by Alisa Adams
With each step down over the hallway rug, strands of her hair fell from the knot on the back of her head. They brushed against her neck and shoulders, sending shudders down her spine. Her gown felt too small, the silk like harsh leather against her skin. Her feet slipped and slid in her slippers.
The shouts of the attackers and the cries of their victims echoed in Merith's head in a way that had sweat breaking across her skin and down her back. Her breathing raced. Her fingers shook.
In that moment, trapped inside the carriage, she had wrapped herself around Ilya, desperate to become as small and inconsequential as was humanly possible. As if, were she diminished enough, the threat outside would not see her. Would not hurt her.
The very thought of it now had bile rising in Merith's belly. The nausea was not for those men and what they might have done to her and Ilya had they been left to their thieving. Instead, her belly twisted at the thought of the cowardice in her behavior. She had not seen fit to stand and fight, had not stood true against those that sought to do her harm. It didn't matter that she had no workable skills as a warrior or could no more hold a sword than she could fly. But there was dignity in facing one's death with a calm sense of bravery, something that she had utterly failed to do.
Merith glanced at Elizabeth's profile as they walked side by side. Her sister would have had such courage.
Reaching out to take Ella's fingers in her own, her beautiful sister turned to smile at her, thinking no less of her little sister for her fearfulness. Her hand tightened over Merith’s and squeezed. Instantly, Merith's heart lightened. While the love and protection she sought and found in her family had her shedding the terror of the day, guilt crept in as its replacement.
Guilt that she was such a closeted burden instead of a valiant individual in her own right.
Thoughts of such courage brought Merith's mind back to that carriage, and she resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. She could hear the boots of the young man that followed behind them. She imagined the sway of his step and the features of his face.
Mere shadow when he had first opened the coach door and stared down into its belly, Merith hadn't been able to piece together his face until they had all been standing out on the lane. Diligently keeping her eyes away from the stains on the ground and the arrows that had become embedded in the side of the carriage, she had looked only at him.
Now, walking ahead of him, with only his shadow and the sound of his gait as her companion, she could fill in his features with her mind's eye. A strong face, a hard jaw with a pointed chin; the man had a puckish look to him. His cheekbones were impossibly high for a man, his lips wide and shapely. His eyes had been dark, with tilted corners as if he were always on the brink of a smile. The dark brows, slanted low over his eyes, had been uneven. One of them was broken at its furthest edge by a scar. The line of white, stark against the tan of his skin, had run from his hairline and then cut down through his forehead and across his eyebrow. An irregular momento of violence in a face that seemed to seek nothing but jovial smiles.
Finn. That was what he said his name was.
Finn, the enigmatic fighter. The warrior with the smiling eyes.
Finding herself far too attuned to his presence than she should be, Merith noticed immediately when Finn's boots ceased in their stride. She paused, her feet hesitant, and her eyes seeking his presence over her shoulder. Her heart hammered against her breast as she wondered why she feared his sudden disappearance.
But he had not vanished. She smiled, relief flitting through her bloodstream. He had simply stopped, hovering by a large, imposing bureau and gazing up at the portrait that hung above it. His stare considered the piece with a serious eye.
Merith felt her expression freeze in place upon her lips. The coy little smile now grew heavy and awkward. But she could not blame the man. The woman in the portrait was a fine specimen to behold. And her recent marriage made her no less beautiful to the eyes of all men. Her sister Kathleen was a vibrant redhead of astounding grace and poise and had lured so many a man to fall hopelessly in love with her.
It was no surprise that Finn had the potential to be one of them.
At a tug upon her fingers, Merith turned back and continued onwards, chivvied by Ella's hastening words.
"Mother and father will be so happy to know you are well, little sister," she said as they hurried along. Her pace was quick, but she managed to turn it into an easy stride that rocked her hips in a seductive manner. Merith was more clumsy, feeling awkward as her short legs struggled to keep up.
"And you too, of course, Ilya," Ella added with a smile over her shoulder at the other woman.
Ilya bowed her head.
"Your Ladyship," she murmured in thanks.
Ella shook her head as if she were discarding unhappy thoughts from her mind.
"We heard that you had both perished at the hands of highway brigands, and mother has been in a state all afternoon. I'm surprised you did not run into our scouts on your way here."
"We took—"
The voice came from behind them but was immediately cut off. Merith looked back to see that Finn had caught back up with them but was sucking in his lips. He had instinctively gone to answer her sister’s query and then seemed to realize that, perhaps, that was not his place.
"Go on," she encouraged him lightly.
Finn's eyes met hers, and she felt that odd little tingle work its way through her heart again.
"We took a route through smaller lanes,” he explained. “I didn't think it safe to continue on the main road."
As if he feared his eyes upon her for too long, the young soldier looked away. His gaze moved to the candleholders upon the wall, shining a burnished gold. There was a tick in the corner of his jaw that gave Merith a moment of wonder. Just what was this man thinking as he assessed the protective prison in which she had grown up?
