Читать книгу Secrets Of A Highland Warrior - Nicole Locke - Страница 13

‘No!’ Ailsa cried.

Lochmore made some sound she couldn’t determine. Her father wasn’t looking at her even though she had never raised her voice in her life. That didn’t bode well especially when he stood to address the hall. His words were formal as he declared there were important matters to be discussed. No one stood to question or protest. It appeared that everyone had assumed as much. Fuming, wondering how she couldn’t have known, Ailsa followed her father when he retired to the room in the back. She felt rather than saw Rory follow behind her.

It was a small room with several doors and she saw with some consternation there were also provisions on a table and several chairs. It was all previously laid out for comfort and for private discussions. Her father expected and planned well.

For her to marry a Lochmore.

She wanted to do more than raise her voice, she wanted to brandish her shears. Secrets. Her father had been acting odd for months. Why had she not suspected this? Or at least demanded answers to his behaviour. But how could she have guessed what questions to ask him?

She’d been telling herself he’d been worried about Hamish, about the clan’s discontent. She never could have guessed this. But she should have suspected something because her father was never worried or alarmed.

She was the one who worried. Especially when her father ordered her to hide when the enemy clan arrived instead of providing her an escort as she tended her clan. She was the one who grew alarmed the moment her father brought her and Rory into this tiny room and gave her that wistful paternal look. The one that asked for forgiveness even before she knew there was something to forgive about.

This wasn’t forgivable and she’d have words with her father. For now, she needed to make clear to the Lochmore her position in this matter. Yet when she met Rory’s gaze, the emotions roiling in the depth shocked her anew. Surprise definitely, but something else she refused to believe. His consideration.

‘Never!’ The word felt inadequate to express her rejection, so she said the simple word with as much vehemence as she felt.

She knew she shocked her father. She had always been the sensible one. After all, her mother had died when her sisters were born. By then she’d already started helping the clan healer. Everything she’d done up to this point was for others. Now, it appeared her father thought she’d automatically sacrifice herself. Not this time.

‘Ailsa, think about this.’ Her father sat in one of the chairs and used the voice she’d heard thousands of times before. That of a father to his daughter. But if he was acting like a father, he wouldn’t ask this.

‘I am thinking about this. How could I not know that our land was given away? And it appears as if I’m the only McCrieff who doesn’t know! Me, the healer, your daughter, who needs the marsh and soil. You know how important that land is!’

She planted there. Rhona, the old healer and the healer before that, planted there. There was need and tradition rooted in that dirt. It was dangerous, yes, since it was on the border, but it was the best place for certain necessary herbs.

‘He can’t have the land. They can’t have the land!’

‘A king decreed it.’ Rory crossed his arms and leaned against a wall. Her father said nothing.

She tightened her lips before she could commit treason. Pointing at Rory, but addressing her father, she said, ‘I want him gone.’

The Lochmore in question only said, ‘No.’

She waited for an explanation—none came. All the while she felt everything, betrayal being foremost. She had been kept in the dark about the King’s decree and McCrieffs’ obligations to Lochmores. She certainly hadn’t been told she had to marry.

‘No?’ Brandishing her shears, she strode over and pointed them at him. ‘Did you know of this?’

‘Ailsa! Put them away!’ Frederick called out. She ignored him.

‘What...this?’ the Lochmore replied with barely a glance at the shears.

The marriage, the welcoming feast, the King’s decree!

‘Any part of it,’ she bit out.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. ‘Yes.’

So only the female was kept in the dark even though it was her life in play. ‘Father, I ask for privacy.’

‘This matter must stay secret, so here we remain until it’s resolved,’ Frederick said, leaning further in his chair.

Ordered about like property. Her father had never treated her as such. Shame washed hotly with the betrayal. Her father deigned to bargain her off to a Lochmore. A clan that was, even now, their enemy. All her life, she’d been told to run or hide from Lochmores should she should spy them. Now she was told to marry and bear his children.

There wasn’t a redeeming factor to him. Lochmores knew nothing of McCrieff land, the way their hills sloped or how the sun hit the trees. He wasn’t amused by the erratic guttering of the worn paths that wound around the back of the castle or dismayed by the leaking corner in the chapel’s roof.

Even if he wasn’t a Lochmore, he was a man she had never met. His age could have been anything. His countenance, his strength and personality could have been the vilest of all. But her father, who never gambled, never guessed on the weather, risked her happiness and that of their clan that Rory Lochmore would be suitable for her.

