by Mariah Stone
Rogene swallowed a hard knot and blinked to will the burning in her eyes away. “He has. My mother has, too. She, too, insisted that I always learn and always improve myself.”
He looked at her, and a pain in his eyes made her chest tighten. “Ye were lucky to have a da and a ma like that.”
She looked at the contract in front of her. Kenneth Og Mackenzie was his father, and this document, essentially, was the beginning of his life.
“What was your father like?” she asked.
His mouth curved downwards within his beard. “’Tis nae good to talk badly of those who are deceased,” he said. “So I wilna say anything.”
His voice rasped, and she heard suppressed anger underneath. “What did he do?” she asked.
He turned to her completely, cold and distant. Pain raged in his dark eyes as he tucked his fingers between his torso and his arms.
“He did what he did, and I”—he gritted his teeth—“did what I did.”
“That sounds ominous,” Rogene said.
He frowned. “Dinna matter how it sounds.” He looked at the contract. “Did ye finish here?”
With a pinch of regret, she rolled the vellum and handed it to him. As she did, their fingers touched briefly, and their eyes met. She held her breath, unable to move, chained to the captivity in his eyes.
“Do you love her?” she asked, surprising herself.
He frowned briefly. “Nae.”
She didn’t think a single syllable could make anyone happier than it made her. He took the parchment from her and put it into the chest. When he closed it and straightened, his eyes were sad. “But it doesna matter. My life has always been about duty to this clan. And it always will be.”
He swallowed and looked her over with such longing that her cheeks burned.
“My own desires will never matter. Because clan comes first.”
Chapter 8
The next day…
Rogene dipped the quill into the jar of ink. As she brought it over the parchment to start writing, a drop fell from the tip of her reed pen and a giant black blot spread on the surface. No!
“…aye, and I want the islands to be included in yer clan’s payment,” Euphemia said.
“Damn it,” Rogene muttered under her breath.
Laomann was staring at Euphemia helplessly, Angus was pacing the room, holding his elbows as though he was restricting himself from lunging at Euphemia and strangling her, and the Earl of Ross was rubbing the tip of his chin with an amused half smile.
Laomann’s lord’s hall was cold despite the bright morning sunlight that fell from the slit window. They had just eaten a breakfast of oatmeal and had been here for maybe ten minutes.
And already, they were at each other’s throats.
Euphemia glanced sharply at Rogene. “What are ye doing?” she asked.
“Uhm.” Rogene looked around. “What do I wipe this with?”
Euphemia narrowed her eyes, jumped up from the chair, and marched towards her. “Have ye never written a text before?” she demanded. She opened a small chest standing by the base of the reclining table, retrieved a linen cloth, a penknife, and something like a wooden ruler. She crossed her arms and scowled at Rogene.
“Here ye go, Lady Rogene. Have forgotten how to use the writing tools? Or have ye been lying to us and ye actually canna write?”
Rogene bit the inside of her cheek and took the cloth. “Thanks,” she said and straightened her back. Forgotten? She’d been writing since she was old enough to hold a pen, sitting on her mother’s lap. “I will write your contract, don’t you worry.”
She returned the woman’s angry stare. How could she have thought yesterday that Euphemia was a feminist? That she was standing up for women’s rights centuries earlier than what had been recorded? If this were high school, Euphemia would have been one of the mean girls, and Rogene refused to be bullied.
Euphemia scoffed and returned to her chair. Rogene wiped the blot, took the penknife, and scraped the dark spot away. It worked almost like an elastic eraser, except the pen took out a layer of the parchment completely and left a creamy white surface again. It was a bit rougher than the untouched rest, but Rogene was sure it would work just the same.
Great job ruining a historic document before she’d even started on it. She glanced at Angus, feeling her cheeks redden, and saw him hiding a smile.
Now what? She looked at the ruler and remembered that in medieval books, there were often lines. Monks drew thin lines before starting writing. That was what she did, using the ruler and the penknife.
