The same Annista must marry now.
The woman had been right here. She must have seen what was happening to Robena.
Annista did not speak the words, but Lady MacKallan might well have seen the reflection of them in her eyes, for her gaze dropped.
“The alliance between our two houses is very important,” she said more loudly. “To all of us.”
As was providing to Evan MacKallan what he deserved.
“Here, let me tak’ your cloak. Tillie,” she called to a servant who hurried in. “Mak’ sure Mistress Annista’s wraps are dried. And her shoes—”
“I will keep my shoes, thank ye.”
Father and Earl MacKallan still stood near the door, in a clutch, talking furiously.
A man stepped into the chamber and diverted his steps around them.
Still not Evan. Annista narrowed her gaze and attempted to identify him. Tall he was, and very dark-headed, nothing like Evan, in fact. There had been a brother, a younger brother whom she recalled but dimly from their visit. Could this be him?
Indeed, he wore clothing that might well dub him a son of the house, a dark blue cotte over a white shirt and dark trousers. His gaze, which from a distance also appeared dark, fixed upon Annista and did not waver.
“Ah,” said Lady MacKallan. “Annista, my dear, ye will remember my son—my other son, Alan.”
“Aye,” Annista said though any such remembrance was foggy at best. Surely she’d glimpsed him when they visited here last, but she seemed to think he had involved himself in no activities and gone off as often as possible. She, being focused on Robena and their limited time together, had neglected to notice him.
She could not help but notice now. A fine-looking man was Master Alan MacKallan—if one liked the dark and brooding type. Which Annista just happened to.
That thought made itself felt as he stepped forward into the light, providing the warmth that the fire failed to do. He looked nothing like his brother—save perhaps with that height and the breadth of his shoulders. Even then, Evan, as she recalled him, had a bulkier build, like a red bear. This man, in his fine clothing, appeared slim, and strong as tempered steel.
He must take after his father, that she could see in one glance, but his face looked far more angular than that of his sire. A strong nose and a pair of eyes set under soaring brows, and that fall of black hair that framed it all…
Annista eyed him with considerable distrust and little liking. She did not suppose he had lifted a hand to help her sister either.
All these here, and her sister dead.
She gave Alan MacKallan a hard nod.
He bowed to her, not so much as a flicker of a smile touching his face. “Mistress MacRowan. Alan MacKallan, at your service.”
And where was her bridegroom? Annista glanced around the solar and toward the door where the two men still spoke together. She almost missed the words Lady MacKallan spoke.
“My son, Alan, wi’ whom ye are to wed.”
Chapter Four
Mistress Annista MacRowan surprised Alan, so she did. Aye, he must have met her when she came here to visit her sister, but that had been quite some time ago, and besides, he’d been busy avoiding any unnecessary involvement with the family by then. He certainly did not remember her like this.
Since his mother had talked him into agreeing to this accursed venture, he’d been picturing another version of Robena—a gentle girl, sweet-natured, fair of face. A summer flower bloomed and as swiftly gone.
This woman looked nothing like Robena. He supposed that was not so surprising. Stand him shoulder to shoulder with Evan, and no one would pick them out as brothers.
Annista MacRowan had brown hair, a great deal of it from what he could tell by looking, a rich chestnut color with wave. A face that at the moment at least held nothing of softness or gentility. She appeared angry, or at the very least upset.
As well she might, sent here in the place of her sister who had perished in this selfsame place.
“I beg your pardon?” she said to Mother, shooting him a look that might have pierced iron. “Wha’ did ye say?”
Ah, she had not yet been told she was to marry him instead of Evan. Father had, perhaps, not had time to send word that plans had changed. Could that be what Father and Master MacRowan discussed so intently even now?
