by Emma Prince
Damn him. No doubt she imagined he meant that he found her disagreeable, which couldn’t be farther from the truth.
But he couldn’t let his desire to alleviate her discomfort in the short-term outweigh his concern for her wellbeing in the long-term. She was young, vibrant, and beautiful, the embodiment of grace and sweet innocence. Being saddled with a husband like him would crush the light in her, scrub away all the softness like so much grit trapped against delicate skin.
“What if I sweetened the arrangement?” Reid persisted, still frowning at Fillan. “Mayhap fifty head of cattle to each clan? Call it a wedding present.”
That got MacDonnell’s attention. “It means that much to ye, does it, Mackenzie?”
“I would like to see Fillan wed, aye,” he replied. “And Adelaide, for I ken the fact that she is unmarried is my doing. But most of all, I wish to have peace between our clans—no’ this half-peace laced with wariness and distrust, but a true union to benefit us all.”
MacDonnell eyed Fillan then. “How can I be expected to trust my only daughter to a MacVale?”
“Ye ken I vouch for Fillan,” Reid cut in. “He is a good and honorable man. No harm would ever come to Adelaide under his care.”
That much Fillan could wholeheartedly agree with, but he was still gripped with the conviction that forcing him and Adelaide into a marriage would be ruinous.
“I must object—” he began, but MacDonnell cut him off, turning back to Reid.
“I’ll hold ye to that. Both of ye.” He spared Fillan a brief, withering look before fixing Reid with a hard stare once more. “And I’ll expect those cattle come spring, no later.”
“Father, nay,” Adelaide said, her voice thin. “If Fillan doesnae want to—”
“This isnae about wanting or no’ wanting, girl,” MacDonnell interjected sharply. “I dinnae want to wed ye to a MacVale, that’s for damn sure, but here we are. Mackenzie is right. This will save yer reputation and the MacDonnell clan name. And while I willnae be holding my breath for a stronger alliance with the MacVales, the gifted cattle will help our clan.”
He turned narrowed eyes on Fillan. “And believe me, I will be watching ye, MacVale. Do wrong by my Adelaide, or by the MacDonnells, and so help me—”
“It’s settled, then.” Reid clapped his hands, cutting off MacDonnell’s threat. “Fillan and Adelaide shall be wed as soon as possible.”
Bloody hell. This was happening. Judging from the way MacDonnell set his jaw, there would be no further chance to convince him to call this off.
“Unfortunately, the Mackenzie priest is laying Auld Rabbie Mackenzie to rest a day’s ride from the keep,” Reid continued. “Otherwise I’d urge ye to speak yer vows tonight.”
“So soon?” Adelaide breathed.
Fillan’s stomach sank. She was clearly resistant to this union as well. After all, why would she want to be bound to a cripple for the rest of her life?
“There is a priest at the MacVale keep,” he said woodenly. “Though if Adelaide wishes to delay—”
“Och, nay ye dinnae,” MacDonnell growled. “I see what ye are about. Ye think ye will find a way to weasel out of this with a wee bit more time, and let the gossip of what ye did on the battlements spread. Come first light tomorrow morn, we will ride to the MacVale keep and I will ensure with my own eyes that ye make an honest wife of my daughter.”
“But Father,” Adelaide said. “What of my things? My clothes? They are all at our keep. Couldnae we go there first for a few sennights, or even a few days so that I can prepare?”
Fillan’s heart joined his stomach on the floor. Since she couldn’t stop this disaster of a marriage, she was trying to put it off as long as possible. Aye, she’d been willing to share her first kiss with him earlier, but that didn’t mean she’d be eager to accept a deformed husband.
Yet it seemed both their fates were sealed now.
“Nay,” MacDonnell said flatly. “Tonight is all ye’ll have. Come, daughter. Ye’d best get what rest ye can.”
MacDonnell rose and stiffly extended his arm to her. Reluctantly, she took it, letting him pull her to her feet and toward the door. She kept her gaze downcast the whole time, never meeting Fillan’s eyes.
When the door closed behind them, Reid clapped Fillan on the shoulder.
