“Gillian, that will be the last time ye accuse me of having any hand in this. I had nothing to do with the king’s decision. Laird MacLennan may have sired me, but he was never my father and I had absolutely no desire to lead his clan. He conspired with my mother and together they betrayed the man who I will always consider my brother. Had Malcolm not done that, he might still be sleeping in his own warm bed this frosty night and so would many MacLennan men, not to mention a few MacIan men who were slain that day. As to yer father’s death, I am deeply sorry for yer loss. My mother was more cruel and self-centered than ye can possibly imagine. The only person she ever loved was herself. I was not there, but if I could have stayed her hand, I would have. Yer father was a good man.”
She thrust her chin out in a defiant gesture, but her eyes held only grief. “Aye he was.”
“Gillian, we can’t change the past, nor can we defy the king. Ye must never suggest publically that ye disagree with his direct order. Doing so will not simply land ye in prison, it would likely result in yer head parting company with yer shoulders. Do ye understand me?”
“Aye. But if ye didn’t want this, why is the king forcing it on ye?”
“A clan without strong leadership can become a dangerous liability. Internal strife often creates an enticing target to outsiders. For the time being, there is a fragile peace in the Highlands and the king doesn’t wish to upset that.”
“The only threat we have is from the MacIans,” Gillian insisted.
“Nay, lass. Niall has no desire to lay claim to any of the MacLennan lands. However, he does not want anyone else to either. Stabilizing the MacLennans is in his best interests.”
“Why must we marry to do that? Ye said the king has already named ye laird. I won’t oppose it. Why must I go to a convent if I don’t wish to marry ye?”
“Were ye in the hall when the king’s order was announced? Did ye not hear the opposition?”
“Aye, but if I renounce the clan leadership what can they do?”
“Sadly, Gillian, if I do not marry ye or one of yer sisters, any of ye can become a standard around which those who oppose my leadership will gather. Essentially, as long as ye have a valid claim that isn’t exercised ye enable division within the clan. The king cannot allow that. As laird, I cannot allow that.”
“I don’t want to marry ye.”
Fingal sighed. He didn’t want to send this strong, beautiful woman to a convent, but he had no choice. “Then ye have made yer decision? Ye choose the religious life?”
She looked away. “Nay, I don’t want that either.”
“Lass, it is one or the other.”
“Ye don’t understand. I don’t love ye. In fact, I hate the very sight of ye. I cannot begin to imagine what kind of hell being married to ye would be.”
Would marriage to him truly be a hell for her? As much as he understood her resentment, hearing her say that stung and he couldn’t stop himself from snapping back. “Although ye have a lovely way with words, lass, at the moment I am not particularly fond of ye either. Perhaps it would be best if ye took the holy vows. Maybe one of yer sisters has a sweeter disposition.”
She glared at him. “This is my home. I don’t want to leave my family, my people.”
Fingal’s frustration was rising. “Honestly, I didn’t want to leave my family either but I had no choice in it. Ye at least have an option, regardless of how unappealing ye find the alternatives.”
“Can it be a marriage in name only?”
“A marriage in name only?”
Gillian clearly missed the underlying anger in his question. “Aye. We could be married to satisfy the king, but not live as a married couple. I mean, ye could have the laird’s chamber of course. I would stay elsewhere.”
Fingal’s voice was deadly calm. “I see. Ye wouldn’t share my bed.”
“Aye. That would work. Ye could seek yer comfort elsewhere.”
“Let me make sure I understand. We would marry, but ye would live yer life and I would live mine, seeking my comfort elsewhere. And what about ye, Gillian? Would ye seek yer comfort elsewhere?”
Perhaps Gillian finally heard the menace in his voice. “I-I-I only meant to say, I w-w-wouldn’t stand in yer way. I-I-I wouldn’t be unfaithful. It would be no different than a convent, only I could stay at home.”
“Nay, Gillian, it would be very different from a convent. Do ye believe that I could live under the same roof with ye, as yer husband and laird of this clan, while parading a stream of lovers in front of ye? Even if ye believe that I am completely without honor, do ye think yer clan would stand for it?”
