Chapter 8
Shona fastened the final clasp of Merith’s gown with careful fingers while evening shadows deepened beyond the chamber windows.
The gown Murdoch had gifted her lay heavy against her skin, fashioned from deep forest-green wool trimmed with dark silver embroidery along the sleeves and bodice.
It was beautiful. Richer than anything she had worn at Donalson lands.
Yet, tonight it felt strangely like armor.
Shona stepped back at last with a satisfied nod. “There now. If the laird doesnae stare like a lovesick fool tonight, then the man’s blind.”
Merith managed only a weak smile while smoothing her palms against the skirt. The maid noticed immediately.
“Och, dinnae look sae mournful, my lady,” she said gently. “Ye’re dressed finer than half the noblewomen north o’ Inverness.”
“That is hardly comfortin’,” she replied, ducking her head.
“Nay, but ‘tis true.”
Shona crossed toward the small chest near the hearth and lifted a silver comb from atop it before returning to settle it carefully into Merith’s dark blonde hair. The polished metal caught softly in the firelight while loose curls framed Merith’s face.
For a few moments, neither woman spoke. Merith’s thoughts drifted back toward the courtyard earlier that afternoon.
She remembered Locke’s arms around her and the rough warmth of his hand against her cheek. The look in his eyes just before he nearly kissed her was impossible to get out of her head.
Heat crept into her face once more. She had lost all control of her emotions. Shona caught the change at once through the mirror’s reflection.
“Aye,” she murmured knowingly. “There’s the blush again.”
Merith looked away quickly. “Must ye notice everythin’?”
“Unfortunately fer ye, I’ve excellent eyesight,” Shona replied, grinning from ear to ear.
Merith sighed softly and moved toward the hearth before the maid could tease further. Flames crackled within the grate, warming the chamber with the comforting scent of peat smoke.
She clasped her hands tightly together. “Shona,” she asked after a moment, “what dae ye truly think of my betrothed?”
The maid blinked slightly at the question. “The laird?”
“Aye,” Merith replied, watching her.
“Well…” Shona considered carefully while adjusting the cuff of Merith’s sleeve. “He’s handsome enough tae make half the keep stare after him. Kind tae his servants. Generous with coin. The tenants speak well of him.” She shrugged lightly. “Most women would consider ye fortunate.”
Fortunate.
Somehow, the words sounded strange in the small space.
Murdoch was handsome. There was no denying it.
Tall and broad-shouldered, always polished and composed no matter the circumstance.
He spoke gently to her. He treated her family with respect.
Even Agnes the healer, who seemed suspicious of nearly everyone, held affection for him beneath the grumbling.
Everything about him suggested he should be easy to trust.
Yet whenever Locke looked at Murdoch, tension intensified beneath that lazy grin of his. It was as though he saw something hidden beneath the surface.
Merith lowered her gaze. “Aye,” she said quietly. “I suppose I am.”
Before Merith could stop herself, the next question slipped free. “What about Locke?”
The silence afterward lasted only a moment, though somehow it felt longer.
Shona’s expression shifted instantly. “Master Reid?”
Merith wished immediately she had remained silent. “I merely wondered what ye thought of him,” she said too quickly.
The maid folded her arms. “I think he’s trouble.”
Such a comment made Merith smile faintly. “That much is obvious.”
“Nay, I mean real trouble.” Shona shook her head. “That man smiles too easily fer someone who carries scars like his.”
Merith’s thoughts flashed toward Locke standing half-dressed in his chamber, pale silver marks crossing bronze skin.
“He lies,” Shona continued bluntly. “Maybe no’ about everythin’ but enough. Ye can feel it when he speaks. At least the laird is what he appears tae be,” Shona said more softly. “With the laird, ye ken where ye stand.”
Dae I?
The thought overwhelmed her.
Quickly, Merith looked toward the window where darkness had begun gathering beyond the mist-covered hills. “I hope that’s true,” she murmured.
Shona studied her carefully, but said nothing more.
That was when a knock sounded shortly afterward at the chamber door. One of the castle maids entered with lowered eyes and clasped hands.
“Lady Merith,” she said politely, “the laird requests yer company fer supper.”
Merith’s stomach tightened unexpectedly. “Aye. Tell him I shall come presently.”