“Felicitations. I only regret that I willnae be able to see ye wed myself, for I am loath to leave Corinne so close to her time, and she is in no state to travel.”
“Why did ye do that?” Fillan ground out, barely managing to keep his temper in check. He rose to face his half-brother. “She doesnae deserve to be saddled with the likes of me.”
Surprise flashed in Reid’s gray eyes for an instant before being replaced with understanding.
“I’ve seen the way ye look at her, lad,” he replied quietly. “But also the way she looks at ye. I think if ye give it a chance, ye might find that ye are both well pleased with the match.”
Fillan fumbled for a reply, a way to refute what Reid had said, yet he found his tongue was a useless knot.
“Come,” Reid said, patting Fillan’s shoulder again. “Let us return to the festivities. Corinne will want to hear the happy news.”
And with naught else left to do, Fillan grudgingly followed him out of the solar.
Chapter Six
Despite the clear blue sky overhead and the brilliant sun, which reflected nigh blindingly off the snow, Adelaide drew her hood more fully over her head.
She could claim that it was only to ward off the nipping cold as they rode to the MacVale clan keep. But the truth was, she wanted to block Fillan from the corner of her vision. And hide her burning cheeks.
For once, though, her blush wasn’t out of excitement at his nearness. Nay, humiliation made her face hot despite the frosty air.
He didn’t want her. It had been plain the moment Laird Mackenzie had suggested that she and Fillan wed.
Aye, he hadn’t minded sharing a kiss when there had been no one to see, but at the prospect of marrying her, he’d blanched and his hands had turned to white-knuckled knots. And he’d spoken swiftly and decisively against the union. Clearly, he wanted this as little as her father did.
What a fool she’d been. For an instant on the battlements, she’d thought he felt the same flutter of warmth and weightless stomach as she did whenever he was near. And when he’d kissed her… It showed what a silly, naïve lass she was that she thought the heat they’d shared had meant something more.
That morning, as they’d been rowed to the mainland and retrieved their horses from the stables that served Eilean Donan, he hadn’t even been able to look at her. It seemed now that he was to be saddled with her, he found her lacking or repugnant in some way.
For her part, her eyes had tugged toward his darkly handsome features as they’d cut northeast across the winter-blanketed landscape. In spite of his sudden frosty distance, she couldn’t deny that she still felt drawn to him.
But could she ever let herself care for him as her husband, given that he’d only agreed to marry her under duress? Could their marriage be happy despite the painful knowledge that she was yet again the unwanted bride?
She was left to her churning thoughts most of the day, for no one in their party seemed inclined to speak. Fillan was silent except for a few curt orders to the dozen or so MacVale warriors who’d comprised his retinue to Eilean Donan. And Adelaide’s father held his tongue, as did their own handful of MacDonnell men. For several hours, the only sound was the crunch of snow beneath the horses’ hooves.
As the winter sun began to make its short descent in the southwest, Fillan cleared his throat and spoke at last.
“The MacVale clan keep is just there.” He pointed northward as they crested a small rise.
Sure enough, a dark mass of stone rose from the white landscape in the distance. Behind it, Adelaide noticed a cluster of thatch-roofed huts—the keep’s village.
“Ye dinnae have a curtain wall,” her father huffed. “Ho
w do ye expect to keep my daughter safe without an outer wall?”
“When Serlon was in power, he didnae think we required one—his idea of defensive measures was to always remain on the attack,” Fillan replied tightly. “When I became Laird, I considered building one, but with limited resources and manpower, I decided it was more important to mend relations with our neighbors—ye and the Mackenzies. Only once we have fully recovered from the destruction wrought by my father will we begin building a curtain wall.”
Her father’s bushy gray eyebrows lifted in surprise at that. “Aye, well…” he began, but didn’t bother finishing. It seemed that for the first time, he didn’t have a cutting word about the MacVales on the tip of his tongue.
As they approached the castle, Fillan lifted his fingers to his lips and whistled loudly. The portcullis began to lift with a groan, and behind it, the castle’s wooden gate was ratcheted open. When they crossed through the gate and into the small courtyard, Adelaide could feel several curious stares following them from the battlements.
