by Ashley York
He looked past her. “It matters not. What does matter is that the O’Neill threatens us to the west.”
“When will Seamus and Ian return?” Her only unwed brothers had been away going on two years now.
Her father’s eyes rounded in pain. “I dinna wish to upset ye but yer brothers will not be returning. They died in battle against the O’Neill.”
Tisa cried out. “When?”
“We received the news spring last.”
“Again ye decided to keep this from me? Do ye think I am a child? If that is the way of it, ‘tis because my own father kept me from the truths in life, shielding me as if I would break.”
“Ye brothers went against my wishes. My anger was at them, not ye.”
“Be angry then. Be sad. Be devastated! But dunna keep me from the truth.”
“A great loss.” Her father closed his eyes against the pain.
Her own heart cried out. They were much older than she was as were her sisters. The MacNaughtons were closer in age and felt more like family. Brighit was like her own little sister.
“I must make decisions that ye may not wish to abide by—but ye will. The O’Neill will not back down. We need an alliance with a strong clan. I need men I can count on, who will fight with me against them.”
“The MacNau—”
“They will not fight for us now. ‘Tis not their land that is threatened.” He shouted the words, his nostrils flaring. “They have broken our agreement, Daughter. We are defenseless. Ronan was good enough to make a new alliance for us.”
“At what cost to us?” Tisa knew the answer as soon as she asked the question. The way Ronan had looked at her, assessing her worth as a mate.
“Ye will marry their tanist.”
“So I am to be exchanged for the promise of protection?”
“Ye will have a place of prominence in their clan.”
“I dunna care about prominence! I want the life I had always been promised. The life I was raised for.”
“That life is gone, Tisa. This is the life ye will have.”
“I dunna accept this...betrayal.”
“Ye have no choice.”
She needed to be alone. “May I leave now?”
Her father’s expression of shock quickly shifted to one of acquiescence. “Ye may.”
Unable to take a deep breath for fear of the tears that would come, she walked with stiffened legs toward the door.
“I will see ye at Vespers.”
She stopped but did not face him. “Ye will not.”
“What?” He bellowed the question.
“I have much to see to in preparation for my impending marriage.”
She continued across the hall and prayed she would see no one in the hall. Her face awash with tears, she bit her quivering lip.
“Tisa.” Her father’s voice sounded strained. “I’ve done the best I can by ye. Dunna doubt it.”
Unable to respond, she made her way to the stairs that hugged the outside wall of the stone building. Her head turning toward each arrow slit as she ascended out of habit. She saw nothing. Numbness engulfed her. Her thoughts scattered. All but one—Tadhg would not be taking care of her.
CHAPTER THREE
~
THE AROMA OF COOKING breads and roasting meats teased Tisa’s stomach in to a loud growling.
Caireann glanced up from her needlework. “Are ye certain ye dunna want me to fetch ye some food?”
Tisa swallowed the water flooding her mouth. “Nae! I must make my father see reason. He canna marry me off to some clan I dunna ken, at a place I dunna ken, and to a man I dunna ken.”
She grabbed at the tightening in her gut. Surely she must be starving to death.
Caireann frowned. “‘Tis only been two days, Tisa. How are ye to outlast him?”
“By determination.” Her words sounded like a sob. Her face heated and she turned away from her friend’s concerned expression. “I have no choice. I canna marry that man. I canna.”
The hearth was cold and the north wind blew about the room from the tiny openings along the beams at the roof line. She pulled the furs wrapped around her closer still.
“Without even warmth from a fire, Tisa? Ye’re bound to take ill.”
Tisa shook her head, forcing herself to appear stronger than she felt. “Nae. I will not be bartered off like some unwanted heifer. My father will see reason.”
Caireann set the embroidery in her lap and sighed. “Methinks ye’re wrong. The man is here now. He is below with his own father probably wondering about ye. Mayhap even thinking ye’re daft? Or horribly disfigured to hide yerself away.”
