The sinister, sick man wanted her sister to marry?
“Aye,” Micah confirmed, his tone maddeningly calm. “The Laird has waited long enough, and he’s taken a fancy to yer sister. If ye ask me, the match is a fine one.”
“For whom?” Lavina snapped. “Ye cannae be seriously thinkin’ that he could be good for her.”
“And what’s the problem? The man is wealthy.”
“The Laird already has several heirs. What does he need someone like Maisie for, other than to use her? Nay, I’ll nae allow ye to do this. Ye cannae sell her off like some cattle.”
“Ye have nay say in the matter. The deal has been struck. He’s bringin’ the cattle in the mornin’, and I promise ye,” Micah said as he rose from the leather chair, “each one is far more useful than ye.”
“She’s fifteen,” Lavina argued. “She’s still a child!”
“She’s a woman now,” Micah snapped. “She’s bled. ‘Tis time to get her out.”
“She’s nae ready,” Lavina insisted, her voice rising despite herself.
“She doesnae need to be ready,” Micah snarled. “She needs to obey.”
Lavina clenched her hands into fists at her sides. “Take me instead.”
Micah laughed—a cruel, grating sound. “Ye? Ye’re past yer prime, Lavina. Ye’re four-and-twenty. Nay nobleman in three shires would waste his coin on an old maid who spends her days scribblin’ on parchment and arguin’ like a man.”
His words were barbed, cutting deep.
“But Maisie—” she tried.
“Has already been promised,” Micah cut in as he rounded the desk. His tall frame loomed like a gallows tree. “And if ye want to keep seein’ her, ye’ll train her. Teach her how to kneel, how to smile, how to weep prettily. Is that clear?”
His breath stank of whiskey and rot. Lavina fought the urge to recoil.
“If I refuse?” she asked, her voice steely despite the tremors in her limbs.
Micah stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Then ye’ll never see her again. I’ll lock ye away until the wedding. Yer sister is leavin’ come morning. I will gain more land than the King of England from her wedding, and I willnae let anyone get in the way of that. Especially nae a silly little girl like ye. So, ye have a choice, and I do wish ye would choose wisely.”
The threat settled like ash in her lungs.
She bowed her head. “Ye want her ready by mornin’?”
“Aye. Laird Dandridge plans to stop by first thing to have a second look at his prize,” Micah said, waving her off as if she were a maid. “He’ll collect her then—and I’m tellin’ ye now, ye better have her ready.”
Lavina turned stiffly, her footsteps muffled against the cold stone as she made a desperate beeline for the exit. Rage simmered in her chest, but she swallowed it down.
She couldn’t fight him. He was too strong with too many connections. Sorrow settled in the depths of her being as it stewed with strife and worry. There had to be something she could do, some way to protect her sister.
Her eyes shifted to the window behind Micah to take in the wilderness stretching far beyond any lands her uncle could reach. There was only one option. It was dangerous and risky, but it was the only hope they had.
“Did ye hear me?” Micah asked as he snapped his fingers, pulling her out of the mire of her thoughts.
“So soon?”
“All the more reason to get to it, wouldnae ye say?”
Silvery moonlight streamed through the window as Lavina tiptoed into the chamber she shared with her sister. A fire flickered low in the hearth, casting long shadows on the walls.
Maisie was curled up under the thick woolen blankets, her dark hair a tangle of sleep.
“Maisie,” Lavina whispered.
