by Diana Cosby
“Thank God you are safe!” Lathir ran up to him as he climbed on board, and his chest squeezed tight. When he’d departed earlier, he’d believed they’d share the rest of their lives together. An incredible dream with a woman who’d stolen his heart, lost.
With the cog shifted so those onshore couldn’t see them, Rónán drew her against him. She smelled of salt and woman, a scent he would forever remember. He wanted to hold her forever, aware that any hope of her being his was lost. “I love you,” he rasped. “Never forget that.”
She stiffened in his arms and lifted her head. Gray eyes narrowed as she stared at him. “What happened?”
Before he could answer, boots thudded upon the weathered wood as the captain strode toward them. “I see you returned safe and sound.”
“Aye.” Never wanting to let her go, Rónán forced himself to step back. “As you suspected, Lathir, two years ago the Earl of Torridan and your father made peace. He is here at your father’s request.”
“Thank God.” Even as her shoulders relaxed, a frown creased her brow. “Why would my father seek his aid?”
“He traveled here to help retrieve the arms that your father promised the Bruce.”
Surprise flickered on her face, then a smile curved her mouth. “He supports King Robert?”
Rónán nodded. “Aye.”
Hope ignited in her beautiful eyes. “A prayer answered. Nay doubt when he learned of my father’s capture, he agreed to help us rescue him.”
“He did.”
Sunlight shimmered upon the loose blond strands fluttering on her cheek as the joy on Lathir’s face faded. “Except you dinna seem pleased. Why?”
Grief gathered in Rónán’s heart, a hurt so fierce, ’twas as if his every fiber, everything he’d ever cared for was being ripped apart. Nor would he divulge such devastating news before the captain and the crew.
“I will explain as we row to shore.”
At his tone, apprehension trickled through Lathir. Whatever had happened during his visit with the earl had left him shaken. Exhausted, her nerves awry, mayhap she was reading more into Rónán’s request for privacy than was there?
She should focus on the fact that Lord Torridan had agreed to help free her father, that by sheer fortune, her father had requested the noble’s presence. With the size of their combined forces, in addition to finding her father more quickly, regardless of the size of Lord Ardgar’s guard, they would free Lord Sionn.
Her mind racing at the many things they needed to do in the days ahead, she hurried to collect her few belongings. Once she’d stowed them aboard the dinghy, she returned to Bran. After an assurance that supplies would be sent back with this craft and the one used by Tighearnán and his daughter Órlaith after they rowed to shore, Lathir climbed down the rope ladder into the small boat. The gentle rocking of the vessel soothed her as she settled upon the back seat.
After placing the few items he’d brought next to her, Rónán untied the rope, sat on the middle bench, then grasped each oar. Instead of beginning to row, Rónán lifted his gaze to hers.
The sheer torment filling his eyes stole her breath. “Tell me what is wrong.”
The light wind rich with a mix of the water and earth pushed the small boat away from the cog, the soft slap of the waves but a whisper upon the side of the craft.
On a muttered curse, he looked away and dragged the oars through the water, which splashed from the bow as the boat sliced forward.
Her fingers bit into the weathered wooden seat. “Could the news be so terrible?”
For a moment, he didn’t speak. “The Earl of Torridan arrived for more than aiding your father.” Face taut, he leaned forward, then drew the oars back. “His son, Kieran McKelan, Earl of Craigshyre, accompanies him.”
Lathir recalled having met the earl’s son briefly, not that she had had any interest in him at the time, as she’d been grieving, and then only at her father’s bidding. A handsome and intelligent man with a wonderful sense of humor. Many a woman had tried to catch his eye, but she had not heard that any had succeeded.
“We have met,” she said.
“Indeed.”
At the coolness of his tone, she surmised the reason for Rónán’s upset. Regardless if she’d told him that she loved him, he struggled with his rank as a knight against her nobility. More, he was worried she would be attracted to the son of a powerful noble, a man who held significant rank in his own right.
