Walk.”
The graveyard was a pretty place with a large and no doubt ancient yew tree growing beside the gate. Annista wondered again if Robena was buried there. She should ask Alan for the place.
Perhaps not now.
They reached the stone wall that hemmed in the graves and stepped through. Annista paused.
What a braw, wild sort of country this was. Back home, the land was, aye, rugged. People lived rough lives close to the land and, in truth, their chief did not claim much more in the way of luxuries. But this place…
The land itself yawned wide, all green and gray with rock and turf, looking like it had been raked up by the hand of some ancient creature such as a dragon. Ahead of them, the broad valley raised northward to a line of purple peaks. The beauty of it was almost brutal.
She drew another breath, but Alan urged her again, “Come.”
He started off across the raked, broad plain with his hands in his pockets. Annista followed. For some distance they kept silent. Annista could hear bird song—a lark that was, surely—and the sunlight warmed her face.
“About this promise we have,” he said then.
“Which one?” They had just promised to take one another in marriage.
“No’ to touch one another.”
“Oh. Aye.”
“There will be times like just past when ’twill be impossible to keep. When I am expected to escort ye, for instance, or if ye decide to attack someone else.”
“I am no’ going to attack anyone. Besides him.”
“Be that as it may—”
“Verra well.” She had not the patience to argue it with him. “I tak’ your point.”
He shot her a sideways look. Out here in the sunlight, his hair gleamed like the wing of a blackbird and his eyes had turned a lighter, clearer gray.
“What I thought ye meant,” he went on reasonably, “was we would avoid touchin’ one another in any way that was—”
“Amorous?” Annista suggested when he struggled for a word.
“I suppose that will do, Mistress.” He turned to face her. “I ha’ no desire for relations wi’ ye.”
“Nor I wi’ ye.” She frowned. Was she so entirely unattractive to him that he remained certain she would hold absolutely no allure, ever?
“Touching one another, in all politeness, may be unavoidable.”
“All right.” She did not point out that him hauling her off her feet had held no hint of politeness. “’Tis agreed so.”
“We will, to be sure, avoid contact whenever possible.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “My maid has pointed out that our rooms connect, aye?”
“I shall keep the connecting door locked, if ye wish.”
“Aye, I do.”
“So if that is settled, I understand there is to be a wedding breakfast.”
Annista snorted. “What a farce! In fact, this entire undertaking has been no more than a farce. Aye, then, I suppose we maun go.”
“As ye say, Mistress.”
Wife. I am your wife.
But her lips did not shape those words and neither did his. And they walked back to the manor house like the civilized couple they most assuredly were not.
****
Alan did not know what to make of his wife. She was nothing, absolutely nothing like what he’d expected when his mother talked him into this woeful alliance. Like to her pale sister, he’d supposed. Quiet and retiring.
He’d wedded a firebrand.
When she’d flown at Evan that way—shock had near frozen him. Not but his brother did not deserve it. If she’d marked him—scarred him—he deserved that also.
Yet, as he’d learned over the years, as they’d all learned, it did not do to poke the bear.
The big red bear.
Evan could retaliate and retaliate hard. As they entered the hall where the wedding breakfast was laid out, Alan wondered if he’d just taken on the duty of protecting his wife against his violent and unpredictable brother.
If she’d just earned her own comeuppance.
He glanced at her as she paused just inside the door and took stock of the room. Her color was still high and her wimple askew, the chestnut-colored hair beneath it mussed.
From the vehemence of her attack on Evan.
Evan was not there in the hall. He had no doubt been bundled off to his rooms where his current manservant would be charged with cleaning and trying to sober him up.
A thankless job that, and Evan was unable to keep a personal servant for long.
Indeed, there had been a few who had lasted less than a day.
Alan could not remember the current fellow’s name, but he’d been in place for a while. Must be a stout soul.
Alan pitied him.
“Come in, come in!” Father invited when he saw them, employing a terrible false heartiness.
Mother was present, of course, and Annista’s father. The two witnesses had gone, which made it into an intimate gathering.
Annista went forward and Alan followed her. Father stepped up to take her hand.
“My dear, I want to apologize for that terrible scene in the chapel. It was most unfortunate in both time and place, but my son is vastly troubled in his mind—”
“Your son, Earl MacKallan, was vastly drunk.”
Father jerked back a half step and his faux smile faded. “Aye, well—that is nay reason for violence on your part.”
Annista stiffened. From Alan’s place slightly behind her, he saw her whole body go taut. Would she fly at Father now?
“He spoke ill o’ my sister. I will defend her—and mysel’—as I see fit.”
Alan’s eyebrows flew up without his intention. By God, could she be Evan’s match?
Nay, not while she retained any measure of sense.
Lord MacRowan also stepped forward. “Neilan, ye canna expect my daughter to stand and tak’ an insult—”
Annista turned on him. “Och, ye will defend me, will ye, Father? But ye did no’ defend Robena when the brute spoke ill o’ her.”
Lord MacRowan spread his hands. “’Twas no’ the moment,” he told her placatingly, “to do any such thing.”
“And when it comes to protecting yer sister,” said Alan’s father, very gravely indeed, and much to Alan’s astonishment, “we failed in that duty.”
“Let us calm ourselves,” Mother pled, looking desperate. “We ha’ a lovely breakfast waiting.”
She shepherded them to the table which, as Alan could see, was laid with all their best plate.
A farce, indeed.
Mother did her best to foster a pleasant conversation while they ate, asking Annista what she liked to do to pass the time and whether she enjoyed embroidery.
“If ye do, I sit in the solar most mornings where the light is clear. Ye are most welcome to join me.”
“My sister liked to sew. I do not.” Annista did no more than push her food around on her plate. “Did Robena sit in the solar wi’ ye?”
“Upon occasion,” Mother said, her expression shutting down.
Alan thought about that. Had he seen Mistress Robena often in Mother’s company? At the beginning, mayhap. But later?
He had absented himself from the manor and the woman’s plight as much as possible, busying himself with work out on the land. His absence had seemed to antagonize Evan less.
He would have to do better this time. That truth came to him as he choked down his excellent meal and the reality of what he had just done settled in.
Like it or not—like her or not—the woman seated beside him was his wife, a fact from which he could not turn away.
His not to love but, och aye, his to defend.