Tisa’s vanity would not be peaked. “He is here so soon?”
“He was not a great distance when Ronan went to them. Methinks they waited for him.”
“This will work. It must work. It worked for my sisters. It will work for me.”
“Starving?”
“Nae, showing a strong objection by refusing to eat.”
“Oh, Tisa, why take a chance? If this other clan breaks the agreement with yer father, he will be sorely vexed and take it out on ye.”
“Surely not, Caireann. My father has never raised a hand to me.”
“Methinks this is a very different situation. He begged forgiveness for yer absence from the feast at yer betrothed’s arriv—”
“He is NOT my betrothed. Tadhg is my betrothed.”
“It seemed a bit hard on yer father that ye dinna come down. He kept looking toward the stairs. These men from Inishowen are all warriors. Large. Strong. They come with many weapons. If yer absence offends—”
“Enough!” Tisa held up her hand. Guilt and fear for her father’s well-being flooded her. “Yer making me sick with fright that my clan could be murdered if I dunna go below. I yield.”
Tisa stood, the furs dropping to her feet. Her stomach growled loudly. “I will not bring shame to my father. I will meet the man.”
“Yer betrothed.”
“He is NOT my betrothed, Caireann, please.” Tisa took her friend’s hand in a tight hold, her face close. “In my heart, I will always be Tadhg’s. I canna cast that aside. Not ever.”
Caireann stood and helped Tisa dress for the occasion. The pale linen material did little to complement Tisa’s sullen expression. The bell sleeves tight at her wrists fit perfectly with the tightness across her chest.
“Ye look ready to meet yer executioner.”
“I feel as if my life is ending.”
Caireann yanked Tisa against her in a tight embrace. “‘Twill work out. I ken it, Tisa. Dunna be afeared of this man.”
Tisa didn’t trust her own voice as the tears gathered. “It was Tadhg I trusted and no one else. I am afeared of this man.”
“Yer father would not give ye to a cruel man. He could not. Ye’re too dear to him.”
Tisa set her friend aside and hesitated before asking, “Have ye seen the man?”
Caireann glanced away, unable to meet her gaze. “He is tall but not overly broad.”
Tisa forced down the lump in her throat. “My father did what he must for the clan—” She pushed her shoulders back. “I will do the same.”
The last thing she expected to see upon her arrival in the Great Hall was a celebration. Celebration with abandon. Loud voices, raucous laughter, and discordant music drifted to her as she descended the last steps. The voices indicated a great quantity of libations had been consumed and probably continued to flow even at this early hour.
Unnoticed, Tisa took in the scene before her. Several long trestles were set up along the walls between the stone pillars supporting the upper floor. They overflowed with food and drink. Her father sat on his chair oblivious to all around him except for the man to his right. He listened intently, his head tilted close to not miss a single word. The man had gray hair and a beard of the same color that fell well past his chin. An unusual style. She prayed this was not to be her betrothed. Surely he was older than her own father.
&n
bsp; At least twenty people, most of whom she did not recognize, were grouped in two circles and dancing to a tune she did not recognize. Unlike her own clan, these people touched repeatedly, both their palms as they passed and their shoulders as they crossed. Grouped in twos and threes, men and women huddled close at the far side of the hall. The iron wall brackets that hung along the back wall were not lit, creating a darkened area. Peering closer, Tisa thought she caught sight of naked flesh before her view was obstructed when the men moved closer together.
“And ye must be Tisa?”
A handsome man with bright blue eyes, blond hair, and a slender build with broad shoulders approached her. Perhaps three and twenty, he wore trews with his leine and appeared quite flushed. Behind him, a considerably younger man that she recognized as one of the cook’s helpers, Breandan, startled her when he narrowed his eyes at her. That one preferred the company of other men but had never been so openly rude to her. He made his way up the stairs behind her.
Glancing past her, the man before her followed Breandan with his eyes. When he returned his intense gaze to her, he raised his brows in expectation of her reply.
