by Nicole Locke
He couldn’t trust anyone. They couldn’t trust him either, but he was promised something this day and he would take it.
‘We’ll marry. Tonight. I’ll allow for you to arrange what needs to be done, but it will happen.’
She threw the pillow on the floor and stood. ‘I’m not marrying you.’
‘You will go back on your word?’
Ailsa yanked on her gown as it snagged on the chair. In her worry for Paiden, she hadn’t tied the laces and now it hung indecently. ‘Your friend—’
‘Just because you marry me, does that mean you will no longer be the healer?’
* * *
This man who stood before her wasn’t sane. He couldn’t be. He’d come here to conquer the McCrieffs. To wrest the land a king had given to his clan. Instead, he’d been welcomed and fed and given fine ale.
He’d been given her. Another tug and her gown was free, but she clenched it to her chest like some maiden in a tower. What was happening here today? She had no idea. Her father had sold her and, though he’d acted with guilt, he’d meant every word. She refused to believe it was with ill intent, so there must be a reason for the secrecy and betrayal. Never could she imagine a marriage between the clans that would be sanctioned by Hamish or the majority of elders.
This plan and decision came solely from her father, who had protected her all her life. This decision could not have been made lightly and came at a price to him. Her father wouldn’t sacrifice her for the clan. No, he was Tanist, that was true, and a rightful heir to the clan. He’d always been a good father and, after her mother’s death, he’d been devoted to his children. He wouldn’t, couldn’t simply sacrifice her. But he would protect her.
When she told Rory that she didn’t know what was happening here, she meant it. ‘You want to marry me when you must be worried I’ll murder you in the marriage bed?’
‘Worried isn’t the word I’d use for how I feel right now.’
She couldn’t tell how he felt right now. His words were clipped as if he said them through a clenched jaw, but his hands were unclenched, his body almost relaxed. His dishevelment, brown hair loose, clothes dusty from the ride, from the day. Stained from the armour that he had worn earlier and now was piled in the corner as if it wasn’t valuable. He was half-careless, half-dogged. Who was this man and why had she readily agreed to marry him?
From his silence it was obvious he wouldn’t share the truth of his feelings...if he had any. She should have fought more against the proposal. It wasn’t only the leaders or the men who had gone mad, it was everyone. Hastily, she adjusted her gown, found the laces and clumsily tied them. She didn’t care if they were crooked, she just couldn’t storm out of here naked.
She felt exposed now though the fabric swamped her. He might not share his feelings, might be able to keep his expression neutral, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t trained in the art of lies and deceit. In truth, she encouraged open dialogue to better heal.
How could she ever know if Rory spoke the truth? One moment, he didn’t want her, then when no facts were changed, he did. He hated her, but he also wanted to marry her.
And yet, a part of her still wanted what they had agreed to in that small room downstairs. Outwardly, she had agreed to the marriage to end the killing, to possibly stop future strife. Inwardly... She wanted to curse at the old healer Rhona for telling her stories and filling her head with possibilities that there wasn’t only hate in the world between McCrieffs and Lochmores. That there could be something more. Daydreams from a child. Every one of them.
She wanted to curse herself for listening and begging to be told more. Because she couldn’t get the idea out of her heart that a Lochmore and McCrieff marriage could be something good. But more than that...much more. There was something about Rory that intrigued and beguiled her. Something that had started in that courtyard...
She yanked harder on her laces, cursing herself for not having Hannah take care of these when she handed her the gown. But she’d been so aware of the intimacy of the room, of how close Rory was. His focus had been on his friend, but her focus had been on him. A man in the room and she only wore a thin chemise.
She’d been aware of him since the courtyard and even more so in the adjoining room. Once he agreed to marry her, she began to think of him as her husband...as someone to share a marriage bed.
It was more than how he looked, it was the way he moved. How he’d sat in the chair and stretched his legs. His easy gait, the drumming of the fingers on his left hand. When he’d leaned forward in his chair, for one wild moment she’d thought he would snatch her out of hers.
At her father’s announcement to the Hall, Rory’s bearing had been magnificent. He’d faced the crowd, his expression stunning her, and she couldn’t—
‘Do you need help with those?’ he said.
Ready to give him a pithy retort, she raised her chin and lost whatever cutting words were waiting to be said.
This wasn’t the man who had entered the courtyard or ate at the table or negotiated for marriage. This wasn’t the man who had wielded his sword or shown such a moment of raw vulnerability when his friend fell it pierced her to think of it.
This was a man who was watching a lady dress herself. And everything in her knew it.
His eyes were on her sides where her fingers had gotten hopelessly tangled and trapped. His body was still held in that easy manner of his, but there was an alertness about him now. There was colour in his cheeks, and his brows were slanted down.
His lips were slightly parted to let in air and they looked slicked somehow as if he licked them before she had turned her head. Slick, soft, and for the first time in her life she wanted to kiss a man.
She braced herself when he took a step forward and another until his fingers were at her side, there with her own fingers that he slowly released from the laces.
