by Pride, Mia
William narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Nay, I am already betrothed to Mary. I willnae fight for another woman’s hand in a tournament. The entire situation is madness. It shouldnae require a tournament to find a husband for yer daughter. Mayhap ye should groom her on her behaviors instead of trying to always please her!”
He knew he was walking a dangerous line, but William was done being told what to do by this man who was no authority to him. He wished he had never responded to the missive Archibald sent in the autumn suggesting the cursed match. Marjorie was difficult at best, but she was simply a child on the brink of womanhood. This man was a grown leader who succumbed to the whimsies of his daughter at every turn. He had created a monster akin to those found in the ancient stories of Rome.
Stepping up to him slowly, Archibald put his hand on his sword’s hilt and rubbed his beard. “Ye insult me and my daughter, do ye? Mayhap we should meet in the lists, after all.”
“I welcome it.” William was not afraid of this man. He was a Black Douglas, aye, but he forgot his place if he thought he could force his daughter upon William.
“William and Reginald will both enter the tournament. Invitations will be sent to every available knight or nobleman from both the Keith and Irvine Clans on our lands. Ye have my word.” Looking over Archibald’s shoulder, William scowled at Robert for interfering and giving in to this arse of a man. Nodding and sending William a smug look of victory, Archibald backed away and left the solar, slamming the door much harder than necessary. To that man, everything was a battle to be won.
“Are ye mad?” William shouted. “I willnae fight for Marjorie! Ye wanted me to wed Mary and now that I have offered for her, ye will force me to be in this ridiculous tournament meant solely to appease an absurd lass and her blustering father! Have ye lost yer wits, man?”
Reginald sighed and stepped forward, remaining as calm as ever but clearly unhappy with Robert’s decision. “I suppose my time has come to disown the clan and run for the hills,” he said wearily. “Ye ken I willnae marry her.”
Putting his hands on his hips, Robert looked at both men with his blue eyes and lowered his brow. “I ken ye willnae. Neither of ye will. Simply lose and bow out of the tournament.”
That chafed Reginald, who scoffed and shook his head. “Marry that lass or intentionally embarrass myself in front of hundreds of people? Ye ken we are both knighted and have fought in many battles! These games are already insane, and that is saying a lot coming from me! I willnae marry her, and I willnae intentionally lose any game of skill!”
“I agree,” William said, this time being the calm one in the room. “Ye ask too much. Ye invited them here for the Yule, and now ye allow them to overstep.”
Robert slowly stepped up to them and narrowed his gaze. “Have ye forgotten that we have scores of Douglas warriors on our land, ready to cause trouble at Archibald’s signal? Have ye forgotten that he is one of the most powerful men in Scotland, married to the cursed king’s sister? Or that we need an alliance with them? Marjorie is royalty, and dinnae ye forget it. Not all men are as ridiculous as ye two. There are men among us who will gladly wed a royal miss who is fair of feature, wealthy, powerful, and young enough to bear children. We cannae insult her honor, nor Archibald’s.”
Pausing, Robert pursed his lips and shifted his stance, popping his knuckles in anger. William had never seen his brother-by-marriage so enraged. “I am Laird of Drum, not either of ye, and I will protect my people and decide what is right. And when ye call this tournament ridiculous, ye insult my wife, who has done all she can to keep the peace.”
William puffed out a breath of frustration. “Yer wife erred by inviting them here in the first place. If she had stayed out of everyone’s business, I wouldnae be betrothed to a woman carrying yer brother’s bastard!”
He knew he had gone too far the moment the words left his mouth, but it was too late. They had been said, and Robert’s fist was already flying toward his face. He could have dodged it. But nay. It was his own cursed fault and he deserved the blow.
Feeling his head snap to the side by the impact, William stood his ground and straightened his back, wiping the blood from his lip. “Dinnae ye ever insult my wife again. Dinnae ye ever insult Mary again. Ye will wed her, and ye will respect her, or I will run ye through myself. Ye will fight in this tournament to prevent a war within the walls of Drum. Ye will set yer own cursed pride aside and lose the first bloody game and then ye will be wed to Mary immediately. Do ye understand me, Sir William?”