“I am Tisa.”
With a delicate touch and a sweaty palm, he brought her hand toward his lips and bowed slightly. “At least I have not been deceived regarding yer beauty.”
Her stomach lurched. This was to be her betrothed?
His eyes twinkled as he searched her face for what seemed like an exceedingly long time before he finally spoke. “Ye do seem upset. And is that fear I see in yer eyes? Fear of me?”
She swallowed hard. “Nae! ‘Tis just that we have not been introduced.”
“Hmmm.” He threaded her arm through his with a grip that seemed unnecessarily forceful. “Then let us see to it.”
His body was stiff beside her as he all but dragged her toward her father. He was a foot taller than she was. She ventured a glance at the man’s face. Tight lipped, his cheek twitched. She’d almost believe he wanted this match even less than she did.
“Look what the cat dragged in.” The man beside her stepped away, dropping all pretense of pleasure at her arrival.
When her father turned away from the older man, his frown shifted to one of pleasure. “Daughter! I am delighted ye feel well enough to join us.”
He closed the distance, kissing her lightly on the cheek and whispered. “They dunna need to ken of yer childishness.”
She tipped her head with a tight smile. Searching his face, he appeared older and her heart quickened. “Are ye not well—”
“This is the Meic Lochlainn. Aodh Meic Lochlainn.” Indicating the older man still seated with a sweeping gesture. Her father chose to ignore her concern but turned, instead, to the man beside her. “And I see ye have met yer betrothed.”
“She appeared vexed that we had not been properly introduced.” The man had beautiful eyes but an annoyingly high-pitched voice.
Aodh Meic Lochlainn’s lips turned up at the corners as he took an overlong perusal of her from where he sat at the place of honor beside her father. “Aye. A lovely morsel indeed.” He licked his lips and faced her father. “Well matched without a doubt.”
“I believe they are indeed,” her father answered.
Tisa glanced at her betrothed to find him rolling his eyes then turning back to the crowd behind them as if searching for someone.
He started when he noticed her watching him. He did not look pleased. “And can we be properly introduced before she turns tail and runs?”
“Mind yerself, son,” the older man laughed out the warning. He approached, stepping in close to Tisa. His breath smelled of rotted teeth and ale. “Ye are a lovely one.”
“Please, Father, we are not even wed yet. Can ye not wait before ye lust after my wife?”
Tisa’s jaw dropped. Glancing at her father, she realized their voices had been too low for him to hear above the din in the room.
“Keep a respectful tone.” The Meic Lochlainn turned toward her and winked. “Ye’re a blessed lad.” He turned toward her father. “Roland?”
The man used her father’s name as if he’d the right. These are the men her father would create an alliance with? These are the men who would protect them from the enemy?
“Darragh, I make known to ye my daughter, Tisa.”
Darragh’s smile could have rivaled the loveliest sunrise. With slow deliberation, he brought her hand to his lips again, his eyes holding her own. Sky blue, beautiful eyes but not the eyes of a happy man. They were the eyes of an angry man. A livid man. A man following orders he did not agree with. Mayhap even a man who bided his time until he could make them all regret forcing him in to this position.
Her soon-to-be husband’s soft lips touched her hand. A violent shiver jerked up her arm. He must have felt the tremor for his eyes widened as if he’d just been proven correct about something. The small creases now apparent at the corners of his eyes indicated this was a genuine smile.
“Mmm, a timid lass.” He spoke softly, seductively. “I do find great pleasure in that.”
Tisa dare not breathe.
“Perhaps I have been blessed.” His words were for her alone before he turned back to his father. “When will the wedding take place?”
“Hah!” Aodh gave a hearty laugh and turned to her father. “What a sprite yer little Tisa is. She’s won him over with a mere glance.”
Darragh had stepped away again, placing a fair distance between them but laughed along with his father. Her own father’s dark eyes were on hers. She’d swear she could read his regret but smiled back as cheerfully as she could manage. Her knocking knees and feelings of doom well hidden.