Euphemia sighed with exasperation and returned her attention to Angus. “The islands are to be included in yer clan’s payment,” she repeated.
Then, just like in the contract between Angus’s father and mother, Rogene wrote the date and the place and the parties involved. She tried her best to imitate the calligraphy, but her words were blotchy and uneven and…well…horrible.
But, thankfully, while she was doing her best at imitating the writing style of the fourteenth century, the negotiators were too busy arguing and didn’t pay any attention to her.
“Over my dead body!” Angus boomed. “Those islands belong to me and to Mackenzie clan. They are where ye and I are supposed to live, Lady Euphemia.”
“And we shall live there, if ye wish, my lord. And, therefore, they will remain in the family.”
“Oh, they will remain in the family? Whose?”
“Ours.”
“Ours.” Angus scoffed. “And what if I die, just like yer two husbands before? What happens to my land then?”
“The islands go to clan Ross, of course.” She stood up and walked to the other side of the room.
She thumbed one of the swords along its edge, gasped, and drew her thumb into her mouth.
Laomann fidgeted in his seat. “Clan Ross?” He drummed his fingers briefly, then covered his mouth with his hand as though stopping himself from speaking. “Those islands belonged to our mother, and they were her tocher,” he said with his hand still over his mouth.
“And they will be tocher for our daughter.” Hiding her thumb in her fist, Euphemia leisurely walked to Angus and stopped before him.
With her stomach flipping, Rogene watched a playful, flirtatious expression flourish on Euphemia’s face as she looked up at Angus, standing so close, her breasts almost brushed his chest.
“Or son,” she added.
He held her gaze. “Those islands will go to our daughter or son,” he said slowly, “but as part of the Mackenzie lands.”
Hyear… Rogene wrote. Hearing Euphemia’s teeth screech, Rogene glanced at her quickly, and her pen did an uneven lurch. Damn it! She didn’t remember reading how they would agree in the end, but this didn’t sound like a great start. She knew she was just an observer, but she secretly rooted for Angus.
The Earl of Ross waved his hand. “Frankly, sister, I dinna understand why ye insist so much on having these small islands. The Earldom of Ross is many folds bigger.”
Without touching her, Angus walked towards Rogene. As he approached, he locked his eyes with her.
“Speaking of the Earldom of Ross…” He turned to Euphemia. “Dinna ye have land, my lady?”
She pursed her lips like a duck’s bill and put her hands on the back of the giant, wooden chair. “Aye. ’Tis so.”
“’Tis customary that the bride brings lands with her to the marriage. And the groom offers a monetary retribution. ’Tis what we want. Land.”
She looked around with her eyebrows raised. “Monetary retribution?” She scoffed. “Ye dinna have enough, Lord Angus, quite frankly. Ye couldna even pay full tribute, and we all ken that a bride of my status and wealth would normally nae marry a small landowner like yerself. Ye have already been unable to pay yer full tribute.”
Swallowing, Rogene looked up at Angus, who stood by her side. Even under his beard, she saw his jaw muscles working. “By God’s blood, Lady Euphemia, we need to find a solution, or this marria
ge wilna take place.”
Somehow, they would, Rogene knew, though her heart drummed against her rib cage. Paul Mackenzie would be born. She hadn’t seen their marriage contract, but she did remember seeing the registration of the marriage, which had been held in Dornie church. Next year, Paul would be born and registered in Dornie, too.
Everyone stilled. Rogene froze with her pen and heard a drop of ink fall onto the parchment with a soft plop.
“Lord Angus,” Euphemia said. “Cursing like that, profaning God’s body like that… Oh, ye’re a bad lad, are ye nae? Tell ye what, I do have a proposition that ye may find acceptable.”
She walked to him and took him by the shoulder, leading him into the corner of the room and away from everyone. She stood on her toes and whispered something in his ear. By the way she brushed up and down his right biceps, Rogene could guess what she was proposing, and she hated every bit of it. She looked at William, who stared at the table with an expression of “Oh boy, here we go again.” Laomann sat with his mouth covered with his hand and fingered a small indent in the table, a deep frown on his brow. Rogene hated that her heart beat so quickly, and her stomach squeezed so painfully from the jealousy and hatred she felt towards Euphemia.
