He was tall and looked strong, the kind of strength that did not need to be loud about itself. She also noticed, with a small, unwelcome jolt she refused to acknowledge, that he looked deeply tired, like a man who had not slept well in a long time and had given up expecting to.
He inclined his head. “Lady Olivia.”
She crossed her arms. “Are ye here to sweep me off me feet, then?”
A muscle twitched beside the scar. Not a smile, just a distant memory of where one might have once lived.
“I expect ye received the same letter I did,” he said.
“Aye, I did. But I assumed ye wouldnae mind nae goin’ through with it, given how thirsty ye are for war.” She let the word land and watched for the flinch. “Ye’ve never met a peace ye couldnae break with yer two hands.”
A flicker crossed his face and was gone before she could read it. “I am nae thirsty for anythin’,” he said. “I have nay quarrel withye, lassie, nor with yer people, whatever ye’ve been told. I daenae want any more of mine in the ground than there are already, and I daenae imagine ye want more of yers. So, aye, I mean to go through with it. I’ve come to take ye back to Cairn.”
“Surely ye are jestin’.”
“I daenae often jest.”
And then, as if that one flat sentence had settled the entire matter, he walked past her, up the steps, into her hall, and sat himself down on her own couch by her own fire and stretched out his long legs toward the flames like a man who meant to stay until Doomsday and found the prospect restful.
“I will wait,” he said, “while ye pack.”
The sheer brass of it stole the breath clean out of her. She came up the steps after him, dimly aware of her brother and the whole gawping council pressed flat against the walls of the hall like rushes in a wind, every one of them watching the enemy Laird warm his boots by the Blythe fire.
“If I am to go to yer castle,” she said, “I will go on me own. In me own time, in me own cart, by me own road. I daenae need an escort, and least of all ye.”
“That wouldnae be right, lassie. I am to care for ye now, by the same edict that galls ye. It’s me responsibility to see ye safeunder me own roof, and I take me responsibilities seriously, whether they please the people I’ve taken them for or nae.”
“I will go nowhere with me kin’s murderer.”
The wordmurdererreached him where the rest had not.
His jaw tightened slightly, resembling a rope tautening before bearing weight. However, his voice remained calm and steady, like still water on a windless morning, and that composed tone was more difficult to oppose than yelling.
“Unfortunately, ye daenae have a choice. Neither of us does. Trust me, I enjoy this nay more than ye do.” He turned his dark eyes on her, and for once, there was nothing hidden in them.
“Then why are ye here?”
“Because the feud ends today. And it ends today because the two of us are willin’ to be miserable for the sake of folk who’d sooner see us both dead than wed. There’s nay glory in it. There’s nay tenderness in it. There’s only the doin’ of it. We can talk the rest through when we get there.”
She wanted to throw the fire iron at his head. She wanted to scream the rafters down. She had a dozen sharp and shining words lined up behind her teeth, and every one of them was a luxury she could no longer afford, and she knew it, and the knowing was its own kind of grief.
That was the cruelty of his calm. A shouting man she could have fought; she was built for fighting shouting men. But he sat there reasonable as a priest at a graveside and made her fury look like the tantrum of a spoiled child, and there was no winning against a man who would not give her the dignity of a proper quarrel.
She made the mistake of looking at her brother.
Lucas stood very straight in their father’s ring, putting in so much effort that it was painful to watch. Behind him, their mother offered the tiniest nod, a silent gesture of support regardless of her decision, while quietly pleading for her to be wise this one time, for everyone’s sake.
Olivia realized, with the icy certainty of a stone settling in her stomach, that this was the right choice. If she refused in order to protect her pride, men would pay with their lives. Boys like the one with blood streaming down his face. Bairns pulled along behind the well by the wrist. All of it, every bit of it, so she could hold onto the bitter satisfaction of her own refusal.
She let out a slow breath that scraped her lungs.
“Very well,” she said. “I hope ye’ve brought a large cart, me Laird. I have a great many dresses. And many more books. And I am strongly considerin’ bringin’ me own bed, for I daenae trust the comfort of an enemy’s linens.”
He raised one dark eyebrow a fraction. “Is me bride suggestin’ I cannae provide a bed for her?”
For one treacherous instant, her eyes dropped to the bed in question, or rather to the man who would be in it, the long lean length of him stretched out by her fire, and heat crawled up her neck to her face. She despised herself thoroughly for every inch of it.
“Nay, me Laird,” she said, with all the dignity she could scrape together. “I will be back in a moment.”