The foolish man. Hadn’t he learned by now that she wasn’t swayed by titles?
“Rónán—” With a smile she leaned forward and touched his arm. “I care not about Lord Torridan’s son, or any other man bearing a title or holding a position of power. ’Tis you that I love, you that I want for the rest of my life. Naught will ever change that.”
Instead of relief, his eyes darkened with regret. “You dinna understand what we are facing.”
She begged to differ. There was little he could say to dissuade her from their life together. “Understand what?”
Oars splashed as they cut through the water, sending vicious eddies into the wake. He looked away for a long moment, then faced her. If possible, his expression had grown more desperate.
A chill trickled through her, and she tugged her cloak tighter.
Hands trembling, he pushed the oars back. Swirls of water spun off the tip as the small craft sliced through the building waves. “Lord Torridan explained that his journey to Wynshire Castle was for more than aiding Lord Sionn to retrieve arms for the Bruce, but—” He muttered a curse. “It was to solidify the betrothal he and your father agreed upon between you and his son.”
Air rushed from her lungs as her father’s warning during their journey that ’twas time to marry flickered to mind.
“I…” Tears burned her eyes as she fought against realization, the hurt, the sense of betrayal. “I never believed my father was serious.”
Rónán jerked the oars back, slammed them through the water. “You knew of your betrothal?” he demanded.
Fury rumbled in his voice, but she refused to look away as she struggled to accept this terrible situation. “Nay. As we sailed to Scotland, Father stated that enough time had passed since Domhnall Ruadh mac Cormaic’s death, and he insisted ’twas time for me to marry. I swear to you, I never knew of the betrothal, but…” She closed her eyes, then forced herself to meet his tortured gaze. “On the Aodh,” she continued, battling for calm, “my father proclaimed that before we arrived home, he had important information to share.” She shook her head in despair. “It must have been this.”
Emotions rippled across his face: grief, sadness, then acceptance. “You never knew.”
“Nay,” she whispered. Waves buffeted the bow as, with each row, they grew closer to shore.
He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it.
She swallowed hard. “I swear, never would I hurt you.”
“I know,” he said simply.
Somehow, his acceptance roused her own ire. Bedamned, her life wouldn’t be dictated to by her father. “Nor have I given my consent to this arrangement. I shall refuse to marry Lord Craigshyre, and you and I shall wed as planned.”
A muscle worked in his jaw as he continued to row. “If you refuse to wed Lord Craigshyre, the hard-won peace between your realms will cease.”
Her knuckles whitened as she clasped the edged of her seat. “Is that what Lord Torridan threatened?”
“Nay, but Lord Torridan is a proud man, one only a fool would cross.”
She shook her head in silent despair. Rónán was wrong. He had to be. “There must be a way to settle this without violence returning to our realms.”
Eddies swirled away from the honed wood as he again pulled the oars in an aggressive stroke through the water, now tipped with white caps. “There is no way to change the promise your father ma
de. If you refuse to wed, ’twill be viewed as a slight. Both he and his son will be outraged. Indignation will spill into Lord Torridan’s decision regarding more than whether to go to war against your realm, but in refusing to help rescue Lord Sionn. The plan to rescue your father will be over before it begins.”
Overwhelmed by the sense of impending doom, Lathir sagged back, watched as a hawk screeched as it soared overhead, disappeared beyond the shield of winter-blanched trees.
“Nor, with his troops ensconced within Wynshire Castle,” Rónán continued, his voice grim, “furious at the shun, he might seize the stronghold and force you to wed against your will.”
Saint’s breath. Never had she considered the repercussions. “But you dinna know for sure.”
He arched a brow. “I dinna, but with Lord Torridan’s reputation as not a man to cross, and after having met him, with everything at stake, ’twould be unwise to risk offending him.”
Heart aching, she damned each row that brought them closer to shore. “But ’tis you I love, you I want.”
