Mercifully, Marianne answered without questioning or criticizing him. “She seems a sweet young thing. A bit too young, perhaps, given the size of the household she’ll have to command. And her cousin…” She shrugged. “I cannot like him. I fear he’s a very vain, selfish young man.”
“I don’t like him, either, but it wouldn’t be him I’d be marrying.”
“Yet you’d be related to him.”
“Yes, and he has many friends at court, which is where I expect he’ll be spending his time once he’s got Eleanor off his hands.”
“Eleanor seems very young to be chatelaine of Dunkeathe.”
“She’s seventeen.”
“A very sheltered seventeen, I think.”
“You weren’t much older when you married Adair.”
“Lochbarr is not Dunkeathe, and you’re not Adair.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Marianne rose and went to him, resting her hand on his shoulder and looking at him with obvious affection and concern. “It means, dear brother, that your castle is much different from Adair’s home, and you’re a very different sort of man. You should choose a bride who isn’t afraid of you.”
A woman who would confront him face-to-face, boldly, eyes blazing, chin raised.
“Eleanor’s not afraid of me,” he protested.
Marianne put her finger to her lips and nodded at the cradle. “Shh. You’ll wake Cellach.”
“I don’t think Eleanor’s afraid of me,” he repeated in a softer voice.
“Very well, Nicholas, she’s not. But she’s not happy, either. I’ve barely seen her smile the whole time I’ve been here, even when she’s talking to you. What do her eyes tell you?”
Nicholas strode to the window again. “They don’t talk,” he replied. Nothereyes, anyway. Not to him.
“If she was happy, I think you’d be able to see that in her eyes.”
The way he could see the affection and desire unfurl in Riona’s when they were alone. He had seen nothing like that in Eleanor’s timid, wary expression, and she often seemed to avoid looking directly at him at all.
“If she doesn’t want me for a husband, she has only to say so,” he muttered. “I won’t have an unwilling bride.” He looked at his sister. “You made me see the folly of trying to force a woman into a marriage she doesn’t want. If Eleanor doesn’t wish to marry me, that will be the end of it.”
Marianne glanced down at the cradle as Cellach sighed and shifted, then raised her eyes. “Should I assume that Eleanor is your first choice?”
“Either her or Joscelind.”
“What of the Lady Riona?”
Nicholas went to the chair and picked up the distaff Marianne had left lying there. He fingered the fleece, absently noting its softness and wondering how it compared to that of the sheep Fergus Mac Gordon thought so highly of.
He also wondered if he should tell Marianne that he knew that she’d talked to Riona about him, but decided against it. He didn’t want to reveal that he’d been alone with Riona at all. “I could never seriously consider her. Her family is too poor and unimportant.”
“That may be, but she’s a fine young woman—very competent and quite pleasant. The servants seem to adore her, and I’ve noticed that even the guards at the gate treat her with deference and respect. You’ll excuse me for saying so, brother, but given their usual attitude to Scots, that’s quite an achievement.”
“I cannot marry a poor woman.”
“You would rather marry a proud and haughty woman who will make your household a battleground, or a young, frightened girl who’s too afraid to even look at you?”
“I can’t afford to marry any but a rich woman.” Frustrated, he started to pace. “And I’mtired,Marianne. Tired of fighting. Tired of scrimping and saving every ha’penny. Tired of worrying.
“When I have money to pay my taxes and my garrison, when I have friends at court to look out for my interests, then I can rest and be content. If I can also come to love my wife, I’ll count that as a blessing. But if not, I’ll enjoy the ease I’ve won by taking her for my bride, and treat her well regardless.”