He felt himself grinding his teeth as his jaw clenched. Nails digging into his flesh as he clenched his fists, William took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was on Irvine lands, and Robert had made his decision. There would be a tournament and William would be in it… and he would lose in front of hundreds, taking a blow to his pride, only to be married to a woman he could not even speak to without engaging in an argument.
There was no more to be said. His jaw ached and he felt blood oozing from his swollen lip, but he refused to wipe it away. He had disrespected both his sister and future wife and deserved much more than what he had received. Nodding in understanding, William pushed past Robert and left his solar, cursing himself a fool. The first Yule feast was to be served shortly, and he loathed having to explain to his sister why he had a bruised jaw, but that was the least of his troubles.
Between Mary, Marjorie, and Elizabeth, William was certain he would lose his mind before he made it back to Dunnottar… if he made it back at all before being run through by an Irvine or a Douglas.
William was a man who, though prideful, could admit to his own shortcomings and mistakes. He had certainly made his fair share while here at Drum, but one thing he was certain of was that Mary was his best option, and insulting her made him the grandest arse in all of Scotland. No more. If he was to wed the woman, he needed to stop making comments about her child or relationship with Alexander. Though he wished not to admit it, jealousy niggled at him. She had loved another man so desperately that William knew he never stood a chance to gain her affections, not that he had ever truly hoped to. But, love was something William had once hoped for and now was forced to admit he would never have it.
William would join the tournament and he would lose, pushing aside his pride for the betterment of everyone but himself. It was against his nature to allow himself to be bested by another man willfully, but so was a marriage with a woman ready to give birth. His father had once told him life was unpredictable, and it would not do to challenge the hands of fate. And though he had refused those sentiments, believing himself in command of his own life, William suddenly scoffed to himself, finally understanding his father’s words.
“Ye were right, Father. I have challenged fate, and I have lost.”
Mary could not see through her haze of humiliation. Marjorie Douglas flashed her a grin so full of victorious bluster that Mary wished to shake the lass until her wee head popped off her shoulders.
“A tournament?” That was all Mary could bring herself to say. William had agreed to enter a tournament to win the hand of Marjorie. Was he addled in the brain? Mayhap he had hit his head one too many times in battle and suffered from memory loss or worse, multiple personalities. She had seen such things in her time.
“Aye. All the men at Drum wish to wed with me, especially William and Reginald who were the first to sign up. I told ye they were fighting over me. A tournament truly is the fairest way. Whichever man is skilled enough to win the games, will also win my hand. I cannae wait to see how many men desire me for a wife!” She squealed and clapped her hands together excitedly before flashing one more grin and walking toward the high table.
All the clans had gathered in the well-lit and overly warm hall to celebrate the first day of Yule, but though Mary was surrounded by hundreds of people, she felt entirely alone. For a matter of hours, she had believed herself saved from ruin, and now she stood planted in the middle of the hall feeling like a rejected, worthl
ess woman. How had her life come to this? She was guilty of naught but loving a man… and being careless while making love to him. But Alexander had vowed to defy his father and wed her until his father died and Alex had been forced to fulfill the marriage contract between his father and Elizabeth Keith to secure peace. Nothing had been the same since and, apparently, her life would be ruined forever.
Seeing William approaching her as he worked through the crowd, Mary quickly turned and headed toward the high table, too confused and embarrassed to speak with him. She knew he would sit beside her during the meal and she would have to appear to be unshaken by the news, but she needed a moment to gather strength enough to survive the night.
“Mary!” Elizabeth called to her from beside Matilda, both standing in front of the high table, awaiting Robert’s appearance. “I heard the news, and I am absolutely thrilled! Arenae ye? We shall be sisters!” Elizabeth hopped up and down with a wide smile, taking Mary’s hands in hers.
“This is grand news, indeed,” Matilda said with a grin. “I am pleased I didnae need to add more mistletoe to the hall,” she winked. So, it was Matilda who was behind the ill-fated kisses. She should have known, although she was certain Elizabeth had been in on it, as well.
