This man; her husband? Never, but what wouldn’t she do for her clan as daughter to the Tanist, as their healer? She would do anything. With utmost resolve she turned away from the door.
Rory regretted the small shocked sound he released when Frederick had made his declaration. Through all the challenges in his life, he thought himself better equipped to mask his emotions.
But this challenge, a Lochmore marrying a McCrieff, wasn’t one he could ever have prepared for. It seemed Frederick’s daughter felt the same.
She was one flick of the lock away from leaving the room before her father brought her back. From where he leaned against the wall, he couldn’t see the looks exchanged. He couldn’t determine why in the silence that followed she did listen to him and sat in a chair though the shears stayed available on her lap.
Anticipating that finally she would behave as other women, to bow to the orders of her father, to present mild and pleasing manners, he kept his gaze to her. Yet though she sat, her chin was raised, her fingers clasping the shears. No meekness at all and far too much defiance. He couldn’t predict this woman’s behaviour and thoughts.
But though she was tense and her brow was creased, she continued to sit. She was reasonably contemplating her father’s words.
It was time to do so himself. If it was eventrue. ‘You want me to marry your daughter?’ Each word felt unreal.
Frederick exhaled. Part relief that his words were listened to, part something else...like grief or loss.
‘Yes. Marry her. As she is my daughter, you would have influence on this clan.’
Influence, but not power. ‘You would remain Tanist and inherit the rule of McCrieffs.’
‘Of course,’ Frederick replied. ‘Further, there would be no guarantee that you would gain any more than that.’
A swift glance to the woman at his left revealed she was listening, but the tight grasp on the shears told him the cost of her remaining silent.
This was a woman who thought with her mind. She was beautiful and intelligent. Such a daughter would be prized and even an old swordsman would have hopes that his issue would do better than merely marrying a man from an enemy clan, even if that man was the Chief’s son.
‘You are saying, that even upon your death, I, as a Lochmore, may not be accepted by McCrieffs.’
‘In truth,’ Frederick said, ‘it would be...beneficial for me to remain ruler of McCrieffs.’
‘A bright future for me. Marrying a woman, who doesn’t want to be married. To marry into a clan, who may never accept me. And all of this to inherit nothing more than what a king already granted me.’ Rory crossed his arms, watched the play of emotions in Frederick’s eyes until he saw what he needed to see. ‘But that is not all you want.’
A fierce gleam in the warrior’s eyes, before he hid it with a shrug. ‘What I expect and what is possible, whatcouldbe, are two different matters.’
Could be. Rory was right. The generations of animosity were too long furrowed into the families of McCrieffs and Lochmores. Even if they married and had issue, the divide could be permanent.
Or it could be more. But if he didn’t marry Ailsa, there would never be the chance of something more. A chance to combine the clans. He choked down that bit of hope which had no place in these negotiations.
‘Not a generous offer. What makes you think I’ll accept?’ Rory said as evenly as possible. No tone of flippancy, no curiosity. Nothing to reveal his roiling emotions at the McCrieffs’ leader suggesting a hope for his future or his descendants. ‘I am a Lochmore, son of a chief, and will beChief one day. I am a not a pawn to be moved at the whimsy of anyone.’
He’d underestimated the McCrieffs. Or maybe it was only this man, whom he needed to be more cautious with and whom he needed to warn. Rory had no intention of being underestimated.
Frederick rested his arms on the chair’s rests. ‘I never presumed that you were such a sort. If I did, I would not have made the offer of my precious daughter to you. Know this, Lochmore, she is very dear to me.’
At that the woman in the chair shifted and Rory’s eyes were drawn to her again. No crease between her brows, no tenseness in her shoulders. She had decided. From her silence, and the fact she wasn’t trying to leave, he could only presume she agreed with her father.
Rory allowed himself to look at the man not as an enemy, but as a father. To see the lines of age and care in his face. The strain around his eyes not because he faced a foe before him, but because he made himself truly vulnerable. He meant it. The old warrior meant to give his daughter to him.
‘Dear or not, she is only a gift if I want her and I do not accept.’
Frederick stood then, his expression revealing he’d heard the insult.
Rory raised his hand. ‘Do not tell me to think about it. I am not your son, nor part of this clan. In fact, Lochmores lose power and control by this marriage.’
‘How?’ Ailsa demanded. ‘How do they lose?’
‘The land,’ Rory said. ‘The King decreed the borderland to now be Lochmore land. If we marry, there will be a question whether the land belongs to the Lochmores or the McCrieffs. McCrieffs will no doubt still use it and how could I wage war against my wife’s family?’
‘You throw away much too quickly and without thought,’ Frederick said. ‘Think of the future.’