‘Is this what you will decide with my sisters as well? Just sell them off to the best alliance?’

‘Sisters?’ Rory interjected.

Ailsa huffed. ‘Two of them and too young for your plotting, Lochmore.’

‘Ailsa!’ her father reprimanded. ‘Think it through.’

‘I have and I want no part of this!’

Ailsa strode to the door where the noises flooded in. It appeared by their absence that conversation began. She could storm from here. Nothing would resolve and everyone would know. Let them. Her friend had been murdered by Lochmores. How could her father ask this of her?

Her hand was almost on the latch, when her father banged his hand against the table. It made her jump. It made her turn.

The pounding of a fist was a demanding sound and one she would have ignored, but she couldn’t ignore the look in his eyes. Her father’s eyes pleaded with her. Her father never pleaded.

Did he plead with his daughter who had lost her precious friend? If so, her answer would remain no. A political alliance? Countries were built and torn down. She was a healer, what did she care for alliances except that they often stopped—

Ah. A quick twist in her heart and her mind listened. Political alliance stopped war...stopped deaths from occurring.

What care did she have for Lochmores? None, even though Rhona tried to soften her with a story about a babe named Rory, who was born and lost. No! She wouldn’t think of that tale now. And she wouldn’t forgive Lochmores for Magnus’s death.

As a healer she had an obligation to stop further deaths. Now wasn’t the time to not care for others. Now wasn’t the time to be selfish even if it was justified and in self-preservation. Though their numbers were great compared to the few Lochmores who travelled here today, if McCrieffs waged a battle only more Lochmores would arrive and these wouldn’t allow their swords to be taken.

Allow. That moment when her father captured Lochmore, their men had been quick, but something about this warrior’s manner... He’d allowed his capture...maybe even expected it the moment he stepped through the gates.

What did she know of this man, the only heir to the Lochmore’s Chief? Formidable even now though he stood silently and watched the exchange between a daughter and her father.

This man; her husband? Never, but what wouldn’t she do for her clan as daughter to the Tanist, as their healer? She would do anything. With utmost resolve she turned away from the door.

* * *

Rory regretted the small shocked sound he released when Frederick had made his declaration. Through all the challenges in his life, he thought himself better equipped to mask his emotions.

But this challenge, a Lochmore marrying a McCrieff, wasn’t one he could ever have prepared for. It seemed Frederick’s daughter felt the same.

She was one flick of the lock away from leaving the room before her father brought her back. From where he leaned against the wall, he couldn’t see the looks exchanged. He couldn’t determine why in the silence that followed she did listen to him and sat in a chair though the shears stayed available on her lap.

Anticipating that finally she would behave as other women, to bow to the orders of her father, to present mild and pleasing manners, he kept his gaze to her. Yet though she sat, her chin was raised, her fingers clasping the shears. No meekness at all and far too much defiance. He couldn’t predict this woman’s behaviour and thoughts.

But though she was tense and her brow was creased, she continued to sit. She was reasonably contemplating her father’s words.

It was time to do so himself. If it was even true. ‘You want me to marry your daughter?’ Each word felt unreal.

Frederick exhaled. Part relief that his words were listened to, part something else...like grief or loss.

‘Yes. Marry her. As she is my daughter, you would have influence on this clan.’

Influence, but not power. ‘You would remain Tanist and inherit the rule of McCrieffs.’

‘Of course,’ Frederick replied. ‘Further, there would be no guarantee that you would gain any more than that.’

A swift glance to the woman at his left revealed she was listening, but the tight grasp on the shears told him the cost of her remaining silent.

This was a woman who thought with her mind. She was beautiful and intelligent. Such a daughter would be prized and even an old swordsman would have hopes that his issue would do better than merely marrying a man from an enemy clan, even if that man was the Chief’s son.

‘You are saying, that even upon your death, I, as a Lochmore, may not be accepted by McCrieffs.’

‘In truth,’ Frederick said, ‘it would be...beneficial for me to remain ruler of McCrieffs.’

‘A bright future for me. Marrying a woman, who doesn’t want to be married. To marry into a clan, who may never accept me. And all of this to inherit nothing more than what a king already granted me.’ Rory crossed his arms, watched the play of emotions in Frederick’s eyes until he saw what he needed to see. ‘But that is not all you want.’