She paled. “L-L-Laird MacLennan took lovers. It was commonly known.”
“Aye and while he had been a widower for many years, sadly I am sitting here and we are in this position because he wasn’t faithful to his wife. Nay, Gillian, I won’t do that and neither will I live as a monk within the bond of marriage. If ye wish to live chastely, then ye will need to accept the religious life.”
Gillian’s eyes flashed with anger. “Ye would force yerself on a woman who hates ye?”
“I would hope if the woman in question holds only hate for me, and sees no possibility for affection, she would not choose to marry me.”
“This is my clan. I don’t want to leave them!”
Fingal sighed, his irritation fading. As bold and strong as she appeared, Gillian was still a very young woman facing an incredibly difficult and, frankly, unfair decision. “Gillian, I know ye are in a terrible position. I know ye love yer clan and ye believe ye have good reasons to hate me. Please set yer anger aside for a moment and listen.” Her mouth was set in a grim line, but she nodded. “I have known ye for years and while I wasn’t here as much as Niall was, I wasn’t a stranger either. Is that fair?”
“Aye.”
“Have I ever done anything that scared or hurt ye?”
“Nay.”
“Have ye ever heard stories whispered about me?” Gillian raised her eyebrows, causing him to grin. “I mean stories about my evil nature?”
Her lips fluttered briefly, giving him an all too fleeting hint of her smile. “Nay. There were surely enough whispers about ye, but no one ever accused ye of being unkind.”
“Did yer laird or yer da ever say a word against me?”
“Nay.”
“Based on the reaction in the hall, clearly some of the clan’s elders support the king’s decision to name me laird.”
“Aye, there are several who have mentioned it before.”
“And the ones who didn’t? Have any of them ever accused me of being cruel or unreasonable?”
“Nay.”
“Then there are only two reasons that ye have to hate me. One is because my brother defended himself against an attack by yer late laird. Although I know it is hard to accept, Gillian, it is the way of things. Malcolm chose that course, not Niall.” Gillian said nothing, but didn’t argue so Fingal continued. “I understand the other reason is much harder to resolve. My mother did a terrible thing and I am truly sorry for yer loss. But the fact remains, as much as we might wish to, we cannot change the past. We can only come to terms with it. It doesn’t have to dictate our future.”
Gillian looked down. Her chin quivered ever so slightly. For the first time since he had arrived, Fingal caught a glimpse of the scared lass that hid behind the resilient, poised front she presented. Dear God he hated this. He hated compelling her to do something she found so repugnant and he silently cursed the king for forcing both of them into it. “Perhaps there is a middle ground, lass.”
“I don’t see one. Ye have made yerself clear, Laird. Either I marry ye and live as yer wife or I enter the convent.”
“What if we give ourselves a bit of time? Perhaps if ye get to know me better, ye will not find being married to me so distasteful.”
“Ye said the king wanted us married immediately.”
“Aye, that’s true. However, I am willing to give ye a bit of time within the marriage. Mi
nd ye, I don’t think the king would approve, so ye can’t reveal this to anyone. We must share a bed and we must appear to be living as a married couple. However, I promise not to force myself on ye. I will wait until ye are ready—until ye ask me to.”
“Share yer bed without...without...”
“Aye, until ye are ready.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “What if I’m never ready? Ye said ye wouldn’t live like a monk within marriage.”
“And I won’t, at least not forever. But I am willing to give ye—”
“A year?”
A year? Is she daft? “Nay, Gillian, I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” Her brown eyes stared in challenge.
Why not, indeed. What would he do if the year passed and she still refused him? Would he force her then? He knew he wouldn’t, but once they were married, there was no going back. Perhaps he could seek an annulment, but not if they appeared to live as husband and wife. Surely he could win her consent within the year. For the love of all that’s holy they would be sharing a bed. “Gillian, I don’t think it is reasonable to set a limit. I am willing to give ye whatever time ye need. Truthfully, I could never force an unwilling lass. But by the same token, ye can’t enter this marriage expecting that ye will never truly be my wife. If ye think ye will always hate me, do us both a kindness and enter the religious life.”
