“Perhaps by standing up—as a man. I do no’ think I can forgive ye that, for all your apologies.”
He took it like a blow, she saw that, and steeled himself to it.
“I did no’ expect your forgiveness.”
Again now, with a depthless anger, Annista resumed walking. “Ye, as ye say, must ha’ known what Robena suffered. She was alone. Ye should ha’ stood as her friend.”
“I should.”
“Or at least ye should ha’ made certain your parents did protect her. Stood her friend even if it earned ye a thrashing. But, nay, likely ye would no’ even keep him fro’ beating his horse.” Unexpected tears flooded Annista’s eyes. “That beautiful animal.”
They had reached the edge of the wood. Annista turned to face him. “Your regret comes too late. And I do no’ see that I can ever do aught but despise ye.”
He bowed stiffly. “As ye will, mistress. ’Tis a poor beginning for a marriage.”
“This? This is no’ a marriage. ’Tis, as I say, a sham thing forced upon the two o’ us. Do no’ try and mak’ it better. Ye canna.”
“As ye will.”
A faint path led away through the woodland. Annista swept up her skirts and followed it, all too aware he came after.
“Will ye no’ leave me?” she asked over her shoulder.
“I will no’.”
Aggravation flared in Annista’s heart. Was he going to dog her steps, the big lummox, like some mangy hound?
She marched on, noticing only by bits and pieces that the woodland was an enchanting place. Mostly standing pine with a few aspens in the open places, it had a roof made of boughs through which the light slanted in ladders. Above her head, the branches stirred and whispered, sounding very much like falling rain.
There were no bluebells now, yet she could almost picture them.
A place, this, that Robena quite likely never knew. He said she had not strayed far from the house.
Her prison.
Even that dark thought could not obscure entirely the enchantment of this place.
She glanced at the man beside her. He had shuttered his face, very little now showing in his eyes, his expression cool and distant.
She had rejected his apology. And him.
“How far does this woodland extend, Master Alan?”
“A good mile or more.”
“And beyond?”
“Beyond, it opens into the moor. If ye continue to follow the rill upstream, ye will climb the great ridge o’ land that marks the boundary o’ our estate.”
“And then?”
“Similar lands—and the sea.”
Despite the hard grip he now kept on his emotions she could hear the pride. And the love. Aye, men felt love for the lands they held. As did women, sometimes.
Her father’s estate, where she had lived all her life, held a firm place in her heart. But for all its familiarity and grandeur, it lacked the wild beauty of this place.
Neilan MacKallan, just like Father, acted to protect the lands he steaded, in treacherous times. What was the life of one gentle lass in that process?
