by Nicole Locke
‘You’ve gone quiet again, lass. Maybe I need to add more words.’
He did. She wasn’t done contemplating his proposal and felt just as restless and uneasy as the horses.
‘You’ll have whatever wealth, whatever protection my clan, my sword and...my body can give you.’
Bram’s voice, his hands. The way he used both. She was trussed over that firepit and yet it suddenly felt as if another fire licked at her. It was Bram and the way he made her feel. Never before had she felt this way. But...was that true for him as well?
‘Is that why you almost kissed me? Was marriage your intention all along?’
Another chuckle. ‘You should not negotiate, Lioslath. Ever. You reveal too much to me.’
‘It’s dark. There’s nothing for you to see.’
‘I can feel you stepping away from me. It only makes me want to step closer. Especially when you make that little sound and talk about kisses.’ He paused. ‘But nae. That is not why I almost kissed you.’
‘You laughed then.’
‘But only at myself.’
‘How am I to believe you?’
‘Is that what you worry about with this marriage agreement? The potential that we fit?’ He looked down at the floor and scuffed the fresh hay there. ‘Would it help to know I think about that kiss as well? I’ve thought, too, of the...difficulties that brings if we are to have a marriage agreement like your father’s. But I’m willing to keep to their terms, if you are.’
Lioslath waited for him to finish his thoughts, but he didn’t. And yet there was a part of her that believed what she did understand.
Despite their talking of it, he wasn’t expected. Could she be unexpected for him, too? Like his voice, and how it sounded to her when he said he wanted to kiss her. There was something in the tone that told her he still thought of kissing her. She thought of it, too.
Despite the thought that she hated him. The fact she couldn’t depend on him. She knew she waited for and wanted Bram’s kiss.
Oh, she knew he set it all up and her clan paid the price. She knew, too, that if she allowed him control, she would pay some price. Still, his marriage offer was enticing.
He...enticed. Could she take what he offered and not pay? Could she sacrifice something for her clan and yet gain something for herself?
She didn’t know, and he stayed quiet, even as he stepped closer to her. Closer yet. Did he want to kiss her now? How was she to guess when he used only trading words? ‘Terms? Difficulties? You talk too strangely.’
He did. Bram knew he did. Blind anger made him announce their betrothal. Reasoning showed him he could use it for his advantage.
Yet there was one thought permeating all others. He declared their betrothal, but he was negotiating for a marriage, which would be a tighter connection with her.
No. Not a tighter connection to her, but to the plan.
A marriage would secure his stay here for the winter; a private agreement with Lioslath would ensure it remained temporary and that he could leave in the spring.
Lioslath knew he asked for the agreement as her father had. A temporary marriage, to give the appearance of a strong alliance. As long as they did not consummate their marriage, he would be free to leave.
And there was another reason why it had to be merely for show. Because of Gaira, and Robert, her husband, who ensured Gaira’s safe travel back to Colquhoun land. Robert was a good, honourable man, but he was also the same English knight who killed Lioslath’s father. Lioslath didn’t know and he couldn’t tell her.
Bram needed no long-term connection with the Fergusson clan. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair. His coming here, his negotiating, his feelings for Lioslath. It was madness. All of this was madness.
But he needed the agreement and he couldn’t find reason or sense in all this. Had it to do with her? He wasn’t one for keeping emotions. He learned long ago not to be ruled by them. Now, with her, he possessed too many of them and they battered inside him.
Anger for being thwarted. Worry for his family. Desire.
Because even now it was there and it had nothing to do with a plan or a purpose. It had to do with that almost-kiss.
He couldn’t see her now, but it didn’t matter. It was enough to hear the way her breath hitched. Even at this distance, he caught the faint scent of her. She smelled like the trees surrounding her home. When she was in her bedroom, he caught that pine and fresh crispness, and it was just as compelling as her beauty.
She smelled as he needed her to smell. A need he didn’t know he possessed until her.
So when he took steps towards her, he depended on that elusive scent and the slight breathless gasps indicating her frustration and anger with him.
But he wanted more. He wanted to see her. The way her pale skin flushed with that almost-kiss, the way her lips parted to take in a breath. The way they did now as she made these...sounds of confusion.
Because he kept walking closer. He knew he did and he knew she had nowhere to go, so that eventually—
This was wrong. His desire for her over everything would make it difficult staying here. Difficult enough that he shouldn’t flirt, shouldn’t tease, shouldn’t need to be closer to her.
This wasn’t a planned seduction so she’d marry him. This feeling he had for her was unplanned and uncontrollable. Yet that certainty wasn’t enough for him to stop walking towards her. No, the only thing that did that was the sound of her clumsily hitting the slatted wooden wall.
She had nowhere to go. And neither did he. He had no choice now. He didn’t have Lioslath’s acceptance of a temporary marriage, though he’d given her sound reasons. Maybe if he knew more about her, he could negotiate differently, but there was no time for contemplation. Donaldo’s demand burned in his mind. There was only one thing left for him to try.
‘Lioslath, why did you cut your hair?’