“I love and want you as well, Lathir,” he forced out in a strangled whisper, “but our feelings for each other dinna outweigh the peace between your realms, or your father’s life.”
The last wisp of hope inside faded. Emptiness clawed through her as she sat back, deep, dark gouges that left her floundering for choices, found none. Tears burned her eyes as Lathir wanted to scream her denial, but she forced both back. Neither would help, and the last thing she wanted was to make this terrible situation more so on Rónán.
Though she didn’t want to marry Lord Craigshyre, despised contemplating a life without Rónán, to save her father, maintain peace within her realm, and keep control of her castle, ’twould seem her choice was made.
At the hopelessness on Lathir’s face, Rónán damned the situation. With a curse, he dragged the oars through the water. Nor as a knight could he challenge the earl’s son for Lathir. With naught but his sword, the noble would order him banished from the castle under the threat of being hanged if ever he tried to contact Lathir.
Who could blame the lord? If she was his intended, he would do whatever necessary to keep her.
The bow scraped the sand as they reached shore.
“Wait here.” Each breath burning like bile in his throat, Rónán climbed out, lifted the bow, and pulled the dinghy another step up the beach. His boots crunched on the icy ground as he walked over and offered Lathir his hand.
Her breaths falling out in fragmented puffs of white, she lay her fingers within his palm, and he gave a gentle squeeze that drew her gaze to his.
“I will love you forever,” he whispered, the devastation in her eyes matching his. Nor, however much he wished to keep her, could he change fate now. Heart crumbling, on a shaky breath, he stepped back.
She let her hand fall to her side. “I will never love another.” Her pallor having faded to a bloodless white, she straightened her shoulders and walked past him, as regal as a queen.
At the distant creak of wood and splash of water, Rónán glanced back.
Tighearnán and his daughter, along with two crew, were rowing toward the shore.
Muttering a curse, Rónán, started up the incline. As if either he, or Lathir, had a choice? He fought the heartache, doubted he’d ever get over losing her. If there was but a hope, a chance to salvage the love they’d found, he’d take it.
But none existed.
Resigned to an empty life ahead, he focused on duty. Nor was all dismal. As promised by Lathir, Tighearnán and Órlaith would begin a new life at Wynshire Castle. As well, peace would exist between the realms of Tír Sèitheach and Tír Connail.
At least King Robert had support from both formidable nobles. In time, any foothold against the Bruce in Scotland, as in Ireland, would be destroyed.
His legs heavy, as if filled with lead, Rónán fell in step beside Lathir as she headed toward the men who’d gathered to greet her. The younger noble’s gaze was fierce as he watched her approach, the older’s stalwart.
She continued up the incline without hesitation.
Though she was promised to another, for a time they were together. He would have that memory, if not her.
The crunch of their steps upon the frozen grass filled the silence. As if there was anything left to say. Their love, hope of ever being together, was lost.
* * * *
The scent of roast boar, herbs, and several delicacies that were served during the betrothal celebration lingered in the great hall as Lathir stepped from the dais, exhausted and more than ready for this night to end.
Though her betrothed’s mouth had tightened at her request to allow Rónán to sit at the table on the dais with them, she’d held firm. Regardless that she wouldn’t marry Rónán, he’d saved her life and deserved a place of honor.
The meal, one filled with naught but cordial pleasantries, was over. In the morning, once everyone had broken their fast, Lord Torridan, her betrothed, Rónán, and the master-at-arms would meet in the war chamber to discuss plans to find and save her father.
It was what she desperately wanted, yet her heart still ached at the way she and Ronan had deliberately avoided each other’s gaze throughout the evening.
As for her betrothed, regardless of his looks and solid reputation, she felt nothing for him but duty.
En route to the turret, she glanced around the large chamber at her father’s arms hanging above the hearth, the colorful banners displayed on either side, then toward the hewn arches that had fascinated her as a child.