The maid curtsied and withdrew. Shona moved at once toward the chamber door. “I should accompany ye,” she said.
But the servant paused outside before leaving entirely. “The laird asked that Lady Merith attend him alone this evenin’.”
Merith glanced toward Shona uncertainly and the maid offered an encouraging smile. “Ye’ll be fine.”
Perhaps.
Though as Merith stepped into the corridor moments later, unease prickled beneath her ribs.
The keep glowed warmly beneath torchlight as night settled fully beyond the walls. Servants crossed the corridors carrying silver platters fragrant with roasted venison and fresh oat bread while guards stood watchful beside the stairwells in dark Carnegie tartan.
The farther Merith walked, the quieter the halls became. Eventually the maid guiding her stopped before a polished oak door near the western side of the keep.
“This way, my lady,” she said, giving her a smile.
Merith frowned slightly. “The dining hall lies below.”
“The laird requested somethin’ more private tonight.”
Private.
Her pulse quickened faintly.
The maid pushed open the door. Warm candlelight spilled across stone floors and richly woven carpets imported from farther south. A long table stood near the hearth though only two places had been set upon it, silver goblets gleaming beside dark green cloths embroidered with Carnegie stags.
Murdoch rose immediately from his chair when she entered.
His dark hair had been neatly combed back from his face, and he wore a fitted black doublet embroidered subtly at the collar with silver thread. The bruising along his jaw from the fight had faded somewhat since morning, though faint shadows still marked the skin.
Yet as always, he appeared entirely composed.
“Lady Merith,” he said warmly while crossing over to her. “Ye look beautiful.”
Merith forced herself to smile politely. “Ye are kind tae say sae.”
He lifted her hand and pressed a careful kiss against her knuckles before guiding her toward the table.
“I thought perhaps we might enjoy a quieter supper this evening,” he explained. “The Great Hall grows unbearably loud once the men begin drinkin’.”
Servants appeared silently to pour wine before withdrawing once more, leaving them entirely alone beside the fire.
For a time, Murdoch carried the conversation easily enough himself. He spoke of neighbouring clans, troublesome tenants arguing over grazing lands, and preparations already beginning for winter stores before the colder Highland weather arrived.
Merith tried to answer when appropriate. She also tried to smile and eat. However, the letter from her family seemed to weigh against her chest with every passing moment.
Twice Murdoch paused while watching her carefully. By the third time, he finally set aside his goblet entirely.
“Ye’ve scarcely touched yer meal, lass,” he observed.
“I apologize,” Merith replied, folding her hands in her lap.
“There is no need fer apologies.” His voice gentled. “Somethin’ troubles ye.”
Merith lowered her gaze immediately. “It is nothin’ important.”
“I find that difficult tae believe,” he told her.
Silence grew louder between them. The fire crackled softly nearby while rainwater dripped beyond the outer walls. Murdoch waited patiently, his dark eyes never leaving her face.
At last, Merith took a deep breath and met his eyes again.
“A letter arrived this mornin’,” she admitted quietly.
Understanding flickered across his expression at once. “From Donalson lands?”
“Aye,” she replied.
He leaned back slightly. “Is it bad news?”
The kindness in his tone nearly undid her composure altogether.
“There was a fire,” she whispered. “The crops burned. Two storehouses as well.”
Murdoch’s face hardened instantly with concern. “God above.”
“The damage is severe,” Merith continued, nodding weakly. “My father fears winter will become difficult fer the tenants if matters worsen.”
Murdoch was silent for a long moment. Then quietly he asked, “And they wish the marriage sooner.”
She looked up sharply. “How did ye ken?”
“Because I ken how Highland alliances work,” he sighed faintly. “And because yer poor face has looked haunted all evening.”
Merith tried to smile though it trembled badly.
“I am sorry,” she whispered. “This is hardly pleasant supper conversation.”
“Nay.” Murdoch’s expression softened further. “But ye neednae carry such burdens alone, my dear.”
Something in the words eased the tightness in her chest ever so slightly.
Murdoch reached for his goblet but did not drink. Instead, he studied the dark wine before speaking again. “The dowry arrangements alone would steady matters fer yer family quickly,” he said. “And once the marriage is official, Carnegie grain stores could assist through winter if needed.”
Relief and guilt pulled at her painfully. It felt like she couldn’t breathe. “My Laird, ye are verra generous.”