Chapter Twelve
Surprise pulled the ground from beneath Lioslath’s feet. To keep from falling, she dug her fingers into the rough slats behind her until splinters poked each fingertip. The pain was enough for her anger to anchor her. To brace her for a discussion she’d never intended to have with this man.
‘Who told you?’
Her hair. She didn’t care about the quality and condition of her clothing. She didn’t care that she slept in the stables and probably smelled of hay on a good day and horse on a bad. She didn’t even care what hunting had done to her hands and fingers. No, all of these things she could dismiss, but not her hair.
‘I doona ken,’ he whispered.
She didn’t care if he understood. It was her loss and she understood that all too well. He didn’t deserve to know. ‘Someone told you. Who was it?’
‘You’re angry. Why?’
‘I’m not angry. It’s just hair. Stop with this...false concern.’
Lioslath pressed herself against the back wall and hated herself for it, but she wanted to flee this conversation.
‘Not to you. It’s not simply hair to you,’ he whispered. ‘What happened?’
Too much. She somehow told him too much. No one asked about her hair because they all knew why she’d cut it. Her clansmen had lived through the same nightmare she had. A nightmare she didn’t want to relive by telling it to the almighty Laird Colquhoun.
‘You were forced,’ he said.
He would push and keep pushing. His siege taught her that. So she pushed back. ‘Forced? Nae, I cut it myself. It used to be down to here.’ She pointed to the small of her back, though he couldn’t see the gesture. ‘Long, straight, just as thick. Just as unruly. All mine. So I hacked and hacked because all I had was my hunting knife. My hunting knife that I had been using to skin a sheep.’
Sheep wool and blood—her own blood as she cut herself with a dulled knife. It had
all flown around her like some macabre cloud and she hadn’t been able to stop. Just as she couldn’t stop remembering now. She could practically feel the blade again as it sliced tiny cuts on her neck. Almost feel her body freeze and burn with terror as she yanked at the locks that stubbornly remained.
‘Why did you only have your hunting knife?’ Bram asked, his voice sounding distant. ‘Why did you hack it that way?’
‘Why?’ Every word, every remembrance felt like some punishment. Not even her fingers gripping and stinging from the splinters made a difference. The grief inside her spilling out in front of this man was more painful than tiny cuts in her hands. ‘Why ask me? Why torture me more? So you can simply hear my pain?’
He exhaled as if she’d suddenly slammed a fist into his stomach. ‘I hear it now,’ he said steadily, controlled. Without a doubt.
Compassion. Pity. Never from him. Her fingers released from the wood and she started to slide to the ground.
Bram was there. His arms wrapping around her as she leaned onto his chest and the solidness of his thighs. He cradled her and she clutched him with stinging palms and fingers.
What had she done? Nothing. Nothing but revealed a weakness to an enemy. Again.
It was he, it was his voice in the dark; it was his vibrancy that kept her off kilter. But her feelings had to be fleeting. Just this moment. No more. She didn’t think she could take any more. ‘Let me go. Leave.’
‘The English,’ he said, instead of letting her go. ‘The English have already been here. That’s what happened to your crops. The scorch marks, the razing. That is why you have nae supplies.’
Of course he’d guess. ‘Surprised it wasn’t all our mistakes and failures at turning a profit that’s made the Fergusson clan so poor? Or maybe you’re not surprised that Fate despises Fergussons? After all, we continue to be an easy target for your manipulations.’
A brusque shake of his head. ‘So I was right. They came...but you didn’t know it. You were caught unawares and in haste you cut your hair. Why?’
Though he didn’t deserve to know, though he didn’t deserve for her to open the keep’s gates, she told him anyway. ‘Aye, they came in summer,’ she said. ‘I hacked my hair right here in the horse stables and hid it deep under the hay to throw away later. My clothes were already covered in blood and wool, but I brushed them with manure in case...they wanted to take more. Then I went out to meet them. I went out appearing like the son my father wished he’d sired.’
Her hair, so black like her father’s, but thick and down to her waist like her mother’s. In memory of her mother, she kept her gently waving hair unbound. There were no paintings of her mother, no tapestries, no needlework. Any softness her mother added to the keep were taken away by her stepmother. But Lioslath kept her hair.
Then when the English came, when she heard the cries of her people, she knew what she had to do. To become a young man, because her age and her position and her sex could never protect her family otherwise.
She couldn’t even cry as she cut it. She couldn’t cry because she couldn’t risk any tear tracks. To disguise herself even more, she wiped dirt on her face and smeared horse dung on her hose until her nostrils stung. She couldn’t protect her clan if the English ever thought her a woman.
He wrapped his arms more tightly around her and she allowed it. She had no strength in her arms to push him away.
‘They came,’ he said. ‘You had nae defences, nae power. That’s why you’re angry about my being late, about my not being here.’
Bram could feel Lioslath’s tiny breaths for control. Her fingers kneaded his sides. As if she was clawing her way out telling him...or remembering.
‘It was useless to tell you this. You can see we survived. I... We didn’t need you. Let me go.’
He fought to clutch her tighter. The English. The English had razed Fergussons’ crops to the ground. Burned homes and winter supplies. Lioslath and her family survived, but she had to endure the destruction of her home...of everything. And he hadn’t been here to protect her.
