That soon became the least of my concerns, however, as I watched her wrap a fur around my father’s shoulders and noticed how drawn and pale he appeared. Frail, when weeks before, he had been robust and healthy. Things only became more alarming when he urged Astrid to join us for our nightly whisky and revealed that he had begun coughing up blood.
Then he revealed even more.
“I willnae risk Astrid becoming a widow if I go down the path I fear I’m heading down,” Father made clear, looking at me sternly. “Shemustbe married to the chieftain of this clan, so I would have your word you will marry her if I cannae.” No fool, he glanced knowingly from Astrid back to me. “I imagine once you two get past your bickering, ‘twill be most advantageous for you both if not quite pleasurable.”
“Nay,” I exclaimed, shaking my head at his implication. While I might desire Astrid, I refused to believe my father was that ill. “I willnae because you’ll be just fine, Da.”
“He’s right,” Astrid said firmly, her brow knit in distress. “This is foolishness, Lachlann. You need to rest up and—”
“And know you will heed my request,” Father said firmly, shaking his head. “I have seen enough in life to know what it means when a man starts coughing blood.” He narrowed inon Astrid. “Tell me I’m wrong, friend, and dinnae lie to me. I deserve better than that.”
Their gazes held for an uncomfortably long moment before she managed a single nod and blinked back tears, her voice whisper-soft and choppy. “You are not wrong.” Sitting up a little straighter, she rallied her emotions as fast as she had nearly given in to them and notched her chin in a way that told me she was getting ready to battle with words. “That does not mean you will decline, quickly, though.” She shook her head, an admirable look of determination on her face. “Not with me caring for you. If you heed me, you could very well see several more seasons, Lachlann.”
Burying my emotions in a swig of whisky, I loathed her news but appreciated her honesty.
“Then ‘twill mayhap be a lengthier betrothal than some might expect,” my father said softly, his gaze settling on the fire again. “Nevertheless, ‘twill keep you safe, Astrid, and give both of you time to adjust to what must be.”
I had never felt so conflicted. While I’d understood Father’s desire to repay Soren for saving his life, what he did for Astrid now seemed too much. Far too dangerous. But then, I had yet to understand the depths of their friendship. Father had been vague with his reasoning, claiming Astrid was selfless, courageous, and a worthwhile friend.
Then there was another part of me that felt grateful he was determined to keep her safe because I couldn’t imagine it any other way, despite her being my enemy. Could not imagine this place without her in it now.
“Och,” I muttered, hardly believing this conversation or my father’s wishes. “You do realize how close I am to our king, aye, Father? How difficult this might someday prove for our clan if things continue escalating with the Norse?”
“As you have seen yourself, Astrid is well-liked around here and trusted by most.” Father gave me a pointed look. “Especially by the nobles for her effort to bridge the gap betwixt the Norse and Scots and keep the peace, only benefiting them. She is a true asset in these parts. A boon to our people if she stays on safely, and I suspect King Alexander will recognize that when next he visits.”
What he was saying, without saying it, was how precarious a position Astrid might soon find herself in if not wed to someone of consequence. She could become a pawn on several fronts, in our king’s desire to do away with the last of Norse rule over not just the mainland but our isles to the north. She might thrive among the lower born, but being the daughter of a Norwegian earl, she was nobility herself, and we Scots could use that in various ways, be they good or bad.
After all, the Kingdom of Norway held our isles right now.
The very isles our king desperately wanted under Scottish rule again, as he should, given they had been ours to begin with.
“Imusthave your word, son,” my father insisted. “Otherwise, you doom Astrid to a truly unpredictable future. If she is with you, I will go to my grave knowing she’s safe.” Managing another sip of whisky, his gaze took on that all-knowing gleam once more when he looked from Astrid to me. “And again, I dinnae expect ‘twill be all that awful for you once you stop warring and begin loving.”
“Nay,” Astrid and I vowed at the same time, shooting each other equally disgruntled looks.
Lachlann chuckled and shook his head. “You two must think I was born yesterday.”
I made to cut back with a denial, but stopped when father coughed harshly and doubled over.
“’Tis all right, my friend,” Astrid said gently, crouching by his side. She held his handkerchief to his mouth and ordered meto retrieve a pot of water to put over the fire. “’Twill create steam and help him breathe better.”
Trusting her with this, I did as she asked. By the time I returned, she had removed father’s boots and convinced him to lie down. No matter how determined I was to dislike her because of her people, it was, as always, difficult as I hung the pot over the fire and watched her tend to him. Just as I had discreetly watched her do the same for Soren, and others before that. Hers was a caring nature, and it was never clearer than when she adjusted Father’s pillow, tucked him under the blankets, and sat by his side.
“I would have your answer before you go to bed, son,” my father said gruffly, watching me through half-mast eyes, growing weary under whatever concoction Astrid had given him from a container ofhealing tea, as she called it. She always seemed to be carrying one pouch or another of herbs to pinch into it. “I would have your promise that you will marry Astrid when the time comes.”
When I shook my head in denial of all this, from losing him to marrying the enemy, he said something I had not expected to hear. “If you dinnae grant me this dying wish,” he murmured, trying to keep his eyes open now, “then mark my words, your old friend, Laird Gustav MacGreggor will come calling once he knows I’m ill if he doesnae already and I dinnae think you want that.”
“Gustav,” I exclaimed, frowning, unsure what to think. While a good man I had known since childhood, I knew he loathed the Norse as much as I did, so this boded ill. “The last I knew, he was on the eastern shores fending off enemies on that front whilst I dealt with the Sassenach.”
“He was here last winter,” Astrid revealed. “And ‘tis rumored he was here for the Battle of Largs.”
Of all the blasted weeks I was gone from home, it had had to be when Scotland's most recent battle happened. That, however, was the least of my frustrations at the moment. What bothered me far more and should not have? The familiarity with which she spoke of Gustav when I’d had no idea they even met.
I tried to keep a bite from my voice when I looked at her, as there was no reason for it, given it spawned from emotions I loathed feeling. Jealousy. Worry. Fear of the softening in her gaze when she spoke of him because there was no way of knowing if he meant her harm in the end. “You know Laird MacGreggor, then, Astrid?”
“I do,” she confirmed softly. “And I find him quite agreeable.”
Howagreeable, I wondered, frowning. Just how familiar with one another had they become? God knows she was a beautiful lass, so it didn’t surprise me she would have caught Gustav's eye, but had he caught hers, too? Whether I would admit it or not, the thought of them together didn’t sit well at all. And while it didn't feel right agreeing to my father’s request, given I couldn’t stomach him passing, I’d be damned if I would let Gustav have her.
