She must have misheard him. Shehadto have misheard.
Arran kept his eyes averted, looking at his hand that held the bridle, covering his face with his hair.
Hiding.
That’s what he was doing.
Hiding.
“’Tis no what ye think. Believe me when I say I have no immoral intentions –”
“Och, ye don’t? They why would ye suggest such a thing?”
Shifting in his saddle, he toyed with the bridle strap.
“First, for ye. I know ye are no’ in any place to consider marriage, yet the politics and your father’s position as kin to Laird Glen Coe and Glengarry himself make ye a valuable chess piece.”
She snorted at the base assessment, but could not argue it. Adaira understood her position in the world. High-born women were oft bought and sold through marriage to make alliances or resolve political concerns, or even pay off debt.
Her own mother had been in a similar position, yet she had loved Seamus.
What would Adaira do if she did not or could not love the man she was attached to? That did not bode well for her at all.
“A problematic truth, but ‘tis a truth nonetheless,” Arran continued. “More than that, I would do it for ye. I have lived with ye as a friend and close kin for much of your life, and I would hate to see ye wedded to a man who might no’ understand your mind and push ye into things ye are no’ ready for or wanting.”
Joining. Och Maid Mary herself!Arran was talking about her having to bed a husband.
“Are ye saying ye would wed me, knowing I may no’ lie with ye or ever love ye?”
Arran dropped the bridle and rubbed his hand across his plaid. She guessed he was blushing in the darkness.
“I would wed ye to prevent such a fate for ye. I am a Sleat MacDonald, my name carries weight, and as a favor to your family, but also as a favor to ye. I know what sorrow is, and it would do me good to know ye could mourn as ye see fit. We can deal with any other issues at a later time, if at all.”
Her gaze was riveted on his darkened silhouette. His shoulders were curved and his head was down. It took much out of him to make this offer, everything including his own future happiness in a marriage to a woman he loved. And the bedding issue – he was nearly the rake Maddock was! What he was offering was a sacrifice.
Such an amazing way to show his love and fidelity to her and her family.
And it would put an end to the suitors and the conversation of what to do about Adaira.
She did not love it as a solution, but a marriage to Arran was a far sight better than anything she had heard whispered about in the corners of the keep.
“Can ye give me some time to think about it?”
His shadowed head nodded. “Of course. But dinna wait too long. I’d hate for your father’s hand to be forced if it comes to that.”
Adaira nodded. Of course. Otherwise, she could put the issue of her marriage off indefinitely.
“Shall we finish our ride home?” Arran asked in that soft tone – one at once unfamiliar and congenial.
She nodded again and reined her now-soothed mare straight on the road home.
Adaira did not have the chance to wait as she had hoped.
The following morning, right on the heels of the festival and as the sun peeked over the horizon, her uncle Ranulf and a handful of his men raced past the gate into the yard. Their shouting drew house staff, followed quickly by Sorcha, Seamus, and Reade.
They then called for Maddock, Arran, Conall, and the stable lands, and helped the men off their horses.
Adaira was awakened by the shouting, and tying a bed robe around her kirtle, she padded barefoot down the gray hallway and pushed open the window to watch from above.
