Laird Mackenzie contemplated his brother intensely, remembering, perhaps.
“Wilkie.” The laird paused, running his hand through his hair as though attempting to control his emotions and his temper, which radiated in all directions. When he continued, his rage was no less pronounced, but his voice was even. “I am laird of this keep. You are my brother and one of the most respected men I know. But it is your duty to help this family grow and prosper. For all intents and purposes, you will double the size of our lands when you marry the daughter of Laird Morrison, who has chosen you personally to take over his lairdship. She is a pleasing lass, by any man’s standards. And ’tis a plentiful, easily accessible keep with a strong army.” His focus, at Wilkie, was unequivocal, his emphasis clear. “A strongarmythat will assist us in our quest to defeat Campbell and to avenge the death of our father. Gaining control of the Morrison troops may be the only way we’ll become strong enough to ensure that Campbell and his recruits do not gain control of Ossian Lochs, which is a pivotal military position.”
It was this last point that hammered home its impact. Wilkie might be willing to forego his own lairdship, and this in itself was no small matter to overlook. But he would not be willing to pass up an opportunity to strengthen the collective army that would avenge his father’s death. I knew the warrior in him—all of him—rose at this opportunity, which he may not have consideredfully before this moment. To lead his own army, aside his brother’s, and challenge the rebellion that had killed their own father: it was the ultimate score. And one that he could not, and would not, refuse.
“I understand love, brother,” said Laird Mackenzie quietly, and it was the first time I’d detected a crack in the armor of the powerful laird, as he addressed his brother. His voice had a rigid edge that was flecked with emotion. “’Tis not always the easiest path. Nor the best one. You can learn to love, and you will decide how the situation between the three of you will play out. Whatever is decided in that regard, your marriage to Stella will take place tomorrow at midday. Laird Morrison wants the deal finalized. Roses, you may remain here at Kinloch, for now, or we will escort you to Macduff’s if you prefer that option. Or, if Wilkie chooses to take you with him to his new home, that may be another choice available to you. I would guess that he will likely want you close to him, although his new wife will likely have some say in the arrangement. But Wilkie’s fate has already been determined. ’Tis the only reasonable outcome. And it will be the final outcome.”
It may have been the layered emotion that clung to Laird Mackenzie’s direct and impassioned words that silenced the argument once and for all. I didn’t know the finer details of the laird’s tragic love story, but Wilkie did. And that, along with his duty as a brother, a son and a warrior, was enough to quiet his personal rebellion.
Wilkie walked over to sit on a small bench near the open door, and no one spoke for several seconds.
A cold chill settled into my bones, seeping with all the stealth of a deadly poison. My drifting hope that I would ever be considered as a bride for the covetedWilkie Mackenzie had been entirely unfounded. I could see that now. Maisie was right: I wasn’t worthy of him. I was a servant, a wanderer, a thief. A whore. A witch. My secret mark hardly mattered now, in light of this new arrangement.
Wilkie said nothing. He did not protest, nor argue, nor did he move at all.
And that was the only sign I needed. I stood. “I would request to return to my chambers, Laird Mackenzie. You will have much to discuss. With your permission, I will take my leave.”
Wilkie did not look at me, locked in his own sifting dilemma, as I stood.
And as I was leaving the room, Kade entered it. I almost bumped into him but caught myself, skirting him, saying nothing. If he registered my sorrow, he did not address it; he nodded a curt greeting, preoccupied with his own agenda, and I left him to it.
Not far behind Kade, Laird Morrison followed, flanked on either side by two of his daughters: none other than Maisie and Stella. Both women had red-rimmed eyes and clearly looked upset about whatever discussion had prompted their appearance here at the doorway of Laird Mackenzie’s private den. Laird Morrison barely noticed me, so intent was he to meet with his ally about the sticky matter of securing a husband for one of his daughters. The topic was one that had been fraught, even I knew, with many thwarted plans and false hopes. And Laird Morrison’s face reflected each and every one of those disappointments. The deal would be made, here and now. Determination brought a rise of color to Laird Morrison’s features as he ushered his daughters along with him. “Enough is enough,” hewas murmuring angrily. “There will be no more plotting, scheming nor negotiating. This alliance will be sealed once and for all.”
I tried to sneak past them through the shadows without being noticed, but Maisie’s eyes caught mine and held. Her dark eyes gleamed with disappointment, and, as soon as she saw me, fury. I guessed that she had heard the news: Wilkie would not marry her, after all her attempts to lure him and to persuade her father thatsheshould be next in line. Her expression was shattered enough to recognized that she was aware that Stella, instead, was destined to secure the new laird. After all, it was Stella’s birthright, as second oldest, if Clementine had opted to live out her days in a convent. And if Maisie wasn’t alluring enough to capture Wilkie Mackenzie, then Stella would be offered in her place; Stella, with her unmatched splendor, would succeed where Maisie had failed.