A fierce gleam in the warrior’s eyes, before he hid it with a shrug. ‘What I expect and what is possible, what could be, are two different matters.’

Could be. Rory was right. The generations of animosity were too long furrowed into the families of McCrieffs and Lochmores. Even if they married and had issue, the divide could be permanent.

Or it could be more. But if he didn’t marry Ailsa, there would never be the chance of something more. A chance to combine the clans. He choked down that bit of hope which had no place in these negotiations.

‘Not a generous offer. What makes you think I’ll accept?’ Rory said as evenly as possible. No tone of flippancy, no curiosity. Nothing to reveal his roiling emotions at the McCrieffs’ leader suggesting a hope for his future or his descendants. ‘I am a Lochmore, son of a chief, and will be Chief one day. I am a not a pawn to be moved at the whimsy of anyone.’

He’d underestimated the McCrieffs. Or maybe it was only this man, whom he needed to be more cautious with and whom he needed to warn. Rory had no intention of being underestimated.

Frederick rested his arms on the chair’s rests. ‘I never presumed that you were such a sort. If I did, I would not have made the offer of my precious daughter to you. Know this, Lochmore, she is very dear to me.’

At that the woman in the chair shifted and Rory’s eyes were drawn to her again. No crease between her brows, no tenseness in her shoulders. She had decided. From her silence, and the fact she wasn’t trying to leave, he could only presume she agreed with her father.

Rory allowed himself to look at the man not as an enemy, but as a father. To see the lines of age and care in his face. The strain around his eyes not because he faced a foe before him, but because he made himself truly vulnerable. He meant it. The old warrior meant to give his daughter to him.

‘Dear or not, she is only a gift if I want her and I do not accept.’

Frederick stood then, his expression revealing he’d heard the insult.

Rory raised his hand. ‘Do not tell me to think about it. I am not your son, nor part of this clan. In fact, Lochmores lose power and control by this marriage.’

‘How?’ Ailsa demanded. ‘How do they lose?’

‘The land,’ Rory said. ‘The King decreed the borderland to now be Lochmore land. If we marry, there will be a question whether the land belongs to the Lochmores or the McCrieffs. McCrieffs will no doubt still use it and how could I wage war against my wife’s family?’

‘You throw away much too quickly and without thought,’ Frederick said. ‘Think of the future.’

‘I live in the present. Your daughter is only a prize if I should want her. Did you think her so fair that my head would turn for her? The ale so potent that it would muddle my thoughts? A king decreed the land already to be mine. What you offer gains me nothing. I do not need to bargain with you, I only came to claim what is Lochmores.’

‘Then you are a fool just like the others,’ Ailsa said.

The words were quiet and steady...almost reasonable sounding. However, if she were her father and said such words, he would have drawn his sword. If he had one.

Another almost reaction when he didn’t want to reveal a single one. He consoled himself that the impulse was still there only because he was too close to the edge. A Lochmore marry a McCrieff?

He addressed Frederick. ‘Give me time alone with your daughter.’

‘There’s no need for it. He said his piece,’ Ailsa said.

‘There is a need,’ Rory said. ‘I’m unarmed, unlike your daughter, and she could make a cry that would be heard by every man in the Hall should she need it.’

‘Will this change your mind?’ Frederick adjusted his sword.

Rory doubted it. But he’d been plagued all day with too many questions. And the nature of this woman was one question he would find the answers to. She agreed to it, but why? ‘Perhaps.’

Frederick pointed. ‘I’ll go through that door. Very few people will see me, but I will not escape notice long so you will not have much time.’

Rory watched Ailsa, who played with the shears in her hands, but remained quiet until the door closed.

‘What is it that you want, Lochmore?’

With her red hair and green eyes, she looked very much like something from tales told to him as a child. A harpy, a sprite, a vengeful faery. But the rest of her wasn’t from his childhood. The rest of her reminded him that he was very much a man and she was a full-grown woman. Her twirling the shears in front of her accentuated her breasts, tightened the fabric of her gown, so he could admire the dip of her waist and her generous hips.

She was petite, but then everyone was to him, yet she was generously made. Whereas some women might have a shine to their hair or a sparkle in the eyes, Ailsa’s pale skin, moss-coloured eyes and sunrise hair overflowed with colour. Her body was ample, thick in areas where a man could grab and sink into her lusciousness.

Everything about her called to him. It was the reason he’d seen her across the courtyard. Enemies with weapons in their hands and just the mere glimpse of her arrested him.

