Marianne laughed softly. “Aye, that he is. Quite a joy to talk to—and he loves you very much.”
“Yes, he does,” Riona answered. “That’s why we came here even though I was sure your brother wouldn’t want me. Uncle Fergus was so insistent, I didn’t have the heart to disappoint him.”
“You believe Nicholas won’t choose you?”
Riona saw no point denying the inevitable. “Your brother has already told me that he has no intention of marrying me.”
Lady Marianne frowned. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”
She sounded genuinely disappointed, which made that reality a little harder to bear.
“Your brother has been very frank about why we’re still here although my family has no money or power,” Riona replied. “He doesn’t want to risk any Scot saying he wouldn’t consider a Scots bride. I am but a representative of my country.”
Lady Marianne’s disconcertingly intense gaze seemed to grow even more so. “Do you not care for Nicholas then?”
Riona tried to keep her face expressionless, beyond mere mild interest. “I admire and respect him for all that he’s accomplished.”
Lady Marianne’s scrutiny was nearly as hard to endure as her brother’s, although the lady’s eyes were blue, not brown. “Perhaps you don’t think it’s any of my business, but I dearly want the brother who sacrificed so much for me to have some happiness and contentment in his life. I know what it is to love and be loved, Riona, and I want my brother to know it, too.Without love, his great castle might as well be a tomb, just a resting place for his body.”
“You should speak of these things to Eleanor,” Riona said, “for I believe she’s going to be his choice, and she should be. She’s a wonderful girl, and she’ll make him a fine wife.”
“That’s something I never thought I’d hear—a woman praising a rival.”
“We’re not rivals, my lady, since your brother will never choose me. We’re friends.”
“If you truly are her friend, you wouldn’t want her married to my brother.”
Riona couldn’t believe she’d heard aright.
“Oh, he’s not an evil man,” Lady Marianne hastened to clarify. “And I like Lady Eleanor, too. She’s a lovely young woman and quite charming, in a quiet sort of way. And well connected, of course. I simply don’t think she’ll suit my brother at all.”
Riona thought she could guess why. “To be sure, she’s young and a bit ignorant of some things about running a household, but she learns quickly, and I’m sure she’ll manage well, in time.”
Lady Marianne’s brow furrowed as she studied Riona, who desperately tried not to betray anything in her face. “Do you think she can make my brother happy?”
“Yes.”Eventually. Some day.And thenshewould be forgotten, or no more than a pleasant memory of a lover from days gone by.
“You mean that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Lady Marianne rose. “Then there is no more to be said, except that I’m sorry you feel that way. Now if you’ll excuse me, I should get back to my children.”
Riona was sorry she’d upset Lady Marianne, but there was no help for it. What good would it have done to tell her how she truly felt about Nicholas? That she would give nearly anything to be his wife? Nicholas couldn’t marry her. Love would not pay taxes. Love would not protect everything Nicholas had worked and suffered for. Love meant sacrifice, as well as joy, and she would not be responsible for the loss of Dunkeathe. She wouldn’t risk their affection turning to bitter resentment, perhaps even hatred. She would take what happiness she could with him, and be content.
And if she got with child…
She abruptly got to her feet and walked along the river bank, away from the castle.
A sound reached her ears from around a bend in the river shielded by a grove of willow and alder trees—a little boy’s gales of merriment. A man was laughing, too. She instantly recognized that laugh, although it was rarely heard, and then softly, when they were alone.
Eager to see Nicholas, sure the little boy must be Seamus, she rounded the bend, to behold the mighty Sir Nicholas of Dunkeathe prostrate on the ground, seemingly held there by the foot of a happily triumphant four-year-old Scot waving a small wooden sword.
“I won, I won!” Seamus cried.
“I cry you mercy, valiant knight,” Nicholas answered, throwing his arms out in complete surrender. “Allow me to rise before my tunic is ruined from the damp.”
The little boy removed his foot. “Very well,” he said with another flourish of his sword. “I give you back your life.”