The English were pouring through Scotland now to make their accounts. Sheriffs were taking taxes. Villages were being rebuilt as Scotsmen signed King Edward’s Ragman Rolls to proclaim their fealty to him.
Lioslath said Fate hated them and he was starting to believe her. The English could easily return here.
Of course they would return here, since they easily acquired supplies and incurred no losses. Maybe they’d wait, but they would return. If they came before next autumn, the Fergusson clan wouldn’t have any supplies to give them. Then people would be razed to the ground. Lioslath would be—
Bram had been a fool to agree to Donaldo’s request. And now he knew why the woman had demanded this of him.
If their alliance was temporary, when the English came again he wouldn’t be here. He would be on Colquhoun land or maybe somewhere hiding because he couldn’t stay stationary. Not when he’d committed treason so many times over. In the form of Robert, the English king’s favoured knight who lived on Colquhoun land. And then the Jewel of Kings, which was in his brother’s keeping. And now he purposefully avoided a king’s summons.
This clan needed the wealth and protection of the Colquhouns, but he wasn’t the man to do it. But who else did they have? No one. The thought that his actions made them more vulnerable burned in his chest.
If Donaldo wanted revenge for him hurting Lioslath, she succeeded. Between his desire for Lioslath and now this protective urge towards the Fergussons, it would be difficult to leave. But he must do it. Never again would he fail his family.
But he could not fail Lioslath, who trembled in his arms. Each tiny movement shook through him. And he feared they would expose and wound him far worse than her arrows and dagger.
He had a duty to his family but also a promise to her. With a king wanting his head, he could fail one or the other.
In the meantime, by staying here he fulfilled the plan and could at least offer some protection and supplies to sustain the Fergussons. They... She needed more than that despite her demands he leave. But he must compromise. Compromise? Holding Lioslath, knowing he couldn’t offer her more, felt like a sacrifice.
But all of his meagre offerings and perilous planning could only be accomplished if Lioslath accepted a temporary marriage. He had to push her for an answer. Guilt racked him, but duty demanded more.
‘Lioslath, lass, your answer. A marriage just like your father’s. That’s all. It won’t be any more than that. I won’t ask for any more than that.’
When she eased away from him, he let her.
‘Not now,’ she said.
‘You told me of your hair. You know I can help.’
‘Tomorrow,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll give you an answer tomorrow.’
* * *
Bram rolled his shoulders as the last of the thatch he lifted above his head was taken by his clansmen on the roof.
All day the clans worked together, tearing down the hastily made repairs, reworking patches and discussing what needed to be done and when. It was punishing work, rewarding work, and the sun would be setting soon.
Still, there was no answer from Lioslath.
He worked harder than all, knowing Lioslath could say no, that he’d be forced to return to Colquhoun land, that she would be more vulnerable when the English returned.
When he spied Finlay exiting the keep, he excused himself to intercept his friend. There was much to discuss and they needed to be alone.
‘How fares the keep?’ he asked when they were far enough away.
Finlay walked beside him. ‘The platform fell so suddenly, Callum will have a bruise on his back for a month. He couldn’t get out from under it fast enough.’
To know it was down was no relief. Not when he knew it could have fallen with Lioslath hurling debris
at him. He thought the Fergussons were terrible carpenters. Instead, they desperately made repairs in case it rained. He arrived too late to protect this clan and he pushed Lioslath too much regarding the marriage. He did not deserve any reward as he ripped and made stronger repairs, built new beams. Still...it gave him satisfaction mending the wrongs here.
‘The one we’re building will take a couple of days,’ Finlay said.
‘As long as it’s secure.’
Finlay looked around. ‘There is much work to be done here.’
‘Aye, and it will get done.’ There was more than repairs to be done here. The Fergussons lacked skills, swords and defences. Lioslath had a...vulnerability he didn’t understand. He continued to feel her trembles.
Finlay exhaled. ‘I need an answer.’
‘As laird or friend?’ Bram said, expecting this conversation. He dreaded it nonetheless.
‘Perhaps both,’ Finlay said.
‘I cannot answer all your questions.’
‘Aye, I understand, but in this... Your betrothal was a surprise. I need to know if the weeks here have been nothing but a courtship.’
Carefully worded insults. ‘You know me better.’
‘I hoped you’d say that. But we’ve been here for weeks and the men are restless.’
‘So they look to you to discover my intentions?’ As laird he was used to factions. ‘Merely a few more weeks until the repairs are done, then you and the men can return.’
‘Or stay if we like?’
Bram’s chest swelled at the blind friendship Finlay offered. ‘I did not want to lose our friendship.’
‘You have not lost it, but it seems we have lost our laird with this betrothal.’
Finlay frowned and there was tightness to his features Bram could not ease. He deeply regretted not telling his friend of his plans. That this marriage was temporary and he would return to Colquhoun land. But the knowledge could put Finlay in danger, and it did Lioslath’s reputation no good. At the end of the betrothal, it had to be her to break if off. It was the least he could do. That was, of course, if Lioslath accepted.
