Except now, she was starting to regret her zeal; her new priority was to simply reach the castle’s walls before dark.
One way or another, she would confront Viscount Strathcairn. After a considerable amount of thought, she’d made up her mind.
She would accept his proposal—sweet heaven above, she couldn’t even think the words without gritting her teeth!
As much as she detested the arrangement, for however brief a time it may be, she had to concede that it was logical. As long as he was willing to uphold his end of the bargain and have the marriage annulled when the time came—and Moira had no choice but to trust that he would—then she would agree.
And why wouldn’t he make good on his promise? A man like Lachlan Ramsay wouldn’t want a plain, simple lass like Moira for a wife under more natural circumstances. Any more than Moira would want a vain, over-confident, self-important brute like him.
Vain he certainly was!
Well, he probably was, at any rate. All men that good looking were.
“Come on, then, Beauty,” she encouraged, patting her horse affectionately on the neck. The mare snuffed great spurts of steam, and obliged her mistress.
Beauty. It was the perfect name for this particular mare. On the outside, she was anything but beautiful, with notably squat hindquarters and a long, marring scar that crossed over her left eye to the bridge of her muzzle. Moira had traded a sack of raw wool for the beast at market last year. Given the animal’s unattractiveness, Master MacCormack had taken it upon himself to inform her that she’d not gotten the bargain she thought she had.
Moira had named her Beauty anyway. And no name could fit her better for she had a lovely, gentle soul. After all, wasn’t that what made a person beautiful? That which existed on the inside?
Take Lady Glinis, for instance. Outwardly she was ravishing. Her figure was unparalleled, even when compared to ladies half her age. Her eyes, deep and black as coal, gazed out at the world as though they guarded some mysterious secret. Long, flowing, raven-black hair complemented a complexion that was as iridescent as pearls.
Yet the lady was a miserable wench. Cold and uncaring towards anyone that was not noble, a condition caused by nearly a lifetime of disappointment thanks to Lord Kildrummond and his Lilian. Not even her uncommon beauty could thaw the lump of ice that was her heart.
If being beautiful on the outside meant being bitter and unable to love on the inside, then Moira would much rather be beautiful where it mattered. It was why she shared such an affinity with her mare: neither was particularly attractive, but both knew what it meant to feel love in all its forms.
Not that Moira knew love in all its forms; she certainly loved the MacCormacks well enough, each and every one of them. She loved them like they were her very own kin. And she enjoyed the company of the villagers. Most of them, anyway... the ones that didn’t frequent the castle and talk about her behind her back.
Yes, though she was far from beautiful, Moira knew what it was to love her fellow man.
As to the form of love which she had still yet to know—not love for her fellow man, but love for one man in particular—perhaps one day she would have the opportunity to learn. She was not against marriage, necessarily. If she could find a man whom she could love, and who could love her in return... then yes, she was quite confident she had the ability to love in that respect, too.
Lachlan Ramsay, Viscount Strathcairn, however, was not that man!
“Come now, old girl, no use getting yerself all worked up,” Moira muttered. Beauty let out another snort, agreeing with her mistress.
By the time the towers of Glendalough came into view, the sky had transformed, taking on a hue that was a blend of rose-and-gold, peppered with rich, rounded clouds of greyish-blue.
“My Lady Moira,” called a familiar voice from the gate.
Glancing up, Moira waved to Dougall MacFadyen, who leaned over the crenellated parapet of the tower gate. He peered down at her, a warm smile on his handsome face.
There, she thought. Sir Dougall MacFadyen was a prime example of the co-existence of beauty both without and within. He would make some lady a fine, devoted husband one day.
“Dougall, good evening,” she responded.
“I didna ken his Lordship were expecting ye. Shall I send word ye’ve arrived?”
“Nay, thank ye. Actually, I have come to speak with the Viscount Strathcairn. Is he wi’in?”
“Aye, he is.” Dougall had to raise his voice to be heard over the clatter of the wooden gate as it was raised to admit her. “I’ll fetch him.”