“I assume ye havenae heard of the tournament then?” Mary asked slowly, looking at the other women and unable to share in their joy.
“Och, aye. ’Twas my idea, after all. We need to keep The Douglas happy, ye ken. Besides, who doesnae enjoy a wee tournament? ’Tis like the times of King Arthur once again! It shall be splendid, indeed.”
Words escaped Mary. Had everyone gone mad? They had schemed to push her and William together, and now they had set up a tournament that Will was participating in to win a chance to wed with Marjorie?
“Mary?” Hearing William’s voice approaching from behind her, she flinched and cursed under her breath.
“Excuse me. I need air.” Pushing past Elizabeth and Matilda, Mary maneuvered through the crush of bodies to find her way to the screens separating the hall from the chaos of the kitchens. Servants hustled about carrying plates of food while Cook shouted orders and stirred something that smelled delicious in a pot suspended over a large fire.
The door to the gardens beckoned her, and Mary put her head down as she carefully walked through, not wishing to speak to anyone. The gardens had always been the one place she felt at ease, yet tending them had been a chore she loathed. Elizabeth gladly took over its care and it had thrived. Now it was mostly barren and covered in a thin sheet of fresh snow, and Mary cursed her thin silk dress for being of no use against the bite of winter, and herself for being foolish enough to run out in the cold without her arisaid.
Stopping at a bench, Mary looked around and breathed deeply, dismayed that she could not sit on the wet surface without destroying her gown. Matilda would be furious, though the woman did deserve it for putting Mary in this position with her schemes.
“Why do ye always run from me?”
Turning around, she saw William and frowned. “Why are ye always an arse?” she snapped back, feeling her ire pique and her patience at an end.
Stepping closer, William had the decency to look contrite, an emotion she had not expected he owned. “If Rob or Reg told ye what I said about ye, I have nay defense. I was angry and I paid the price.” He rubbed his jaw, and Mary realized now in the dim light that his lip was cracked and swollen, a new scab forming over the broken flesh.
She had no idea what he spoke of but knowing he had said something so awful about her that one of the Irvine brothers felt he deserved a split lip, her stomach clenched and a wave of grief washed over her. Alexander would never have disrespected her. This man was foul of temper and too proud to be born.
“I dinnae ken, nor do I care, what ye said about me. But I do ken that ye entered this tournament to fight for Marjorie’s hand, and never in my life have I met a more confusing, infuriating man! Ye deserve that split lip and more!” She started to run away, then stopped, realizing her slippers had no grip on the icy ground, and she risked harming her child if she fell.
“Aye, I do deserve it and more. I am sorry, Mary. But, I was forced into this tournament. Ye must listen.”
Turning back to face him, she shook her head, choking back the tears that threatened to fall. “Nay. I mustnae and shallnae. I have listened enough. I listened when ye asked to marry me. I listened to ye and to Robert and to Lizzie about all the reasons I needed to wed with ye. Now that I agreed, ye will dishonor me by fighting in front of hundreds of people to win the hand of another woman? Leave me be, Will. I am tired and wish to be alone.”
“I willnae leave until ye listen.”
That was it. She was done being ordered about by this man or anyone else. She would rather be alone than spend her life arguing with this insufferable man. “Then ye may stand here and freeze to death for all I care.” Stomping past him, she had no idea where she wished to go, but anywhere else was preferable to his company.
“Lizzie created this tournament, and Robert demanded me and Reginald participate. I refused. I am betrothed to ye, Mary. But The Douglas is a threat to us all and he is staying within the walls. Unless we all wish to be killed in our sleep, we must attempt to tolerate him and his daughter.”
“So ye will marry us both?” Turning, she crooked her brow. “That is bold and will require a papal dispensation, no doubt.”
“Mary. Didnae ye hear what I said? I am betrothed to ye. I will marry ye. I must be in the tournament, aye, but I will lose. Dinnae ye see? I am going to intentionally lose in front of everyone at a tournament I am absolutely certain I would win, so that I may wed with ye.”
