Chapter 23 #2
The proverbial horse had bolted, despite what he had said to her this morning. Things could not be put back the way they were before, and that was all because of him and his stupid request when he had known that he would win the card game.
In hindsight, he should have just lost and answered whatever question she had.
“What would ye say to a cèilidh?” Iona suggested abruptly, clapping her hands together.
“It sounds like the women in the village took a shine to her, so they might actually come. And if they come, everyone else will follow. Och, what a fine thing it would be to have the Great Hall full again! And I ken it would take Miss Agnes’s mind off things. ”
Gordon balked at the idea, shuddering as he thought of the noise and the dancing and the insipid chatter. “I daenae ken about that, Iona.”
“Whyever nae?” she pressed. “It would be the perfect opportunity to show everyone that Miss Agnes belongs to ye now, in a safe environment that ye can control. Ye’d have yer guards keepin’ watch for Englishmen, and Miss Agnes would surely relish the chance to have some fun.”
But she’s nae mine. I told her just this mornin’ that I wouldnae claim her. That it’s all fake. That she mustnae get confused.
He cleared his throat. “She’s nae here to have fun. She’s here to be under me protection.”
“Aye, but there’s no reason she cannae do both,” Iona insisted. “Lift her spirits, me Laird. Och, and ye could invite some of the neighboring lairds too. It’s due time ye conversed with them in more than letters, and Miss Agnes might like to make friends with their wives.”
Gordon narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “Why would she need to do that?”
“Because we daenae ken how long she’ll be with us,” Iona replied, feigning innocence. “We daenae ken how determined this English duke is. He might pursue his daughter for… goodness, years!”
Gordon blinked. In truth, he hadn’t considered that when he had agreed to the arrangement. He was accustomed to fighting wars, and so his brain had assumed it would end in much the same way: swiftly and victoriously.
But then, of course, there was one great difference between those wars and this fight with the English duke: Gordon wasn’t allowed to kill the man. That was what ended disputes quickly, even if it caused a tremendous upheaval afterward, and he had been expressly forbidden.
Could she really stay here for years?
Their ruse would quickly become threadbare if that was the case. No one would believe in an engagement that lasted so long without an actual wedding, certainly not in this corner of Scotland.
He cursed silently, realizing that he might have accidentally given himself enough rope to hang himself with. How was he meant to avoid Agnes for years? How was he meant to abide by the declaration he’d made earlier if she became a permanent fixture in his castle?
“And there have been a few lairds who have married English lasses,” Iona continued. “We should invite all of them, so she has people to talk to who arenae unfamiliar. Might help with trade, ye never ken, and I’m sure it’ll cheer her up.”
“I still daenae see why she needs the familiar when that’s what she fled from,” he remarked. It did sound like a rather good argument.
But Iona, wearing a sad smile, swiftly trounced it.
“Ye’re a strong laird, me Laird. Ye’ve never needed much or relied on anyone, and ye’ve never been one for company.
Now, aye, our clan remains one of the most powerful in the West Highlands, but no one can have too many allies.
Friends, even. Especially a young lass all alone, far from home, who has sacrificed so much. ”
Gordon dearly wanted to protest, to insist that everyone would be perfectly fine behind the high walls of his castle, to rebuke the fact that anyone needed anyone other than themselves for company. But the words wouldn’t come because he knew they were untrue, and he was not someone who lied easily.
And it’s probably the least I can do for the lass.
He eyed his quill and thought of the likes of Laird McCandless. Maybe at a cèilidh with an array of honored guests, some without wives, he might find a more suitable arrangement for Agnes.
It would torment him to have to imagine her with someone else, tangled up, breathless and hungry for one another, but at least she would be safe from a worse fate. Namely, the nothingness that he could offer her.
“Very well,” he grumbled. “Speak to Keith and come up with a list of guests. Bring it to me to examine and then send out the invitations. It should happen soon.”
While Agnes still has some cheer left.
Iona brightened. “Are ye serious, me Laird?”
“Aye.”
“How soon?”
He paused. “In a fortnight.” He considered the failed excursion to the village. “And ye should be the one to tell Agnes. Discuss fabrics with her and have them sent for, along with a seamstress. If she’s pretendin’ to be a laird’s bride, she ought to look like one.”
“Och, me Laird, this will be wonderful!” Iona cried, dancing a little jig.
“But daenae, under any circumstances, let Agnes go to choose her own fabrics. I’m nae havin’ her risk herself again by settin’ foot outside these walls,” he said coolly, ignoring the old woman’s merriment.
The ladies of the household might relish the idea of a gathering, but he was already dreading it.