Maisie’s stare promised death as I hastily brushed past her. Hatred and a burning jealousy. I could read the blame in her eyes. It wasIwho had upset her careful plans. She’d been so close to claiming Wilkie as her own, butI,some outcast servant, some unknownwhore,had stolen him and undermined his resolve. He’d indulged her and agreed to consider her as his wife—until I came along. Because of me, his lingering doubts had alerted the lairds to the precariousness of the important alliance.
“You’ll never have him again,” she seethed, so low I could scarcely hear her words. “Never. I’ll make sure of it, even if he’s not mine.” Her words deepened my agony. Ifshewas to suffer, then so would I.
I was reminded of the story Wilkie had told me, ofthe king’s vengeful wife and her quest to see her husband’s mistress and child killed. Maisie would have similar resources. I envisioned my own end as Wilkie’s offcast lover, hiding my illegitimate baby from Maisie’s henchmen, once again hunted. It was no way to raise a child, and I hoped with that part of my heart that Wilkie had not already planted his baby inside me.
And then I saw Stella’s face, painted by the light of a quivering flame, heartbreakingly beautiful. Instead of anger, I could see fear and sadness. Pining, perhaps, for her stable boy, if Christie’s information was correct.
All the relevant parties were in attendance, to discuss the family matter at hand and to lay all questions to rest.
There was no place for me here. I was an outsider, once again.
I took my leave of them, traversing along the narrow dim hallway, blindly.
The heartache! It fairly stunned me. My body felt leaden and stiff. My heart suffered its lazy beat fretfully as though it was truly broken.
I took little notice of my surroundings, feeling strangely numb and senseless. I reached Wilkie’s chambers and closed the door behind me. I removed my dress and laid it carefully on the bed, allowing myself one last touch of its fine fabric. I retrieved my old trews and tunic from the antechamber, and my weapons, which I had placed in a folded pile on a small forlorn chair, where they had sat for some time now, unnoticed. I had thought once or twice of throwing them away, thinking hopefully that I no longer had need of bulky men’s clothing to hide behind, or of weapons, to protect myself. Then, I’d been reborn, reveling in the feeling of being wanted instead of hunted.
But it was not meant to be. I could not fight against the laird’s orders. And I didn’t want to. Wilkie was duty-bound but also entitled and driven. I didn’t want to undermine his purpose. Helping his family and clan prosper, and avenging the death of his father: these were certainly far more honorable pursuits than keeping a whispered promise to a lost and lonely servant, whose secrets, once revealed, would no doubt bring a decisive end to a brief love affair. He would build a life with Stella and find happiness with her eventually, when she bore him a son, perhaps, or even sooner. She would be a good match for him. She was as beautiful as he was and would bear him handsome children. She would charm him with the loveliness of her face, her multihued hair, her amber eyes. He would forget me and live his life as it was intended: as a laird, a leader, husband to a noblewoman. His happiness would be encouraged by the knowledge that he was living his destiny as it was meant to be, and that he was doing the right thing for his family and his clan. I hoped he would recognize that and make peace with it.
My own destiny was equally clear.
I took one last look around the room, remembering the details of my many days and nights spent within its protective walls: the most beautiful and defining days and nights of my life. And they would remain as such.
Taking care to remain as inconspicuous as I could, I made my way back down the stairs, through hallways, finding a side door to the manor that I knew about from my days spent with Ailie and Christie. I would miss getting to know them, rejoicing in their blossoming friendship and marveling at the prospect of one day counting them as sisters of my own.
Silently, I closed the door behind me.
I was out-of-doors. Always before I had reveled in the first rush of fresh air, the coolness and the freedom. No longer. This air felt cold rather than cool, and alarming in its frank abandon. This air would not provide me with freedom, but with exile.
I allowed myself a small detour as I walked toward the gates of the keep. I approached a small pear tree, which stood somewhat separated from the others. Much of its fruit had been harvested, but there were still a number of scattered pears to choose from. I picked two. I wouldn’t need food where I was going. I continued to walk. And I almost couldn’t bring myself to eat them. The taste of them brought tears to my eyes. Too delicious and bittersweet: the taste of all I was not and all I would never be. I ate all of them, as a small reward and also a punishment, even swallowing the seeds, in a perverse tribute. And by the time I had finished, I’d reached the gates, which were closed and guarded.
My tears might have made my request more authentic. “Laird Mackenzie has ordered me gone this night. Please allow me to pass.”