Now that he had seen her this close, exchanged a handful of words, he couldn’t shake the feeling of déjà vu. As if...he knew her already.

‘You threatened me with shears,’ he said ignoring her question and adjusting his large body in to one of the chairs. For an instant, he was distracted by the fact the chair was not too small for him. He stretched, liking the fact he could do so. At home, there were no chairs built for him and he didn’t ask for them to be. In truth, he preferred to stand, but knew in this negotiation, his size would be to his detriment. He was here to find answers, not intimidate.

She shrugged. ‘They were handy and you arrived on short notice.’

‘They’re sharp. You could do me harm.’

‘I ensure their usability, that is all.’

‘For gardening,’ he guessed.

‘Of sorts,’ she said, tucking the shears in her belt and laying her hands in her lap. ‘What are you here for?’

‘To claim the land,’ he said. ‘What is it you do here, Ailsa, that you need shears?’

She sighed. ‘I heal. I’m the healer...you seemed surprised.’

Not surprised, but somehow, oddly pleased. She was intelligent in more ways than one. ‘Aren’t healers old and wizened?’

‘They don’t start out that way. Rhona, my mentor, died two winters past. So I’m it now. Though my father...’ She shook her head.

‘Though your father?’ he prompted.

Her eyes narrowed and he saw the spark of fire she held when she’d aimed her shears at his throat. ‘I’m a healer, Lochmore, and that’s all you need to know.’

‘Though we are to marry?’ he mocked.

Her frown increased and he found he didn’t like it. When she talked of Rhona, even that little bit, something of the true Ailsa had emerged. It was that which he wanted to coax from her, even though he had no business here except to secure the McCrieff land. He certainly didn’t need the complication of this woman or the Tanist’s proposal.

‘If we marry,’ she said. ‘Why are you here? The land is already yours since the King decreed it. Despite, if I understand correctly, our not answering your letters. You didn’t have to come here and demand that we agree.’

‘It is uncertain otherwise.’

‘So you recognise the fact we could have fought you for it despite what King Edward granted. That men could die.’ She canted her head, the tension in her body easing a bit more. ‘You care about that?’

There was much and little that he cared about. He tapped the chair’s arm for a beat before he answered. ‘If no blood needs to be shed, it would be foolish to insist on it.’

‘And yet you don’t agree to marry me in order to avoid the shedding of blood. You’re a fool.’

‘A fool?’ he repeated.

‘When there’s so much to gain and you baulk, yes.’

‘Men die every day for bits of land.’

‘So saving your men isn’t enough to marry me?’

‘My men? I know the worth of Lochmore swords and do not expect any of our blood to be spilled.’ Another tap on the chair’s arms as he waited for her to reply. When she didn’t he said, ‘If you remember, you did not immediately agree.’

A moment of hesitation before she arched a brow. ‘We are enemies, are we not?’

Something punched through him fast and hot when she repeated his words from earlier. He thought there wouldn’t be a battle today, but perhaps he’d found a worthy one.

‘Not good enough,’ he said.

She sighed. ‘We didn’t answer your letters so obviously McCrieffs don’t agree with the transfer. Marriage would help because if we marry, the transference of land would be done without bloodshed. I, unlike you, do care if blood is spilled. Whether you believe it or not, I care about any man, whether he be Lochmore or McCrieff. I am a healer.’

He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. This brought them closer though she didn’t acknowledge it...or realise it. But he did, he was a large man, and with little effort he could yank her off the chair and on to his lap.

Clenching his hands to prevent himself from doing just that, he shook the idea from his thoughts. His inexplicable desire for this woman, for this McCrieff, had no place here.

And yet...they talked of marriage, so how could he stop his thoughts straying? ‘You would help heal Lochmore men. Are you now saying we are not enemies?’

‘We are.’ Ailsa stood and her gown gracefully fell around her, though her own movements were uneven as she secured her shears. ‘We will always be.’

He agreed, but he was surprised by her answer. ‘And yet—’

‘I agreed to marry you?’ she interrupted. ‘Know this, Lochmore, I was told of the Great Feud as well as you. Our clans have the right to hate each other.’

Maybe here were the answers he sought. ‘Such vehemence for such old history. There’s more you’re not telling me. You revealed your anger when you shouted at your father.’

She skirted around him and he felt the impatient brush of her gown against his legs. ‘This history keeps occurring. Even now, I worry about what is happening in the Hall.’