Along the wall hung paintings of her ancestors. Emotions storming her, she took in her father’s portrait. Sandy hair framed a striking face. Clear blue eyes like the depths of the sea held hers, that of a man confident of his abilities, a man who ruled with a fair but firm hand, a man who’d sentenced her to a life with a man she didn’t love.
Nor could she cling to her grief. Her father had made his decision out of concern. Aware of the heartache he’d suffered at the loss of her mother, she believed he hadn’t wanted Lathir to remain alone as he had, holding on to naught but a memory.
The soft slide of her slippers upon the curved stair echoed within the turret as she started up. Torchlight wavered upon the walls ahead, and she recalled being afraid of what lay beyond the fall of light in her youth, of how her father would take her hand and walk beside her to ward off the unknown.
Her throat tightened and she sent up a silent prayer for his safety.
Lathir reached the corridor leading to her chamber, started down. As she entered her room, she paused. With the strife crowding her mind, she doubted she’d sleep.
Throughout her life, when she needed to be alone, to think, to ponder a problem, she’d gone to the wall walk. There was something soul cleansing about standing upon the battlements and looking out.
On a clear night, she could lose herself as she stared up. The stars in the heavens shimmered so bright, ’twas as if she could reach up and touch them. ’Twas as if for a moment her problems disappeared.
But she was no longer a child who could lose herself in the wonder of the sweep of land or beauty above, but a woman with responsibilities, duties she must uphold.
The image of her signing the betrothal to marry Lord Torridan’s eldest son but hours before slipped through her mind.
Regardless of her desire for a life with Rónán, she must focus on the peace her agreement to marry brought to their realms, and the fact that united, the odds of finding and saving her father greatly improved.
Footsteps heavy, she retrieved her cape and hurried to the wall walk. If only for a moment, she wanted peace.
At the top of the steps, she shoved open the carved door. A light wind brushed her face as she went out into the night. A full moon rising in the east illuminated the land, casting silver shimmers on the snow as if magic dust had been tossed by
the fey.
Magic, she scoffed. A foolish notion to enchant a child.
Lathir again looked around, saw naught but the night severed by the brutal sheen of the moon, molding shadows where danger could hide.
Her breath misted before her. With a shiver, she tugged the cloak tighter, walked to the corner, peered out.
In the distance, the hoot of an owl faded, replaced by the soft slide of cold wind through the trees.
“’Tis unwise to be without a guard at your side.”
At Rónán’s voice, joy swept her. Out of sheer reaction, she whirled and ran to him. He drew her into his arms and pressed his cheek against hers.
Within the silvery sheen of moonlight, sadness darkened his gaze as he stroked his finger against her cheek. “I didna expect to see you alone again.”
“Luck,” she said on a shaky smile, wishing for the thousandth time that a realm’s peace and her father’s life didn’t depend upon her marrying Lord Craigshyre. Then she and Rónán could wed, as they wished.
After a long embrace, he set her away from him. “’Tisna wise. ’Twould bode ill if we were seen.”
The ache in her chest intensified. He was right. Damning that he was now forbidden and, ignoring her body’s need, she took another step back, turned toward the loch. Shimmers of moonlight played upon the smooth surface in a macabre dance.
“I always used to love the night,” she whispered, her voice rough, “but now all I see are shadows.”
His boots scraped as he stepped beside her. “Aye, there will always be shadows, but regardless the danger, the unknown, beauty still exists. All you have to do is look.”
The distant hoot of an owl filled the strained silence. “Where will you go once my father is rescued?”
He scanned the stars overhead. “To fight for King Robert.”
“And after our sovereign has eliminated the last of the resistance against his reign in Scotland?”
Rónán shrugged but didn’t look at her, as if it was too painful. “’Tis too far away to think of, or worry about.” He stepped back, offered Lathir his arm. “Come, ’tis time to leave. I will escort you below.”