Ella led the small group through the eastern wing, passed their mother's library, their father's study, and the chambers that were reserved for private reflection or the meeting of guests. They went beyond the corridor that would lead to the servants’ quarters, past the kitchens, and through to the southernmost part of the structure. The hallway broke into a large dining chamber. It was their entry into such a large and open space that was met with a soft but heartfelt feminine cry.
Merith's eyes immediately darted to her mother.
Despite the call of surprise, the lady did not move from her seat, restrained by her own sense of manners.
Donella Mackenzie was a woman of incredible beauty and an ethereal gentleness. Merith had always admired how her mother controlled any deeper passions and still maintained her glacial grace. Yet, in this moment, she would have liked to have seen where such a cry would have led Donella. Would she have risen to her feet? Rushed to her daughter to embrace the little girl that she had thought lost? Would she appear harrowed and broken at the loss of a child and joyous at her apparent revival?
Merith would never know.
For there was only a heartbeat in which Donella seemed eager to rise. And the impulse was lost when her gaze found that of her husband’s. Immediately, any desire to stand up and rush to the daughter so clearly risen once more evaporated. In all, she had moved barely enough to see the skirts of her brown dress sway about her feet. Her strawberry-blonde curls were barely allowed to bounce.
Merith began to ponder at the heat on the back of her neck and wondered if Finn was staring at her.
"Daughter."
The single word rang in the room like the timbre of a large and heavy bell.
While Merith had never felt herself to be close to her father, had never been the sort to curl into his lap and seek the sanctuary of his arms away from the dangers of the world, there was security in the familiar voice. She felt as if she had come home, simply from hearing it.
"Father," Merith greeted in return. She curtseyed low, fully aware of the fact that her parents were the heads of a noble house. There were more bows
than embraces between them now that their children were all of age. And there hadn’t been many of the latter even when they were children. Craig Mackenzie was very proud of the way their family conducted themselves with a regal state of formality, even in private. And all of his children were aware of it. Ella was already mimicking Merith’s curtsey beside her.
"We were told that you had perished," the man continued. Merith tried not to wince at the ache in her heart. He could have attempted to sound just a little concerned over such a hypothetical. He hadn’t known that she was alive all along. Had the fear of her death meant nothing to him? Merith’s fingers tightened around the silk of her skirts as she rose once more.
"By whom, Father?" she asked. "Our carriage was set upon, but I was not harmed."
Craig Mackenzie looked sharply at a servant standing to attention by a side door. Merith knew that that particular portal would lead down into the kitchens and then out towards the stables. She shuddered in sympathy as the young man who stood there jumped. Her father had the stare of a bird of prey and intimidated all that came within his proximity. His hooked nose and deep scowl only served to perpetuate the look and terrify all those who became his foe.
"Fetch me Ferguson," he stated. The quiet of his voice was even more frightening than if he had shouted the words. There was a sinister edge to her father that Merith had never been comfortable with.
Despite Ella reaching for her arm to still her, Merith tried to turn the focus of the conversation, to bring something positive to the hall.
"Father, I am well, and it is thanks to this man."
Merith turned to gesture behind her, to where Finn was standing in the pose of a soldier. His feet were braced apart, and he had wrapped the fingers of one hand around the wrist of the other behind his back. The stance pulled his shoulders back and saw his spine lengthen. There was a power in his legs that she hadn't noticed before.
At her words, the man gave a fine bow before returning to his soldier's mark.
"My lord."
To Merith’s horror and embarrassment, Finn was dismissed by her father without a word or glance. The laird gave him neither the respect nor the consideration of a man to whom she owed her life but treated him as he did all those of common birth, as if they were little more than a rut in the flooring. A necessary evil that you would do well not to trip over.
“You should attend to your chambers, Daughter,” her father commanded, instead.
It was entirely as if he’d never heard her words.
Merith felt her cheeks warm, and she didn't dare meet the gaze of her savior.
“You shall need to be well rested for another journey tomorrow.”
Merith frowned in confusion, glancing between her parents. Her heart began to pump heavy in her chest. When she had left to visit Kathleen, her parents had made it clear that she was to return by such a day to be at home for the preparations for the winter solstice. Now, they were sending her elsewhere?
Merith noticed Ella’s expression. Her sister stood with a look of sympathy, not daring to reach out and take her hand.
“I have arranged your betrothal to Lord Alastair MacKay,” her father continued, his words like a tumble of horrendous revelations. “You’re to journey there tomorrow, and in two weeks’ time, we shall all join you for the ceremony itself.”
Her father’s voice was so calm. Simple. Matter of fact. It was as if he were arranging a chamber’s furniture and narrating why he preferred the chair by the window to the hearth. But then, as much as Merith had always admired her father, including his skills and dignity as a laird, she knew that, of his six children, she was the most expendable. A surprise daughter at the end of a string of proud sons. She was an additional asset that was unnecessary.