Throwing her hands up, she felt the need to scream in frustration. “I didnae ask ye to do that! I’m not worth yer pride as a knight. I ken that! Dinnae lose so ye can wed with a woman ye cannae stand! Be in the tournament, Will. Win it for all I care! I willnae be the cause of yer bruised pride or humiliation. Ye ken ye will be fighting men far inferior to ye in skill and rank. Ye cannae lose and risk yer reputation. Nor will I be played the fool and marry ye after ye lose in front of everyone attempting to win Marjorie! I have pride too, ye ken!”
Lifting her dress, Mary stomped away slowly, looking ridiculous as she tried to maneuver on the slippery ground. She felt as if she had been swallowed up whole and thrown into a different world where everyone had gone mad. A pox on them all.
“What will ye have me do?” he shouted at her from behind. “I can do as we both please and defy yer laird, anger The Douglas, and put everyone in danger. I can marry ye and sneak off to Dunnottar in the middle of the night, avoiding the entire mess! And then what, Mary?”
Hearing the desperation in his voice, she turned and stopped, looking at him carefully, seeing the anguish in his eyes. Wisps of breath escaped her as she heaved, the chill of the frigid wind freezing her to the bone as a shiver jolted her entire body.
Running toward her, William removed his Keith plaid and wrapped it around her body, rubbing up and down her arms to attempt to warm her. “Ye shouldnae be out here, Mary.”
“I… ken…” she shivered again and wondered how much of it was from the cold and how much from her nerves. She was shaken and not at all herself. Mary hated to feel so vulnerable and desperate, yet she was both of those things, and something about William made her feel even more affected by her emotions than usual.
“What will ye have me do, Mary?” he whispered and pulled her into a warm embrace. Though she wished to fight it, she had no fight left in her and she felt protected, enveloped in his body heat.
“I dinnae ken,” she murmured against his solid chest. Another shiver ran up her spine just as a strong wave of pain squeezed at her abdomen. Clenching her stomach, Mary groaned and bent over, cringing against the pain.
“Mary!” William kneeled and looked up at her. “Are ye all right? Is it the bairn?”
Nodding, she swallowed and relaxed as the pain subsided. “Aye. It has been happening more often
as of late. I am told ’tis my body preparing to give birth and that I am likely further along than expected. I could give birth any day.”
Standing up, William embraced her once again and she accepted it, mayhap because she needed comfort more than anything in the world at the moment. “Ye are my betrothed, Mary. I am a man of honor. I never meant to make ye feel unwanted. I chose ye. I am sorry this bloody situation has caused ye distress. Tell me what to do, and I shall do it, damn the consequences.”
Standing up straight, Mary looked at Will and shook her head slowly. Some moments he made her so angry she wished to strangle him, but then he would say sweet things and speak so tenderly that she found comfort and strength in his nearness. Now that her ire had settled and she had heard his plight, Mary understood that William had been placed in a most complicated position.
“Ye must be in the tournament, William. We cannae afford to offend the Douglas Clan. They have royal ties and are capable of dark deeds. Alex had told me all about them in the past. I willnae ask ye to lose and dishonor yerself. How ye manage that is up to ye.”
“Mary, please listen to me, because I dinnae wish for any more arguments or misunderstandings. I want to marry ye. I willnae marry Marjorie. Archibald Douglas already kens I am betrothed to ye. He demanded I join the tournament so his daughter wasnae dishonored and to encourage other men to fight. But he kens I willnae win and I willnae marry his daughter. I am marrying ye as soon as possible. I will lose the first game and I will marry ye immediately, before this child is born and I will claim him as my own and love him as my own, I vow. I have considered this from every angle. If I were any other man, I may balk at accepting an heir that doesnae have my blood in his veins, but I grew up with Matilda, who is the sister of my heart and was beloved of my parents. I ken that love for a child transcends tradition, and I have never been a man to follow protocol, anyhow.” William grinned and carefully regarded Mary. “Do ye understand?”
“If that is yer wish,” she whispered. “I want and need this marriage, William, but I dinnae want to be a burden or unwanted wife. I would rather be alone all my life than feel as if my child and I were forced on a man.”