Startled at the intimate touch, she wanted to step away, then realised she hadn’t answered him if she wanted help. He’d taken her stunned amazement at wanting to kiss him as acquiescence for him to dress her.
Lowering her arms, she answered, ‘Thank you.’
He yanked a bit, jarring her already unsteady stance against him.
‘Sorry,’ he whispered and helped her right herself. ‘The strings are knotted. How did you get them like this?’
How did they get like this; from arguing of poisoning and intrigues to her wanting to touch his lips? To feeling for an instant her body curve to his before she found her balance again.
‘I’ve never been good at them because I’ve never had patience for them. At least with these gowns it’s expected to have another person dress you. If not for that, I’d feel a complete fool.’
‘You haven’t...ordered them to behave?’
She felt the curve to her lips. To laugh now? Impossible moment, impossible day. ‘Countless times.’
He tied the lace and moved to her other side. ‘There aren’t any la—’ She gasped when she felt the back of his fingers glide down her side. There were no laces, only the smooth seam of the gown. He’d caressed her for no purpose other than to touch her.
‘Do you have an answer for me, Ailsa?’
Rory stood in front of her, asking her to marry him. Rory was here in her home, in this room. If Rhona were here now...
No matter what she felt like as he stood before her, there were more important matters than daydreams. And yet her logical response still held.
In the end, there was only one satisfactory answer. The one she had already given him. The reality was that if King Edward was willing to give away part of the land, there was no stopping him from giving it all away to the Lochmores. With her marriage, she could secure something for her clan. The land at least would be certain. Any peace between clans or a real marriage all but certainly doomed with the poisoning of Paiden.
Who could possibly ha
ve done it and why? Had it been planned before, or had it been an impetuous act when the announcement was made? And what was he poisoned with?
The world had gone mad; she needed to remember Rory was her clan’s enemy and there was no trust between them. For his friend’s sake, he might even hate her. Yet even so, she’d would make the sacrifice because her father had her loyalty, her clan had her loyalty. Despite what she wanted for herself, despite the dream of something greater, the logical choice still held.
‘I’ll marry you. Tonight. For the clans.’
Anger flashed in his eyes when he locked them with hers. ‘For the clans then.’
Chapter Seven
‘Take off your gown.’
His voice was no more than an order and with a tone she imagined he gave to his men when in training.
Ailsa had heard his voice in its many tones. The negotiator when he agreed to the land and to her. The wrathful warrior when he thought his friend was irreparably harmed. And when he said his vows, his voice resonated throughout the chapel. It had sounded as though he meant them.
Had that been less than an hour ago? Everything had happened so quickly. Her father and two Lochmores had been standing outside the door when they emerged from Paiden’s room and announced that they would marry that very night.
Her father had looked relieved, the Lochmores surprised. She was properly dressed, but had been alone with him. If Rory hadn’t announced it, her father would have forced the issue.
Oh, to be not at the whim of men and customs! But even men were at the whim of those higher than them. Lochmores and McCrieffs were together because of a king’s decree. But that did no good now.
Not for her, the wife of a Lochmore. This Lochmore who was full of concern and wrath because his friend was poisoned and would not wake. There was no trust between them. She knew it in every part of her being. A marriage for peace this was not. The most she could do now was to ensure her clan did not lose any more to King Edward.
Still, she did not bend to any man. ‘And so I’m to simply take off my gown. No polite conversation, no offers of ale?’
A muscle clenched in his jaw. ‘What more is there to say between you and me?’
‘We could talk about tonight...exchange pleasantries.’
‘You want to talk of the weather or perhaps leeks?’
Impossible night. She’d always done her duty to her father, to the clan. By marrying this man, she’d done it again. But maybe she should have stayed selfish. Maybe her first instinct to run out of the room was correct.
Her friend had died years before. Crushed under Lochmores’ hooves. Just months ago, a skirmish occurred and two McCrieffs died. Now she had married one?
‘Is it so wrong to ask you to be pleasant?’ she said.
A rough exhalation. ‘I did not thank you for requesting the return of our swords.’
He wasn’t thanking her now.
Maybe this was how marriage nights went when a man from an enemy clan came to conquer land and married to gain more instead. Except, she’d seen a different side to this man. Was that man now gone because his friend might die? If so, for her it did not matter. She would not be treated so callously. He spoke to her as if she was a nuisance, a chore. She would not stand for it.
‘If you are a reasonable man, you will understand I will not take off my gown. I will not be raped.’
They stood in her room that seemed so much smaller with his presence, though he wasn’t looking at her, nor did he seem to be taking in the room that she once prided herself on. Instead, the moment the door closed and locked them he began pacing from one end to the other. His movements were of a caged animal as he demanded that she strip as though it was chore he needed hastily over with.
A part of her understood that caged feeling. For she herself was forced into this predicament. She was never asked to marry, there were no soft words of love between them. Her father had negotiated her as if she were of no more consequence than sheep. And, yes, her father did have control over her and, if she married, her husband as well. But she was more than property and whatever she wanted of her marriage would begin here.
