“Well cared for,” Roland scoffed. Her care was of little interest to him. Only her ability to produce a son for their laird mattered. “She carries the MacGahan heir in her belly.”
Randulf crossed his arms, lifting his chin as he did so. “How am I to be sure the child she carries is mine?”
The question Roland had expected from the beginning. The one he had prepared to answer the moment he had stepped into the hallway on his way here.
“You took her maidenhood!” he shouted. “She’s been with no one but her laird. She even thinks herself in love with you. You’ve taken my only daughter to bed. Now you must take her to wife.”
Randulf’s shoulders sagged and for a moment Roland almost felt pity for the old man, his only defense stripped away by a night spent so drunk he could barely remember it.
“Agreed. We will handfast on the...”
“No!” Handfasting would not suit Roland’s purposes at all. He wanted the joining held in front of as many people as possible. A joining that could never be questioned or doubted. “My daughter deserves a formal marriage. In the presence of clergy.”
Randulf crossed to where Agneys still huddled on the floor and held out a hand, assisting her to her feet. “Is this your wish, Agneys?”
“It is as my father says, my laird.”
“Very well, Roland.” The old man continued to gaze at the girl as he spoke. “I leave the arrangements to yer hand.”
Roland bowed his head, hoping to leave the impression that he was mollified by his laird’s decision.
In truth, he was quite satisfied. MacGahan’s predictability, in some things at least, rivaled that of the sun and the moon. Counting on the old man’s pride, Roland had sent a rider to summon the clergyman from Urquhart two days ago. The arrangements the old laird had left to him were already made.
Now he had only to deal with MacDowylt. And, of course, Isabella.
Chapter 10
Thethwackof the great hammer resonated up through Robert’s arms, jolting his muscles to life. Once again he raised the heavy tool over his head and smashed it down onto the wood, driving the stake farther into the damp ground.
Physical labor was exactly what he had needed this day. He had to find some way to keep better hold over himself than he’d managed to demonstrate so far.
As the rains outside had gentled to a fine mist, he and Isa had talked long into the early morning hours. At first she had wanted to know about her father, but soon she was asking questions about his own life. The battles he’d fought, his family, his home—she’d wanted to hear it all.
He had wanted to know everything about her life, hoping by some small miracle he could ease his sense of guilt at having abandoned her for so long.
The longer they’d talked, the more they’d shared, the more comfortable he’d felt, as if they had known one another forever.
It seemed insanity now, in the bright light of a new day, but last night he’d come close to telling her all his secrets as they’d sat together by the fire. In truth, perhaps the only thing preventing his having done exactly that was her dozing off to sleep, her head pillowed against his arm.
He could easily have carried her to her bed and gone back to the stable as he’d planned, but he hadn’t. Instead he’d selfishly settled her against his body, enjoying the feel of her in his arms as he tried to catch an hour or two of sleep leaning against the hard stone wall.
The men he worked with always did say he could fall asleep anywhere. It seems he’d at last found the situation that proved them wrong.
As soon as the sun had risen, he’d slipped out, with every intention of keeping himself too busy to think of anything but how to convince Isa to leave this place before it was too late.
She’d spoken last night of readying her garden and of her ongoing battle with the small animals that raided her vegetables each season. Stepping out into the sunny morning, he’d decided that building a fence would be a logical use of his time.
Not that he intended for her to be here long enough to make use of that garden. All the same, it would keep him occupied and away from Isa, and considering he’d already discovered that being near her was taking more self-control than he’d imagined, his plan seemed wise. It had required almost superhuman effort to drag his eyes from her as she’d gone about her morning chores.
Enough of this!
With another great swing of the hammer, he finished placing the final post. He stepped back to inspect what he’d accomplished and his upper arm began to tingle as if something brushed across his skin.
“I’m sure yer hungry after all yer hard work.”
Robert whirled around to find Isa carrying two hollowed-out bread bowls filled with a thick, steaming porridge.
“I dinna expect you to stop yer work to feed me.”