Even with Merith’s minimal understanding of the world beyond her family’s walls, she had heard of the issues with the Mackay provinces. Her father had spoken of them with her brothers at the dining table a time or two, commenting on the riots and rebels of the north. Mackay was not a well-liked laird and was struggling to maintain control over his people. And, given the fame of the Mackenzie militia, she could only imagine the deal that was struck, with herself the seal upon the bargain.
Too many thoughts and emotions were stampeding through Merith’s mind. She could not, in that moment, as she stood before her parents, order such chaos into something that would allow her to speak. Instead, she could only gasp as a large hand found her arm and her view was suddenly blocked by a wide shoulder.
“Wha—” The word barely left Merith’s lips. She looked to her sister, who also now stood behind the tall figure of Finn. Ella’s brows were to her hairline, and she was glancing between the man that had placed himself squarely before them and the side servants’ door.
Merith leaned around to try and see.
At her father’s command, the man called Ferguson had been summoned, and Merith knew him to be one of the men that had accompanied her to and from Kathleen’s estate. She recognized the scar beneath his lip and his shaggy mane of russet hair.
The man seemed surprised at Finn’s appearance in her father’s hall, but his expression was nothing to Craig Mackenzie’s. The soldier had taken hold of two of his daughters and pulled them to stand at his back. The laird was staring at Finn as if he had sprouted a second head.
“My lord, forgive me, but this man before you is no trusted guard,” Finn declared. One of his hands was pointed in accusation while the other rested at his hip. Merith wondered if he was looking for a sword that was not there. “He fled from your daughter’s side when she was in danger, without a backwards glance and, if he is not found to be in connection with the thieves themselves, he should at least be hanged for his cowardice.”
Merith looked up at Finn, unable to see more of his face than the edge of his cheekbone and the set of his jaw. She noticed his hair had been trimmed close to the back of his nape, how the muscles of his neck kept his stance tall and straight. She felt her cheeks heat; her imagination drifted as her father’s booming voice filled the room. There was a scuffle as Ferguson was taken ahold of, his calls for justice and his slurs against Finn only lost because Craig Mackenzie’s wrath was formidable once triggered.
After years of familiarity with their father’s angry outbursts, Merith and Elizabeth both turned their gazes to the ground and tried to make themselves as small as was humanly possible. Merith blocked out the noise and the rage and risked looking up to see Finn staring straight ahead, unafraid.
If only she could have courage like that.
But the truth was that Merith had never stood up to her father—not even for a second—which is why she would be going to the Mackay lands tomorrow and following the path as had been dictated for her. It didn’t matter that she was scared of the road now, that the insides of her carriage would feel like an impending doom that it had not before today. That she would be holding her breath the entire way, just waiting for calls and shouts of ransack upon the cart. It didn’t matter that she was fearful of the tales that Mackay was an unliked laird or that the people he tried to govern were violent and unreasonable.
In truth, none of it would see Merith deny her father’s demands, for she feared him above all else.
Suddenly, Finn moved. He took several steps sideways and then resumed his place behind the ladies. Merith glanced about and realized that it had all passed. Ferguson was no longer in the room, and her father’s ire had been reduced to a heated face and heavy breathing. The shouting had stopped, and the threat had been seen away.
She tried not to think about what punishment might be awaiting that man now.
“Father…” Merith found the word jump from her tongue, braver than she had intended it to be. She only continued after her father met her gaze. “If it would not offend, and if he be willing, I request that this man accompany me to my betrothed, as my guard.” Despite missing most of the confrontation, she knew for certain that Ferguson was no longer in her father’s employ. There would be a space
in her protective retinue. “I would feel safe with his attendance and be of sounder mind when I reach Lord Mackay.”
Merith did not dare look around at Finn. She knew that what she was doing was unfair. Despite specifying in her request that he had to be willing to journey with her, an order from her father could not be denied. Not when he was a soldier of her own family. She was tying the man into an acceptance without choice, which was a cruel and insensitive act. But the very idea of traveling without him now set her fingers trembling and her heart breaking. It was so short a time for someone to become familiar to her. But, perhaps that was what shared trauma did—hastened the bonds of trust between strangers.
Everyone in the chamber had gone quiet and stiff. Those that were not shocked by Merith’s odd request were holding their breath for the laird’s response. Merith could feel the tension from all directions, including behind her, where Finn was stationed.
Her father glanced between them, his lips set at an angry slant.
“Fine.”
Merith could only blink.
It was the first time her father had ever agreed to her wishes.
4
Just what the bloody hell was he doing? That's what Tomas would be cussing at him about now.
As Finn rode at the head of the little procession surrounding the Mackenzie carriage, it was more than easy enough to hear his brother's bemused confusion. Tomas Lees was an honorable man, but after spending half of his life as a runaway waif, scraping a survival in forests and small towns, it was settled into his nature that your own skin was the one to protect above others. Lachlan was more loyal to duty and, Finn hoped, would have agreed with the choice he was making. But even then, Finn could still imagine that this might be a step too far. That tall and imposing Lachlan would just stare down at him with a raised brow that suggested he had lost all sense of reason.