“Dinna trouble yerself, I’ll find him.” Moira nudged Beauty with her heel and trotted the beast into the bailey. Reaching the main doors she hopped deftly down to the cobbled courtyard. Handing the reins to an awaiting ghillie, she stepped through to the inner corridor of the castle.
“Where might I find Viscount Strathcairn?” she inquired of a passing servant, a village Douglas woman whom she knew.
“Em... I am no’ certain, Moira dearie—er, that is, my Lady. If he be no’ in the great hall, then ye might wish to try his chamber.”
“Dinna call me my Lady, or I’ll never speak to ye again,” she teased.
“Cheeky lass,” the woman responded affectionately.
Taking the servant’s advice Moira proceeded to the great hall. At this time of day it was being set up for the evening meal, and the air was alive with the bustle of preparation.
Lachlan wasn’t there. Moira muttered an un-ladylike curse. She’d been hoping to avoid his chamber. Though she may have made up her mind to marry the man, such an intimate space need not be shared prematurely.
Reluctantly she set out for the keep, stopping once more to enquire exactly which chamber the Viscount Strathcairn was in. Finding it, she paused outside his closed door, and breathed deeply to settle her nerves. Then, raising her hand, she rapped decisively.
The sound of shuffling feet from within seeped through the oaken door, but no one came to open it. Had she been heard? Should she knock again? She leaned closer, pressing her ear to the wood.
Before she righted herself, the door was pulled back. She stumbled slightly, her wide-eyed gaze falling upon the full figure of Lachlan Ramsay. His legs and feet were bare, and his linen tunic had been pulled from his belt, and hung loosely over his hips.
Fie! She’d disturbed his slumber.
“Oh—er, excuse me, sir,” she stammered. “I didna mean to disturb ye when ye were—”
“Nay, my Lady, ‘tis alright. I were meaning rise anyway. Will ye come in?”
She peered uncertainly into the dim chamber. Someone might see her enter, which would certainly set tongues wagging more than they already were. On the other hand, the matter before them had to be settled.
Eyeing the threshold as if it were a pit of horse dung, she crossed it.
“Leave the door open, then. We dinna want anyone thinking there’s anything untoward happening in here.”
“Heaven forbid that a soon-to-be-married couple engage in activity that might be considered untoward.” Nevertheless, he obliged, and left the door ajar.
“Please,” he said, indicating the leather-padded chair by the hearth.
Moira accepted and perched tentatively on the edge. With no other option—it was the only chair or bench in the chamber—he sat on the edge of the bed, tucked his shirt back into his belt, replaced his plaid on his shoulder, and pulled his boots back onto his feet. Moira tried not to notice the rippling definition of his muscles, visible beneath the linen of his tunic; tried to ignore the heat that crept into her stomach.
“Sir, I have thought about yer proposition,” she stated once he’d settled himself.
“I am glad.”
“I’d prefer ye didna tease me. This isna a light matter.”
“On the contrary, I may tease, but ‘tis wi’ the highest respect to the serious nature of our conversation.”
Moira frowned. “Are ye always this glib?”
; “Only when my company is as drab and serious as ye.”
He was testing the limits of her patience. “I am no’ drab and serious,” she retorted. “And even if I am, I think I have reason enough to be.”
Lachlan cocked an eyebrow, but waited for her to resume. That infuriating grin of his remained on his lips; her hands itched to smack it from his irritatingly handsome face. She breathed, reining in her control.
“As I was saying, given the circumstances of our predicament, I see no way around yer proposition. I’ve no desire to leave Kildrummond, and though I could run if I wished to—”
“I’ve no doubt.”
A warning glare silenced him. “Though I could run,” she repeated, “I love Kildrummond, and the friends I have here. If yer suggestion that we marry be the only way out of his Lordship’s design, then I’ve no choice but to accept yer offer. But,” she stressed, leaning forward intently, “ye’ve promised that we may have the marriage annulled once ye’ve taken on the title of Earl in yer own right, and to allow me to remain in my home for as long as I live. I expect ye to uphold yer end of the bargain when the time comes.”
