A sick feeling started up in the pit of Annista’s stomach. Father’s scheming and the alteration of plans had overturned her own intentions quite neatly. She’d intended to, aye, marry Evan MacKallan and, using the ensuing proximity to him, take his life. The man, from what she remembered, was drunk most the time. If she used Ma’s knife at a suitably intimate moment, claimed he’d threatened her with it and in a drunken fit of rage harmed himself instead, she just might get away with it.
What proof would there be to the contrary?
A widow, she might, as Ma said, return home.
But she would not wed Evan MacKallan. She did not even know where the man was. He’d not been in the hall where, following her discussion with Alan, they’d joined their parents for a drink and a cold meal Annista could barely choke down.
Was he here at the manor? Had he been banished? Why had she been committed to wed his brother and not him?
How on earth was she to get near enough the man to kill him?
She puffed out a breath and Bonnie looked at her uncertainly.
At least Alan… Alan and she seemed, on the face of it, to agree. Theirs would be a marriage in name only. He’d promised.
Could she trust the promise of a MacKallan? A Protestant?
“Mistress,” Bonnie approached her, “will ye rest now?” The little maid’s eyes looked worried. “Are ye to go down for dinner yet?”
“No, they ha’ fed us. But tomorrow—tomorrow is my wedding day. I suppose I shall ha’ to wear my best gown. The saffron-colored one.”
“Aye, Mistress. I’ve already hung that.”
“We are to wed in the morning so do no’ let me sleep late.” If she slept at all. With sudden concern she asked, “Ha’ ye been given suitable accommodations?”
“Och, aye, Mistress. Through that door there lies a tiny room o’ my own."
“Good.” Bonnie would be nearby, should Annista have to—what? Call for help? Make a murder scene appear more like one of self-inflicted harm?
She eyed the little maid. Could she trust Bonnie with the truth?
Perhaps not. At least, not yet.
“And that door there—” Bonnie indicated a stout panel on the opposite wall. “I think that leads to another chamber. Perhaps your husband’s?” Bonnie whispered, “’Tis unlocked.”
Och, and she might have to remedy that. Find a key.
For she did not want Alan MacKallan walking in on her, despite his promises.
Chapter Five
During the course of the night, Alan once more considered taking flight. The hours were long and being devoid of sleep gave him ample opportunity for thought.
He might pack a few belongings, slip off down to the stables with no one noticing. They would be deserted at this hour. He would not need to take much with him—he could live simply if he had to and in truth had spent time in the past living off the wild lands surrounding Kallan.
He could manage for at least a time, till he gathered his thoughts and decided what to do with his life.
No longer a noble’s son. He could perhaps take a position as gamekeeper or some such on another estate, far enough away that he would not be recognized.
An obscure existence, but better than the one into which he was being forced. He had not asked for this life or this marriage. No ease existed in being Evan MacKallan’s younger brother. Might as well be the calm wind that followed a gale, for all the notice he received.
Only one thing stopped him from haring off into the depths of that night, and that one thing he did not truly understand.
The look in Annista MacRowan’s eyes.
She was naught to him beyond a complication. She was the last sort of woman to attract him, so it was not that. Angry and unpleasant, she was not someone with whom he could expect to come to any sort of accord, beyond the promise they’d already exchanged.
But…
