“I ken fine,” Ma said in a low, steady voice, “ye canna bear to see wha’ happened to that poor lass happen over again. Nor can I. That is why I ha’ determined to protect Robena’s sister in any way I can. The first step to that is keeping her awa’ from your brother.” She drew a breath. “I can think o’ only one way.”
“Curse it all!”
Suddenly Alan was angry, flaming angry—at his father for insisting on carrying on with what could only be considered a dangerous alliance. With his mother for asking this of him. At the possibility of shouldering responsibilities that should not be his, such as seeing to the succession. For despite Evan’s madness, the estate—this place Alan loved so well—would yet pass to Evan. To be inherited, presumably, by a nephew—Alan’s son—when he died.
“Alan, the young woman will be sent here. Arrangements are even now being made. If she falls into your brother’s hands and, well, the worst happens once more, ye and I will ha’ only ourselves to blame.”
Nay. There would be Evan to blame. And Father. But, aye, Alan knew what his mother meant. He certainly could not bear to watch what had happened before, to that gentle soul, happen over again.
He might prevent it.
He turned away from his mother and went to the window to stare half-blindly at the morning.
A wild and beautiful place was this land he loved. From the crown of rock where stood his father’s keep, the glen fell away in a grand, steep vale of green turf as if raked by a god’s hand. To the north lay the sea where long ago the Norse had come ashore to stake their claims. He himself carried some Norse blood, though you’d never know it to look at him.
He ached with love for what he saw beyond the window, caressed by the liquid, golden light. A son, as Da had always preached to him, should be dutiful. But he wanted nay part of this scheme.
“Perhaps ye will get on well wi’ her,” Ma suggested softly from behind him. “Ye did wi’ young Robena, in the beginning.”
He might, aye, have formed a good relationship with Robena. Or something more?
He frowned at the scene before his eyes. “Let me think on it.”
Ma let out a sigh. She thought she had won. He had not saidno.
“Where is Father?” he asked, still not turning around.
She hesitated. “In his chamber.”
“Drinking?”
It was the solution to which Da had taken, and he resorted to it more and more often. It did not affect him, though—at least not visibly. Was that where Evan had inherited his predilection for hard liquor?
She did not answer that. He grunted. “And, Evan?”
“He rode out. Last night.”
Aye, following dinner there had been a shouting match—another one—between Evan and Father. Evan had thrown something at the wall and gone storming off, snarling like the boar he sometimes resembled.
“He has nay come home?”
“I do no’ think so. He may be asleep in the stables.” That sometimes happened, mercifully. The stable master and grooms had learned to give him a wide berth.
Alan turned to face his mother. “If I agree to do this thing—”
She stiffened. In hope?
“—’twill be a marriage in name only. I will ha’ naught to do wi’ the woman. I will no’ speak wi’ her, I will no’ sleep wi’ her. D’ye understand?”
“But—” Ma began. There would need to be an heir.
“Nay,” Alan shook his head so violently, his hair flew. “Ye said ye would ask one thing o’ me and no more. To wed wi’ her. Will ye keep to your word?”
She drew another breath and he could almost feel the thoughts moving behind her eyes. She’d promised herself to keep the second MacRowan sister safe. Marriage with Alan instead of Evan was a big part of that.
“D’ye promise?” she asked in turn. “To wed wi’ her, when she comes?”
“Wha’ sort o’ man is MacRowan? To barter not one o’ his daughters but two—”