Lachlan peered at the lass, an unexpected stir of respect forming in his breast. She had a strength about her; it was not something he often encountered in the women of his life, especially women with ties to nobility.
Then again, he’d never encountered a woman with ties to nobility so brash and ill-mannered as she—even the illegitimate ones, for she was not the first he’d known.
He regarded her with begrudging approval. “Dinna fret, Lady Moira. I’ve no intention of keeping a wife—any wife. Just as ye obviously have no intention of keeping a husband.”
It was Moira’s turn to be surprised. And offended. He thought she never wished to take a husband... did he think her a shrew?
“I’ve no intention of taking the husband his Lordship chooses for me. I’ve no intention of being a man’s property, if I can help it. That doesna mean I’ve no wish to marry.”
“Aye, I’ve heard ye value yer independence. But tell me: how do ye reconcile yer wishes, as you claim here and now, wi’ the fact that once ye marry, ye’ll be a man’s property?”
Hmm... he’d taken the conversation in a direction she hadn’t anticipated. He’d challenged her logic, but unlike all the self-important men who had done so before (it being their God-given nature, she knew from experience) he’d not spoken condescendingly. He’d not treated her like a silly woman with silly opinions.
This was a rare trait in a man, one she’d never before seen in the flesh. She was not entirely certain that she liked it.
“I wish to find myself an equal,” she answered honestly. “A man wi’ whom I can enter into matrimony, and who will belong to me as much as I would to him. I do value my independence, that is true. No’ just independence as a status, but independence of the mind. I dinna seek love, but if I find it, I believe it will be for someone who respects my right to use my mind. Who respects my right to make the decisions that will affect the course of my own life.”
Lachlan stared poignantly at her. His impression of Moira MacInnes had taken a turn in a direction he hadn’t anticipated. The reports he had of her wilfulness were accurate enough, but they hadn’t been fair. For beneath the stubbornness there was a keen intelligence, and a passionate nature.
It was a rare trait in a woman, one he’d never before seen in the flesh. Despite himself, he rather liked it.
“Then I wish,” he said solemnly, “that when all this is over and done wi’, ye find someone who’ll love ye as ye desire.”
Moira was astonished by a sudden rush of respect for the man standing in front of her. She lowered her eyes to hide her pink cheeks. “Aye... well, then I suppose we’re finished here. I assume his Lordship will handle the details of the wedding?”
“Wait, dinna go yet.” Lachlan held out a hand. “Pray, stay and talk wi’ me a while?”
She glanced out the window at the fading light. “I had hoped to be home before dark.”
“Ye could stay for the meal and take a bed here until morning.”
“That is what I hoped to avoid. Besides, I’ve no’ prepared my animals for an overnight absence.” Sensing his disappointment, she relented. “Perhaps I can have someone escort me home before the meal commences.”
“Allow me. I shall be more than happy to see ye safely home. Even if it is dreadfully cold.”
“I think that would be fair. Seeing as how I suffered the cold to get here, ye can suffer the cold to get me back.”
Her jest earned a laugh from Lachlan. She smiled back. She had a glorious smile, he decided. The simple expression lit up what was otherwise a plain face, transforming it into something rather pretty. He could very well learn to like this lass a great deal. If he had to be married to her, even for a short while, it might not be such an intolerable experience after all.
“Since we’re being so open and honest wi’ one another,” he continued, “may I ask why ye refuse to accept the help that his Lordship is willing to offer? Why eke out a meagre living when ye dinna have to? And for that matter, why do ye insist on calling yer own father his Lordship?”
Moira levelled him with her clear, blue eyes. “Did ye no’ hear? I’m stubborn, ill-mannered and ungrateful.”
“I had heard. However, I’m beginning to think that what I’ve heard may no’ be the whole story. I’d rather hear yer opinion on the matter, if ye dinna mind—since we’re to be married and all.”
“Since we are to be married briefly,” she corrected. Then, with a slight lift of her shoulders, she prepared to speak of things she’d never before needed to tell.
It occurred to her, in the brief moment before she began, that everyone in Moray knew of her tale, from Kildrummond in the north to the mountain of Beinn MacDuibh in the south. But they didn’t really know. No one ever asked her what she thought of the illicit affair between her mother and Lord Kildrummond.