The castle’s single, four-storey tower loomed over her as they reined to a halt. The keep’s doors opened and a round, short woman with an apron tied over her simple brown wool gown bustled out.
“Welcome back, Laird,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “We werenae expecting ye for another day or t—”
The woman squinted at the large group filling the narrow courtyard, seeming to notice the strange faces among the MacVales for the first time.
“My plans…changed, Gretha. May I introduce Laird Arthur MacDonnell and his daughter, Lady Adelaide. Laird, this is Gretha, who not only runs the keep’s kitchens, but also serves as a chatelaine of sorts for the whole castle.”
Adelaide dipped her head to the woman, and her father grunted in acknowledgement. For her part, Gretha dropped into a deep curtsy. “My Laird, my lady,” she said. But when she straightened, her confused brown eyes sought Fillan.
“Please see that Laird MacDonnell’s warriors are given refreshments along with our men,” Fillan instructed. “And I ken ye dinnae have much notice, but…” He faltered, flexing his hands on his reins for a moment. “But do what ye can to prepare a feast for this eve. A wedding feast.”
“Laird?” Gretha gasped, her eyes darting from Fillan to Adelaide.
“Aye,” he said in confirmation. “I am to wed Lady Adelaide. Today. If ye can spare a moment, alert Father Dorian as well. The ceremony will commence in an hour’s time, with a celebration to follow.”
Fillan’s words must have carried, for a surprised ripple of murmurs traveled through the men on the battlements overhead. For her part, Gretha stood in stunned silence for a long moment before shaking herself and dashing inside to see to her long list of tasks.
Ignoring them all, Fillan dismounted. He came down on his good leg before prying his cane from his saddlebags, where he’d tucked it at the start of their journey.
Adelaide unhooked her leg from the saddle’s pommel, intending to see herself to the ground, but to her surprise, Fillan moved quickly to her side. Propping his cane against his good leg and leaning one side against the horse’s shoulder, he reached for her and lifted her down with startling ease.
When she was on her feet, she dared a glance up at him. His brows were lowered and his eyes were unreadable as he traced her face with his gaze for one lingering heartbeat. All too quickly, he released her and turned away, leaving her to wonder yet again what it was about her that had made him so distant.
“Come,” he said over his shoulder to her and her father. “Let me show ye the keep.”
Once they’d stepped inside, Adelaide let herself absorb the space. The doors opened to a small but tidy great hall. It was mayhap half the size of Eilean Donan’s hall, and smaller than the MacDonnell keep’s hall as well.
It also bore none of the festive decorations that the Mackenzie keep had. No evergreen boughs covered the mantel, nor did an enormous Yule log burn in the single hearth. And, Adelaide noted with relief, there was no mistletoe hung overhead.
“Please forgive the lack of embellishment,” Fillan said, his voice stiff with discomfort.
It was true. Even setting aside the lack of Yuletide adornment, it was a rather sparse and plain space. The walls were bare of colorful tapestries, and the tables and benches that had been pushed to the sides for the day were simply hewn. Even the furniture on the raised dais along the back wall was carved without flourishes.
“Though we have had two strong harvests since I became Laird, our stores had grown dangerously low under my father’s control,” he continued. “It seemed best to focus on the fields to ensure that all in the clan had full bellies through the winter rather than use those hours on ornamental weaving or carving to satisfy pride alone.”
But despite the unadorned hall, the rushes underfoot were clean and sprinkled with dried herbs, a neat fire was laid in the hearth, and the unlit candles and torches lining the bare walls were all trimmed and well-tended. It might be plain, but clearly the MacVales took pride in tending their keep. As did their Laird.
“And of course we have wished to see that our debts have been paid and restitutions made to our neighbors before turning our attention to non-essential ornamentation,” Fillan added, his gaze flicking to her father.
Adelaide knew something of the arrangement between their clans. When Serlon MacVale had been Laird, he hadn’t bothered to farm his own lands. Instead, he’d sent war parties to raze and steal in both MacDonnell and Mackenzie territory. Crofts had been burned, cattle and sheep reived, and crops plundered before being destroyed.