“This very night!” Darragh’s voice pierced her through.
She gasped and turned to him.
No!
“Aye.” Her father nodded and stood. “Let us meet with the priest and sign the contracts.”
Darragh moved in closer, a keen eye measuring her reaction as he did so.
Her body quaked in response.
An eager smile now, he had the look of a cat playing with a mouse just before it was about to eat that rodent. He seized her hand. “Ye are not what I had expected from the woman I must wed. I dare say ye are very much to my liking, sweet little Tisa.”
His eyes never left her face and there was a hardness there as if he looked on her not as a woman. Not as a wife. Not even as a prize. He didn’t care to look upon her. Instead, he searched out her fear. He felt her dread. He recognized her reluctance to marry him as well and that gave him satisfaction. Great satisfaction.
“Come, son. Let us see to the signing of the marriage contracts.”
Tisa’s mouth went dry. “Father—”
Her father raised a hand to silence her. “I will see to it, Tisa.”
The three men left her to stand alone in the middle of a room filled with many strangers.
A fluttery panic rose in her chest. Where were the men she knew? Where was Caireann? Fergus appeared at the far door, scanning the room. She willed him to see her. When he finally did, there was disappointment. Although he approached her, he had not come for her.
“No kiss of best wishes and blessing, my friend?”
Fergus brushed his lips against her cheek. He frowned. “Tisa, ye’re cold as stone. Why have ye come down if ye are still not well?”
A simple kindness and tears flooded her eyes. She steeled herself to shield this man from her inner turmoil. “I was not sick. I reacted badly to the broken betrothal.”
“My heart breaks for ye as well, Tisa. Ye and Tadhg should be marrying. It canna be easy to be set aside by him now.”
Be set aside? She ground her teeth. Had he found another he preferred?
“Aye. ‘Tis done. I have a new betrothed now and all these warriors,” she indicated the men in the room who listed from side to side in their drunkenness, still attempting the dance, “who will see to our clan’s protection.”
Fergus’ bushy eyebrows slammed together wit
h his fierce frown. “Well protected we’ll be. Yer father has told ye of the loss of yer brothers?”
She nodded.
“I told him not to keep it from ye but he thought it best.”
“Their death has caused all this.”
“No, Tisa. It was the MacNaughton that made this alliance necessary. They had always fought for us as if we were one clan. The loss of yer brothers pains me but ‘tis the withdrawal of the MacNaughtons that puts us in danger.”
She searched for any familiar face. “Are none of our own people coming to the celebration?”
“I dinna like the looks of these men. They were well into their cups upon their arrival. I dunna care for any unwanted attention paid to our women this day.” He turned to her. “Do ye understand me?”
The dark corner appeared empty now. “I do.”
“When our men are back from the fields, I’ll ken we can protect our women better. Tonight they’ll come around.” He glanced across the sea of waving heads. “And tonight many of these will surely fall.”
Tisa smiled thinking of the inevitable state of these drunken men. “They dunna appear to handle their drink very well.”
“I have to agree with that.”
“Although,” Tisa paused and glanced around, “I also dunna see anyone dropping away.”
“A couple of the men were headed to the stables. They must be hoping to sleep it off.”
“If they dunna wake up any time soon ‘twill be fine with me.”
Fergus nodded. “Can I see ye to yer room? I’d not be wanting to leave ye here alone.”
What sounded like a bellow of rage brought immediate silence to all in the hall.
“Never!”
It was her father. She started toward the antechamber where the men had gone but Fergus held her fast. “Ye best not interfere.”
The men who had appeared deeply inebriated suddenly sobered, drawing their weapons, clearly unsure of where the danger lay. Doors slammed in the distance. Loud voices came closer. It was the Meic Lochlainn, not her father.
Fergus began to draw his sword but he was too late. The huge man closing in on her sank his dagger into the man’s chest without missing a step. The captain dropped to her feet.