Yes, people knew of the deeds, but they had no idea of how it had shaped Moira as a person—well, perhaps Niall and his family did, but that was about it. She should not have felt the need to defend herself, to unburden herself to this perfect stranger. Yet that is exactly what she found herself doing.
“As ye may ken, Lord Kildrummond fell in love wi’ my mother only a few years into his marriage to Lady Glinis—” she frowned when his brows drew sharply together. “Aye, of course ye ken that. Anyway, when my mother fell pregnant wi’ me, she ran away to a village just east of Berwick, and that’s where I were born. She thought she’d never see his Lordship again, for what man of noble blood ever wants anything to do with the illegitimate child he’s sired? She didna think he’d be any different, and she had no desire to remain in Kildrummond and be a burden to him. Nor had she any wish to be a pariah to the villagers.
“As it happened, Lord Kildrummond was devastated when she left. He loved her so much that he searched far and wide for her. When finally he reached Berwick and heard word of us, he begged her to come back to him, and promised to take care of her and the child—me—for the rest of our lives. He couldna marry her, ye see, and they both kent that. But he was prepared to keep her as his mistress. Wife and clan be damned.”
“It’s a wonder that his Lordship didna just move her into the castle,” Lachlan observed testily.
“I think he tried, actually,” she admitted. “But his close kin came to Lady Glinis’s defence, made him see that what he was doing was bringing enough shame on her. To have his mistress in the castle, invading the rightful Countess’s home... well that were too much.”
“That’s hardly better. So he doesna parade his mistress around at the castle, but instead he installs her a short distance away where the whole village can witness their adultery. Sorry,” he relented when he remembered who they were speaking of. “I forget this is yer mother.”
Moira sighed heavily. “Perhaps, but ye do speak true. In any case, that is precisely why I work so hard to separate myself from hi
m; from them both. Ye canna imagine what it’s like to grow up knowing yer own mother is despised by her people. And I were despised right along wi’ her. She traded her happiness for mine, what else can be said? I’ve worked long and hard to make sure people around here know I’m no’ standing here wi’ my hand out, waiting for Lord Kildrummond’s charity. I canna change my origins, but I can make my own impression. And I think I’ve done that... in the village, at least. The people here at Glendalough still dinna think very highly of me.”
“I admire ye for yer courage. And ye’re right: the people of the village do hold ye in very high esteem.”
Moira scrunched her face in disbelief. “And how would ye ken that, sir?”
Lachlan raised his shoulders dismissively. “I’ve made a few inquiries. I’ve also learned that ye were expected to marry yer Niall MacCormack before this business wi’ me arose.”
She barked an exasperated laugh. “I dinna ken how many times I can say it—Niall and I will never be getting married.”
“Is he that objectionable, then?”
“Nay, he’s my best friend.” Her smile grew wistful, and her gaze turned inward. “Ach, I give him a rough time—no harder than he gives me, mind—but he’s my best friend in all the world, and I dinna ken what I’d do wi’out him.”
“That is like Alex and me—Sir Alexander MacByrne,” he clarified, when Moira lifted an eyebrow.
“Ah, the one wi’ whom ye’ve travelled here.”
“That’d be him. We grew up together. The both of us were from poor families, looking to better our lot in life. The only difference between us is that my father had a title... for all the good it did him. Anyway, I, too, dinna ken where I’d be wi’out him.”
“What happened to make a viscount take on a position as a knight? Since we’re being so open and honest wi’ each other.”
She’d parroted his own words back to him. It made Lachlan laugh. “Since that is so, I’ll make it clear now that ye’re no’ marrying a man wi’ an abundance of wealth—in case ye thought to marry me for my coin. My grandfather were the last Viscount Strathcairn that had any measure of wealth to his name. And he pished it all away—pardon my crudeness. So I am as landless and as wealthless as ye, Lady Moira. But unlike ye, I’m no’ about to sniff at an offer to remedy that condition.”
A Noble Deception (The Douglas Clan) Page 7