~ * ~
Did she really hate him? Would she ever be able to get past everything that had happened? He asked her not to agree to the marriage if she thought she would always hate him. What does it matter? What better revenge could there be than to marry a man who agreed never to force himself on her and then always refuse him? Once we’re married, what can he do? He would never hurt her, Gillian thought confidently. Then she realized, that was perfectly true. Aside from everything else, she firmly believed he would never hurt her. She couldn’t deny that he had always seemed to be a good man.
How then could she marry him? She firmly believed she would never get past who he was and what his family had done. If ye think ye will always hate me, do us both a kindness and enter the religious life. She could not ignore the truth of his words. Living the rest of her life married to someone she hated would be torturous for both of them. Do us both a kindness. Painfully, her choice became clear.
Just as she opened her mouth to tell him, a knock sounded at the door. Before either of them could answer, the door opened and her little sister Ailsa poked her head in. Like Gillian, Ailsa had lovely brown eyes and chestnut colored hair, but where Gillian’s hair was sleek and straight, Ailsa’s was a sleep-tousled riot of curls.
“I heard ye talking, Gillie. It woke me up. Ye sounded upset. What are ye...oh.” Ailsa’s eyes landed on Fingal. Putting her hands on her hips she demanded, “what are ye doing here?”
“Ailsa, pet, this isn’t a good time.” Gillian gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and attempted to usher Ailsa from the room. “Go back to bed, sweetling, and I will tell ye everything in the morning.”
Ailsa pulled away from her. “I will not go back to bed.” She turned on Fingal. She didn’t appear remotely intimidated by the huge warrior sitting by the hearth. “Ye don’t belong here and clearly Gillie doesn’t want ye here. Ye can leave now.” She pointed at the door.
Gillian cast a worried glance at Fingal but was surprised to see a grin spreading across his face. “Ailsa, I’m very sorry we woke ye, lass. The king has asked us to consider something very important. We were discussing it.”
Ailsa stared at him for a moment. “Well I think ye should discuss it in the morning. Gillie has a lot of responsibilities and needs her rest.”
Fingal’s grin only broadened and it was hard for Gillian not to laugh at her imperious little protector. “It is all right, pet. Go back to bed.”
“Not until ye tell me what is going on. I am not leaving ye alone with him.”
Gillian glanced at Fingal, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod. “Ailsa, do ye know who this is?”
“Aye. Fingal MacIan. The one people say is really Laird Malcolm’s son.”
“That’s right and because of that, the king has asked him to be our laird.”
“But the person ye marry is supposed to be our laird.”
“Aye, that is also true, so the king wants me to marry Laird—uh—Fingal.”
“And what if ye don’t want to marry him?” Ailsa glared at Fingal.
Gillian sighed. “That doesn’t really matter.”
“Of course it matters.”
“Nay, pet, when the king tells us to do something we must obey. However, he has given me a choice this time.” Ailsa looked at Gillian expectantly. “If I don’t wish to marry him, I can join the holy sisters and he will marry Fallon instead.”
“What if Fallon doesn’t want to marry him?”
Gillian hadn’t given this a moment’s thought. Fallon would surely marry him. Gillian was certain their mother would insist on it. Hadn’t she wanted Fallon named chief? Before she could tell Ailsa this, Fingal said, “Then ye have the great good fortune of marrying me.”
Ailsa looked askance. “I don’t want to marry ye.”
Fingal chuckled. “There seems to be a lot of that going around.”
When his words sank in, Ailsa turned back to Gillian, grabbing her hands. “Nay, nay, nay. Gillie, tell me that isn’t true. Ye can’t go to a convent. Ye can’t leave me. What would I do without ye? Mother only cares about Fallon. I need ye.”
“Ye don’t understand, pet.”