‘Do you think a gown would hinder a rape?’ he said.
She did not know this man, but she recognised his anger. If he still suspected and hated her for his friend’s health, why did he continue with this marriage? Ailsa could only come to one conclusion: this was, as she first said, a political alliance. She came with land and a title. His friend’s life didn’t alter that. He might resent that it was she who came with such a price, he might hate her if Paiden died, but he was a Lochmore, his father’s son, and so he did his duty.
But she refused to be a duty and he needed to stop walking away and turning his back to her. ‘A gown wouldn’t stop a rape, but it’s a far cry from a willing woman,’ she said.
‘Do you think of yourself as unwilling, Wife?’
There was no possibility to feel like a wife. He had arrived this very day and was still her enemy though her father forced her to see reason. Even with such a logical decision and agreement to save her clan, Ailsa could think of no diplomatic reply. As for unwilling or willing...
Rory must have seen her indecision for his upper lip curved sardonically. ‘That’s what I thought. We both know what must occur tonight. Take off your gown.’
She wouldn’t. Not because she had some fanciful dreams of what her wedding night would be, but because she was worth more than this.
‘You first,’ she replied.
That stopped his frustrating pacing. ‘What did you say?’
Wanting him to stop his pacing and look at her and him turning to her were two different things. Now she felt pinned by his gaze. No heat, no warmth. It wasn’t restlessness that caused his curt words. He was angry. Still. Despite the fact she’d agreed to the marriage and saved his friend with a blade pricking her neck.
She could be angry, too. None of this was her fault. She’d explained that to him already. If this was how they married, with him blaming her for matters out of her control, it would stop right now or there would be no wedding night.
‘I said you first to undress. Why should it be only me? If any of this is to happen between us, it must come from both of us.’
His widening gaze swept over her and then again. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t find it because he still bore the stubborn perplexed look. ‘You are direct for a virgin.’
She was told her speech bordered on insulting, but she had never been insulted in turn. They wouldn’t dare. Everyone here knew her status and what her father would do. ‘You think I talk like a common whore?’
He blinked. ‘I meant no—’
‘You did mean offence. I’m a healer; I’ve also been a midwife. Since I was young enough to carry rags and herbs, I’ve been at the beginning and the ending of lives. I’ve seen everything in between as well. I may not have engaged in the act, but I know what needs to occur.’
His brow furrowed, but he kept silent. If he wanted it all to be told to him, she would. ‘So for us to lie together, both of us have to take our clothes off...at least to some extent. If you want me to take off my gown, then I require you to take off an article of clothing as well.’
‘Women do not talk as you do.’
‘These are words, are they not?’
‘Not in any order I’ve heard before.’
Lochmore wasn’t that far from McCrieff. She understood him perfectly, but perhaps he had been in other lands and wasn’t used to native speech. Maybe she wasn’t being reasonable and making assumptions. ‘Have you travelled far?’
This time his mouth pursed. It didn’t, however, soften his countenance at all. ‘I’ve never left our land.’
Ah. This was an argument she’d heard since the moment she could speak in sentences. ‘You think I talk too bluntly.’
‘Decidedly.’<
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‘For a woman or a man?’ she asked.
‘Is there a difference?’
That stopped her. She couldn’t count how many conversations she had with villagers or those travelling through on how a woman should talk. Now he was suggesting there was no difference between a man or woman. Something in her eased at his words. If he was like her father when it came to her independence—
‘You talk too bluntly for both sexes,’ he continued.
Enough! He wasn’t so different from other men. There was still time to show him another way of being with women, with his wife.
‘You should get used to the way I talk.’ She was a great warrior’s daughter. First born and given freedom. She knew she would sacrifice a bit of that freedom by marrying another, she knew she lost some of it when her father became Tanist. But in this, in the private chambers of their bedroom, there would be no ordering or reining her in.
‘I talked plainly instead of in riddles,’ she continued. ‘Wouldn’t this make it easier between the two of us if we use plain speech?’
‘I don’t think anything between the two of us will be easier regardless of the way you talk.’
‘How would you know?’
‘You have yet to comply with my request.’
Now it was her time to be perplexed. All she had heard since the door closed was him ordering her about. ‘Request?’
‘It is our wedding night, yet you’ve not taken off your clothes.’
There was no air inside her lungs. She needed to talk to this man she didn’t know and he ordered her to remove her clothing so he could continue with his duty. As if this meant nothing. Since his arrival there had been too much chaos on McCrieff soil, she would take back some control now. ‘And you say I talk too bluntly.’
‘I am a man and gave an order.’
‘I don’t listen to orders.’
‘Nor to plain speech.’
Whatever political alliance her father needed, whatever she thought she knew of this man Rory, had to be wrong. There was no logic or reasonableness in him. She couldn’t even hold a conversation with him. ‘This won’t work.’