“’Tis no generosity.” He met her gaze. “Soon yer family shall become mine as well.”
Merith looked down quickly, ashamed suddenly of every uncertainty she still carried about him. Murdoch had offered nothing but kindness since her arrival. He had protected her, welcomed her, and treated her family honorably.
All the while her thoughts wandered elsewhere towards a dangerous rogue with clever hands and dishonest smiles.
Murdoch’s voice interrupted her spiraling thoughts gently.
“Tell me truly, Merith,” he said, watching her. “Is this what troubles ye alone?”
She hesitated too long and his eyes narrowed slightly with understanding.
“The wedding itself concerns ye,” he said.
Her pulse stumbled.
Murdoch sighed softly then leaned back in his chair. “I feared as much.”
“I never intended disrespect,” she said quickly. “Ye have been nothin’ but good tae me.”
“I ken that,” he said.
“Then why would ye—”
“Because I’m not blind,” he cut her off.
The words were calm. He didn’t sound angry at all. For some reason, that made her feel worse.
Slowly, Murdoch rose from his chair and crossed toward the hearth before speaking again.
“When two people marry fer alliance, affection rarely arrives immediately,” he said. “I expected uncertainty, fear even.”
Merith watched him carefully. The firelight cast warm gold across his dark features while shadows danced against the stone wall behind him. He looked every inch the Highland laird everyone believed him to be.
“I would never intentionally make ye unhappy,” he continued quietly. “Contrary tae rumor, I’ve no desire tae chain a terrified woman beside me fer the rest o’ my life.”
Merith’s throat tightened. “I am not terrified.”
“Aye,” he said gently. “Ye are.”
The honesty of it stole her breath away entirely. Murdoch crossed back toward the table then, stopping beside her chair.
“Listen tae me carefully, Merith.” His voice softened further still. “Yer family’s hardship changes many things. But I will not force ye into vows ye cannae bear.”
She stared up at him in disbelief. “What?”
“If ye require more time, ye shall have it,” he said.
“But the alliance—”
“Will survive a few more days.”
“Murdoch—”
He shook his head lightly. “I would rather marry a willing bride than a miserable one.”
Emotion rose unexpectedly into her chest. “Even now?” she whispered. “After everythin’?”
A faint smile touched his mouth. “Especially now.”
Merith felt suddenly ashamed of every suspicion she had ever held about him. He was patient and understanding. Gentler than many men in his position would ever choose to be.
Murdoch rested one hand lightly against the back of her chair. “Ye are a good daughter,” he said quietly. “A loyal one. I have no doubt ye will become an excellent wife someday.”
The warmth in his praise nearly brought tears to her eyes again.
“But I willnae have an unwilling bride standing beside me before God,” he added.
Merith could scarcely speak. “Ye would truly give me time?”
“A couple of days.” His expression grew thoughtful. “After that, circumstances may force quicker action fer both our families’ sake.”
A couple of days. It should have comforted her entirely. Instead, confusion only deepened inside her chest because the moment Murdoch offered her freedom to choose, the choice itself became far more frightening.
He smiled faintly, attempting to lighten the heavy mood. “Besides, if we wed while ye look this miserable, the priest may believe I threatened ye with a dagger beforehand.”
A startled laugh escaped her.
“There,” Murdoch said softly. “That’s better.”
The rest of the supper passed more gently afterward. Murdoch shifted the conversation toward lighter matters, speaking of hunting grounds beyond the eastern hills and teasing stories from his youth that surprised reluctant smiles from her once more.
Yet beneath it all, Merith’s thoughts remained tangled between duty and desire.
Between two very different men.
When she finally returned to her chambers later that night, exhaustion weighed her down like a physical force.
Later, long after Shona had gotten her ready for bed and retired to her small adjoining room, the keep had fallen mostly silent beneath midnight darkness. Merith remained awake beneath heavy wool blankets.
Moonlight spilled pale silver across the chamber floor through the narrow window. Merith stared upward at the canopy above her bed while thoughts turned endlessly through her mind.
Murdoch’s kindness. Her family’s desperation. Locke’s voice in the courtyard.
There’s always a choice.
She closed her eyes tightly, but instead of sleep all she could feel was the memory of Locke leaning toward her beneath the rain. He had been close enough that one more breath would have changed everything forever.