She was just an observer, she reminded herself. She wasn’t even sure if her being here might have some sort of drastic butterfly effect and change everything. She shouldn’t involve herself emotionally. Not to mention wishing that Angus wasn’t marrying a woman like Euphemia. Any woman, actually.
She took the penknife and started scrubbing away the blotch she’d made.
Finally, Lady Euphemia stepped away from Angus and studied him expectantly. “What do ye say, Lord Angus? If ye agree, ye may keep yer islands, and I will put part of my lands at yer disposal.”
Angus stared at her as one stares at a snake, and something lightened up in Rogene’s chest, knowing that he wasn’t impressed by this beautiful, strong, but clearly evil woman.
“I see that these negotiations are leading nowhere,” he said. “Lords and Ladies, I do suggest we stop for now and come back to the table tomorrow.” He looked at Euphemia. “I think we all need to have a clear head, as ’tis dangerous nae to be thinking with it.”
He walked out of the room, his heavy footsteps pounding against the staircase as he descended. Lady Euphemia turned to look at her brother. And for the first time, Rogene realized that not only was this woman evil.
She was also very dangerous.
Because on her tense face and in her chilly eyes, the pain of rejection mixed with the power of a deadly storm.
Chapter 9
After a swim in the icy loch later that evening, Angus sat on the wooden jetty by the water gate of the castle. The sun was setting over Loch Alsh, sinking behind the hills to the west. The waters were still, reflecting the frenzy of orange, pink, and gold, and the colors spilled against the blue and indigo in the east. His feet hung from the jetty and dangled. He had his fresh clothes on and felt clean, and dry, and like himself. His hair was still wet.
God Almighty, it had been so good to dip into the cool waters and forget what had happened in the negotiation room. He didn’t know how he’d marry Euphemia. Under her beautiful exterior was a woman of similar character to his father—selfish, cold, and ready to do anything to get what she wanted. Having a father like that had been bad enough. And although Angus had regretted his death, as he hadn’t wished the man harm, he did feel like a new stage of his life had begun, a free one.
And now, tying himself to Euphemia, it felt like he’d be chaining himself up once again.
Light footsteps sounded on the jetty and he turned. Lady Rogene was coming to him. He stopped breathing for a moment. She was the epitome of beauty: slender, with small breasts and fair skin, her long hair falling over her shoulders and chest. Her figure under the dress moved in the elegant ways of a highborn woman. To be the ideal, she only needed to be blond, but he’d been recently appalled by a blond woman, and he wasn’t someone who wanted an ideal, anyway.
But he wanted her.
God forgive him, he wanted her. He imagined her naked legs kicking that dress as she walked, the thin waist with a soft belly, the small breasts with bare nipples—would they be rosy like her lips or darker? he wondered. His cock began rousing again. Goddamn it! He’d just been in the lake where he’d taken care of his appetite for her behind some bushes—and now again? What was he, a goddamn bull?
But it was more than just her body, he knew. Something about her was so different from anyone he’d ever met, and as soon as she entered the surrounding space, he breathed easier, and colors gained vividness and brightness, and sounds became louder.
She came to stand next to him, and he continued looking up at her. He could just reach out, pull her by her legs, and catch her as she fell into his arms.
“Um, Angus,” she said. “Sorry. Lord Angus…”
“Ye may call me Angus,” he said, his voice rasping. He cleared his throat.
She smiled. “Well, then you can stop calling me Lady. Rogene’s fine.”
“Aye,” he said and patted the jetty by his side.
“I only came to say supper is served. Your sister wanted to go look for you, but she’s a little under the weather, so I volunteered.”
Voluntee— What was that word? It probably meant she said she’d go find him.
“Supper can wait,” he said, turning to look at the sky. The first stars were already shining in the east. “I’m nae particularly eager to get back to our guests.”