He did, too, but he was more fascinated with watching her pace the small room.

‘When did the King make the decree of McCrieff lands?’ she asked.

Her father was a fool to have kept her in the dark. Her ire was justified. Maybe was even angry at herself for not realising that something was amiss. ‘Last winter after Balliol was crowned.’

She didn’t hide the flash of incredulous anger that crossed her fine features. ‘That is why your men crossed the border to McCrieff land?’

He nodded.

‘Were they celebrating?’

They had been. He’d never seen his father in a rage before, but he had been that day. The men thought a victory had been made. That the land, just because a king decreed it theirs, was theirs. His father had pointed out when it came to bordering land that had been fought over for centuries, nothing was that clear. ‘They were punished.’

‘Two McCrieffs died that day.’

‘And you are the healer,’ he said. She didn’t act like Lochmore’s healer with her gentle ways. Ailsa was fierce. She’d likely stab Death in the heart before it came to take her clansmen away. Anyone she truly cared for she’d most likely... Then a thought occurred to him. ‘Or were you close to one of the McCrieffs?’

‘I’m close to every McCrieff. I care for them all.’

Not a lover or a husband, then. Still, her pacing seemed to increase as he asked his questions. There was more here. As the son of the Chief, he, too, cared for his clan, but losing a clan member would be different from losing Paiden. If that had occurred, it would be a loss he would roar against until his dying day.

‘Did you lose someone else?’

She suddenly hugged her body, her hands roughly rubbing her arms as if she was chilled. ‘We should be talking about my father’s proposal for us, not my childhood.’

‘Your childhood?’

She made a sound of frustration, of anger. ‘You don’t deserve my secrets, but know that I have just cause for my reservations about this marriage,’ she said. ‘But even then, I ask you, can you not see the benefits?’

His body recognised the benefits. His desire couldn’t avoid them. That red hair and rosy lips. Those blushing cheeks. Her fiery temper.

Even now when he was refusing such connection to her, his body conjured images. How he’d wrap the flames of her hair around his fist as he plundered those lips, as he coaxed her to her knees...

Hands suddenly greedy, he clasped them before she could tell what was truly in his thoughts. Her. She talked of past deaths and he could only think of her. Her father was foolish or maybe wise to leave them in this room together...alone. The small unadorned room only highlighted her worth and he kept noticing it.

‘You don’t want more deaths, Ailsa. I understand. But your father prevented McCrieff deaths when he confiscated our weapons,’ he said. ‘Of course, he could kill us. How would I know, since this is our first meeting?’

‘As if you’d simply let him. You’re wasting time, Lochmore.’

Until her father’s return. Her father had made it all too easy for them to come to McCrieff land. Now he understood why.

Sighing, Ailsa continued, ‘We know nothing of each other, but that matters not when it comes to our clans. If we marry, no one dies.’

‘Perhaps today, or for the next sennight, but distrust and animosity between our clans runs too deep,’ he stated.

‘Marriage is permanent. The change would be permanent,’ she said.

‘One was tried before and failed. And we all know whose fault that was.’ Legend had it that a woman who had promised to marry a McCrieff had married a Lochmore instead. True or not, it was also well known that the McCrieffs retaliated and relations deteriorated from there.

A slight frown. ‘What is known and what is speculated does not matter. The fact is we can start anew.’

If she had experienced the deaths of people she cared for, how could she believe so naively? Frederick, the Tanist, proposed it, but he also said he would remain Tanist and that nothing was a guarantee. ‘Did you not hear your father? This is not about starting anew. This is about preserving McCrieff power.’

‘That’s why you care,’ she said. ‘Not for lives, but for power.’

Power was everything. Lochmores were given McCrieff land because they held more power. For once, he’d like control of his life. With power, he could.

‘Don’t you care about it? You want to marry and, by doing so, you preserve the land you have regardless if the King says it is Lochmores. I could not wage battle against your family. Further, you also probably prevent King Edward from taking any more away.’

She opened her mouth, closed it abruptly.

‘You didn’t think that?’

‘I told you why I want it. For lives, which appears to be nothing you care about.’ She fingered the shears around her belt. ‘It doesn’t matter. In the end, the outcome is the same. Two people who have...position and influence in both clans marry.’

‘You think I gain power by marrying you though your father said otherwise?’

‘You certainly don’t lose it. There would be no fight over the land by the border.’