“I do understand. If ye don’t marry him, ye will leave me and Fallon will be Lady MacLennan or I will be. I don’t think I want to be Lady MacLennan and I’m sure I don’t want Fallon to be, but mostly I don’t want ye to go away.” Ailsa threw her arms around Gillian and held on as if she could keep her close with sheer force. “Please, Gillie.” She started to sob.
Gillian wrapped her arms around Ailsa. More than any other member of the clan Ailsa needed her. Mother only cares about Fallon. As hard as it was to admit, Ailsa was right. Gillian had never understood it. Mothers were supposed to love and protect their children—all of their children. However, their mother doted on their sister Fallon. She had rarely shown Gillian and Ailsa the same affection. With their father gone who would be there for her youngest sister? How could she leave her sweet sister with no one to love and care for her? If she could put aside her hatred of the MacIans for anyone, she surely could for Ailsa. She held her sister quietly for a moment before kissing the top of her head. She looked across the room to Fingal. “Ye’ll give me time?”
“Aye, lass, I will. Ye’ll try to get past yer hatred?”
“I don’t think I can love ye, but aye, I suppose I can try not to hate ye.”
Chapter 4
Gillian entered the great hall on Fingal’s arm. She was not happy about it, but if she were going to go through with this, she may as well start acting the part. The hall grew silent as all eyes turned toward them. She cleared her throat slightly. “After discussing the matter with the laird, I have decided to obey the king’s request. I will marry Fingal MacIan, who is laird of Clan MacLennan.” The room erupted as it had earlier with a mixture of elation and disapproval. She didn’t have the energy left to bring the hall to order, but Fingal stepped in.
He raised his voice over the din, “Enough.” The room fell still. “I know not all of ye agree with the king’s decision in this regard. However, the dissent must stop now. A clan divided will fall. I will not allow that to happen and neither should any of ye. It is late and everyone is tired. Gillian and I will be married later this afternoon. Ye will have until then to decide where yer loyalties lie. After the wedding, the members of the clan must give us their fealty or leave MacLennan land.”
A voice called out from the back of the room, “But laird, ’tis still winter. Ye would turn us out of our homes?”
The room was silent but for the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Gillian glanced around at her people. She didn’t
want Fingal to turn any of them out. Before she could argue with him, he answered, “I certainly would not wish to. I would prefer to have ye stay and help me rebuild this clan. However, that can only happen if ye accept me as yer laird. For the sake of the clan, I cannot agree to anything less.”
As much as Gillian despised the idea, she couldn’t argue. He was right. To tolerate less than complete allegiance would surely ruin them. Although it killed her to agree with him, she had to. “It must be this way. Whether or not ye accept that it is his birthright, Fingal MacIan is Laird MacLennan by the king’s order. After we are wed, he is laird as my husband too. No one can deny that. If ye choose not to accept it, then it is to yer own folly.” She looked into Fingal’s warm green eyes and was shocked to see admiration. Suddenly, it was all too much for her. “Please excuse me now. I suggest ye all find yer beds and get a bit of rest. I suspect it will be a busy day.”
Gillian edged her way through the dumbstruck crowd. Perhaps she should have seen to the comfort of her guests, but she needed to escape. Then again, if Fingal was laird now, she would not be Lady MacLennan until after they were wed. Let him handle it. She rushed up the stairs and into her bedchamber. Her rumpled bed linens reminded her that less than two hours ago she’d awakened from a sweet dream about her father to the nightmare in which she found herself now. She slid to the floor, with her back against her chamber door. “Oh Da, how can this be happening? What am I going to do?” How she wished it was only a nightmare, or even better that the events of the last year were just a nightmare and her father would wake her from it.
Before she settled her jumbled thoughts, someone pounded on her door. “Gillian, let me in.” It was mother. Gillian should have known better than to expect the woman would give her a few moments of privacy. She stood with a sigh and opened the door to her mother and her sister Fallon.
Her mother charged into the room, anger washing off her in waves. “That man is horrible. This cannot be allowed.”
“Mother, please, it is done.”
“It isn’t done until it’s done. We have to think.”
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