She didn’t reply, but he heard the rustle of her dress as she sat down by his side. Out of the corner of his eye, he stared at her sharp knees and slender thighs under the fabric of her dress. She sat so close, her dress was touching his hand where he held the edge of the jetty.
“But the guests are eager for you to get back.” She chuckled.
“Are they,” he said and sighed. “They can wait. I’ll have my whole life to attend to their whims.”
He saw her turn to him. “What did she suggest?”
He picked up a small piece of dry dirt and threw it into the loch. A single soft gurgle came from the spot where it went under, and the surface rippled around it.
“I’m nae sure ’tis a proper thing to tell to unmarrit ladies,” he said.
She chuckled. “Ah, come on. I’m not a—” She stopped herself suddenly, and he looked at her sharply. She kept searching for a word as her cheeks blushed, and she looked guilty, as though she’d been caught in a lie.
“Virgin?” he asked, surprised. Then his stomach fell. “Were ye raped while ye were robbed?”
She widened her eyes. “No! No. I wasn’t raped. But…” She straightened her back. “What the hell. Yes, I’m not a virgin, though I’m not sure that’s any of your business, frankly. So, anyway, you can tell me whatever it was you hesitated to tell me.”
He eyed her, and although, being raised Catholic, he expected previously unmarried young women to be virgins, he didn’t think she was a whore as he’d previously accused her of being. Jealousy stung him as he thought of the man who’d made her a woman, and he suddenly wanted to punch someone.
He turned away, cleared his throat—more to distract himself from another frenzy of dirty thoughts about her—and said, “She wants me to lie with her before the wedding. She wants a son. Soon.”
“Oh.”
“She’s nae young nae more, and she’s always wanted a boy. Her daughter is frail, poor thing, so ’tis unlikely she’ll get marrit. I suppose, I’m Euphemia’s last chance to have a legitimate heir.”
She nodded. “And you don’t want to lie with her before the wedding?”
“I have to marry her,” he said. “’Tis the only way to protect my clan.”
She frowned. “Protect? From whom?”
“From her. She wants Kintail because we failed to pay the tribute in full. It used to be part of Ross territory, but was claimed by my ancestors and then approved by the king. My clan won a skirmi
sh with the chief of clan Ross a long time ago, but Euphemia thinks that battle needs to happen again. God kens my clan isna in a position to fight a large force.”
“Right. Especially not during the Wars of Scottish Independence.”
He glanced at her. “I’ve never heard anyone call them that. But aye, ’tis a good name. We do fight for our independence.”
He leaned back, supporting himself with his arms. Why did he have this feeling of lightness in his chest around her? Like she’d understand anything he’d tell her, like she’d make it better.
“I’ve always been the one protecting them, taking on the load, anything that would harm them. And it wasna like I had anyone I loved to marry, so…I thought if I marrit anyone, it should be for the well-being of my clan.”
She eyed him with something that resembled wonder. “Really?”
Ah nae, dinna look at me like that…
Too late. He was already drowning in her magic, in the depths of those beautiful sparkling eyes. He let out a long breath. “Truth be told, Lady Rogene…” He chuckled. “Rogene, I mean. I dinna want to lie with her at all.” He looked at her. Her eyes shone in the dying light of the day, reflecting the brilliant, intense sunset. Her lips looked so soft, and her skin was radiant with the golden glow. Her dark hair was like a veil of silk around her face. “I want another.”
She blinked and swallowed. “Who?”
It was as though someone had punched his logical mind, and it lay unmoving, allowing his feelings and emotions to do whatever they wanted.
“You.”
She opened her mouth, her eyes widening in surprise. She bit her full lower lip, and he wanted to be the one biting it. Her eyes darkened, and he knew she wanted him, too. The soft blue vein in her neck pulsed faster.
His logical mind was still out cold when he reached for her, dragged her to himself by the waist, and kissed her. For a moment, he expected her to push him away and slap him again, but, thank heavens, she didn’t.