‘I’m Lochmore’s Chief, I could marry anyone and gain other lands.’

‘But none closer or convenient. And for that matter, none merely handed to you.’

Ailsa’s beauty was one thing, her unexpected intelligence was another. Everything about her was unexpected. She was fair of face and body. Mere hours in her presence and he knew she had a fine mind as well. There would be no burden to marry her.

He wouldn’t voice it, but there was a possibility to gain all the McCrieff lands. An achievement none of his clan would expect. All of this done without bloodshed, but there was a catch. There was always a catch when it came to the McCrieffs and the Tanist confessed it. He didn’t intend to concede power. By doing so, Frederick projected to his clan that McCrieffs remained in power.

Where would that leave him? Waiting for the warrior’s death, counting the years until he could wrest control...even if he could. However, it was inconceivable that Frederick would want that for his daughter’s children. Maybe the old man had hope to combine the clans as well. Frederick, as a McCrieff, would be in a better position to know if that hope was possible.

So he married a McCrieff’s daughter, which solved nothing now and only perhaps gained something in the future. Even with all this disclosure, and the almost certainty that Frederick would want a brighter future for his daughter, Rory still sensed a trap.

It was Frederick’s movements before he left the room, a jitter to his leg, his sword hand opening and closing. The frequent glances to the door as if he expected it to burst open. His readiness to be on the other side of the door. He left giving the pretext of privacy, but was it possible he stood on the other side of the door to guard it?

For now Rory could hear muffled voices and the clinking of goblets. There was much talking and occasional shouts of merriment. Was he being merely suspicious?

The danger surrounding him hadn’t been the travelling on McCrieff land, or the offering of marriage. The danger was something he couldn’t see or understand. And for a moment, Rory wished for his sword so he could lay it firmly against Frederick’s neck and demand the truth.

There were lies everywhere. That same instinct that told him something was wrong with his past told him something was wrong now. There was disclosure in this room, but something still felt amiss. Secrets, he saw them everywhere, he’d been trained at it since he was very young.

He knew, though he had never been told, he was not, and could not be, Chief Lochmore’s son.

Though he emulated his parents, though he behaved and trained as the son of a chief should, something inside him warned that he didn’t belong. And it was that which made him refuse the offer now. Not some trap or unknown future. Not some false sense of pride that he wasn’t a pawn to game. They were all pawns and everything a trap. It was that frisson of something amiss that held him back.

‘As the son of a chief, as an enforcer of King Edward’s decree, I cannot accept this offer.’

‘Why, because of this power?’ she scoffed. ‘Because you will not have any since my father will not concede his?’

Power. It was all about power. She might think he held off because of her father, but in fact, he held back because he had none. ‘Power is everything.’

‘So shortsighted! Today we could have some peace. Blood would not be spilled.’

Rory stood then. He was irritated that he could not tell the full truth because he knew these people weren’t. Since that was the case, he’d continue to argue what was known. ‘Shortsighted? A marriage isn’t only for today, it’s for the future. And your father’s proposal curtails mine.’

Small room and a woman who should have looked insignificant against his size now that he stood, but she raised her chin defiantly and he saw nothing but her own stubborn strength and fire.

He had some of his own and his impatience with these people, with his own circumstances, roiled harder inside him. But when he took the steps necessary to be even closer to her, to now intimidate her, she held her ground. And he knew, absolutely knew, he lost some of his. Despite the facts and the glaring falsehoods, he wanted her.

‘I have shears, Lochmore.’

‘Call me Rory.’

A flicker of something across her stunning green eyes and the elegant lines of her neck moved when she swallowed. When he stood with her at the dining table, she had not shown this wariness. Was it the privacy of the room and the fact they were alone? Or was it because his asking her to call him by his name felt too personal?

‘If we are to marry, you would need to say my name,’ he said.

‘But you said we would not marry?’

‘Perhaps you persuaded me with your shears.’

Her eyes narrowed, and he couldn’t help the curve to his lips. She didn’t believe him. Good, she shouldn’t.

He shouldn’t marry her either and that had nothing to do with what they discussed. There was every chance he could leave today without marrying her and there would still be no bloodshed. Frederick could take him prisoner if he refused the proposal, but that would bring the entire Lochmore clan here, and, if Frederick cared for his daughter, he would not jeopardise her life.

Another scenario could be him leaving here and informing his father that he had ensured the border’s safety. A partial untruth, but he’d bet his life that Frederick, meeting him and his men, wouldn’t now fight over something that was almost...personal.