When Fillan had become Laird, he’d agreed to return his people to the hard work of farming and raising livestock on their own land. What was more, he’d also pledged to rebuild every croft that had been damaged and return the animals that had been stolen, or replace them with healthy yearlings. And he’d promised to give a third of the entire clan’s harvest to his neighbors to make amends for all the damage his father had done.
It had clearly meant that his own people had been forced to live sparely, yet it seemed they didn’t mind, for Fillan had restored honor to the MacVale name. Or at least he was trying.
For his part, Adelaide’s father still didn’t seem convinced. He grunted noncommittally in response to Fillan’s words.
“The wedding is to take place within the hour?”
“Aye. Gretha can show ye to the guest chambers if ye wish to rest and refresh yerselves beforehand,” Fillan said.
As if summoned by her name, Gretha appeared in a door at the back of the hall that Adelaide assumed led to the kitchens.
“Gretha, would ye see our guests to the chambers abovestairs? And attend Lady Adelaide in her wedding preparations.”
Gretha dipped into a curtsy, then shuffled toward them. “Come Laird, Lady Adelaide.”
She whisked them up a narrow, winding staircase, halting on the third storey, where a handful of doors angled out from a landing. She guided Adelaide’s father into one, assuring him that a lad would come to light the fire in the hearth and bring refreshments shortly. Then she motioned Adelaide toward another door.
It opened onto a chamber that reminded her of the great hall—sparse, small, yet tidy. A dressing table and chair, a tall armoire, and a bed were the only furnishings. As Adelaide stepped inside, a thought struck her. She wouldn’t ever use this bed, for come that evening, she would be wed to Fillan MacVale.
A mixture of fluttering anticipation and knotted trepidation warred in the pit of her stomach. Could he come to care for her, despite the circumstances under which he’d been induced to wed her?
She already knew she was capable of developing feelings for him. Heavens, she already had. He was serious and hard-working, dedicated to those under his care, and honorable to the core.
It would only take a small sign of affection from him to have her tumbling completely over the edge toward love. But likewise, any indication of hesitation or apathy on his part would crush the d
elicate wings of emotion unfurling in her heart.
Gretha seemed to sense Adelaide’s nerves, if not the feelings behind them. She patted Adelaide’s hand kindly. “Dinnae fash, mistress,” she said softly. “The Laird is a good man. We in the clan have longed to see him wed, and ye seem a sweet-natured lass. Ye have naught to fear in this marriage.”
Adelaide’s eyes pricked at Gretha’s unexpected gentleness. “Thank ye, Gretha. It is only that it’s all happening so quickly. I havenae had a chance to—” To learn if Fillan truly wants me, or is only accepting me because he must.
She swallowed the words, not wanting to turn to a blubbering mess in front of the keep’s head cook and chatelaine less than an hour before her wedding. Adelaide would be the lady of this castle come evening. She had to start on the right foot.
“Aye, well, everything’s a wee bit rushed,” Gretha said with a chuckle. “But we’ll make the most of the time we have to get ye gussied up before yer vows, mistress.”
“I…I dinnae have aught else to wear.” She cast a glance at her robin’s egg blue gown. Blessedly, it hadn’t been terribly spoiled by her travels, but it was undoubtedly plain.
“Then we’ll make do,” Gretha said matter-of-factly. “Ye are a bonny thing, mistress. A bath, a combing, and some fresh plaits in yer hair, and ye’ll be polished up to glowing, ye’ll see.”
With that, Gretha poked her head out the door and called for a tub and hot water to be hauled up, quick as the servants could manage.
Chapter Seven
For the dozenth time, Fillan caught himself tapping his cane on the outside of his bad foot. He planted the cane firmly onto the dais, resolving yet again not to let his nerves get the better of him.
But he had been standing on the dais beside Father Dorian for what felt like an age. It couldn’t have been more than a quarter hour, in truth, but time seemed to stretch, taunting his worry-knotted mind.