All the conjecture led to one conclusion: to marry Ailsa was superfluous.

A half-step more and her gown brushed his legs again. This time there was no movement from her to indicate her impatience or frustration. Her gown was still, like she was before him. Confusion, yes, he saw it in her eyes and the barely discernible way her body tensed. But there was something else now...an awareness that perhaps matched his own.

Could it be she felt as he did? After all, she had agreed to marry him. ‘Perhaps you persuaded me, Ailsa, that the marriage is necessary to ensure no more bloodshed.’

‘You don’t believe that.’

He wanted privacy so he could gain some answers to this day. To understand or at least appreciate Frederick’s bargaining his only child. Nothing was clear, except this moment. Right now.

There were falsehoods here, but Ailsa and her need to heal was not one of them. She actually...cared. How that was relevant or whether it should be, he didn’t know. But something eased within him.

‘You know, we could marry and our clans could still war. There’s the probability it could make matters worse. What you want to prevent may come about by our joining.’

She exhaled roughly. ‘I told you that our animosity runs deep. I understand that. I also know the land is already yours by a king’s decree. Marrying me could solve nothing. And yet... I know that the way matters are between our clans is of no benefit either.

‘I lost...’ She canted her head and raised her hand. For one infinitesimal moment, he thought she’d lay it on his chest, right on his heart that suddenly beat uncontrollably.

Then the moment was gone. A stuttering of her fingers as if she realised what she was about to do before she lowered and clasped it before her. ‘All I want is the possibility of something different.’

A possibility. Her words were another punch to his battered body. Everything here was a possibility. For her the lives saved. For him...power. Control. The chance for more for his clan and hers, for a family of his own, children. He’d have a wife who cared for others with a fierceness he didn’t realise he’d wanted until he met her.

Impossible, these possibilities. All the more so for the other pressing reason he shouldn’t marry her. They believed him to be the Chief’s son and if it ever came to light that he wasn’t, what then?

Yet, a possibility for a future he didn’t dare dream of... Any warrior, any man, would lie and steal for that dream. Maybe he didn’t have to go that far. In truth, he was at least named a Lochmore. His mother might have lain with another, but it must have been done in great secret given the truth had never been revealed in all these years. As a result, their marriage would still be a Lochmore marrying a McCrieff and maybe that was enough.

Unless the Tanist discovered the truth one day and took it as an insult. So many possible possibilities. But once something was done, it couldn’t be undone. He was proof of that. Marriage and their children were permanent despite his fears of his past.

Thuds and roars from behind the door. They both froze, until goblets thumped on heavy oak tables and laughter rang out.

An offer of marriage.

Marriage. He returned his gaze to Ailsa, who gazed back unwaveringly at him. He admired her again. More so because he’d refused her and she’d replied with reason and pride.

Such fire within her veins and it called to his own. But it was a reminder as well. No matter his dreams or hopes, there was no talk of a happy marriage or children from her. She talked of preventing bloodshed, not peace. She cared, but she didn’t say she cared for him. This wasn’t personal for her and it shouldn’t be for him.

And yet, if this was a trap, they had made the prize too dear not to reach for it. All he needed to do was agree and the possibility of more would be his. But the possibilities of a better future wasn’t what pummelled through his chest and coursed hotly through his veins because his body didn’t concern itself with property or power. His body believed Ailsa was the prize. Thus, she was his right not as a ruler, but as a man.

He’d take her.

‘Say my name, Ailsa. Say it and that possibility you want will be so.’

She straightened, seemingly to brace herself. ‘Rory.’

Victory and far sweeter than he had envisioned for this day. Two strides to the door, he flung it open to see Frederick on the other side with his sword out. At Rory’s glance, Frederick sheathed it.

A moment of hesitation and a truth rang out. Frederick was guarding the door. But his expression showed something else. Gone was father and warrior, now he carried only the expression of a politician.

A wife who didn’t care for him. A father-in-law that had an agenda he knew nothing about. Still, the possibility of more... ‘I, as representative of Clan Lochmore, as son of Chief Lochmore, agree to this offer.’

Frederick’s eyes switched to his daughter and held. Whatever he saw there, it was enough for him to say, ‘As my daughter is witness, it is made in good faith.’

‘That won’t be good enough,’ Rory said.

‘Ah, yes, this calls for a formal announcement.’