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“Because you’re your father’s daughter,” the Earl said. “I want this alliance, Nimue. I want it, and you are the only one who can give it to me. Unless . . .”
Wentworth fell silent then, his voice trailing off. He began to pace in front of her, his gaze flitting from her to her father, a slow smile spreading on his lips.
“Unless you want me to marry your sister instead,” he said. “I’ve met her, you know. She’s a beautiful young woman. Very delicate, like a little doll, wouldn’t you say?”
Na . . . na Guinevere!
Nimue shook her head vehemently. She could never do that to her sister. How could she allow this horrible, vicious man to marry Guinevere when she knew how terribly he would treat her and how miserable he would make her for the rest of her life? Guinevere wasn’t like her, Nimue knew. Her little sister wouldn’t bear it like she could; she was too young, too soft for a man like that. Nimue would never let anything happen to Guinevere as long as she lived.
“Dinna even talk about Guinevere,” Nimue hissed. “I dinna want to hear ye say anythin’ about her ever again.”
Wentworth raised his palms up in surrender, giving Nimue a small shrug. “You’ve heard your options,” he said. “And I think that I’m being rather generous. I’m not forcing you to marry me, Nimue, nor am I forcing your sister to marry me.” Wentworth’s lips curled into a cold, cruel smile. “You can always let your father die.”
Nimue tried to yank herself free from the men who were holding her, though she didn’t know what she would have done even if she had managed it. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t attack Wentworth; she couldn’t kill him. All she could do was accept his proposal to spare her father and her sister since her father was convinced that the English would win the war and so refused to change his allegiances.
Forgive me, Chrisdean.
She wished that she could wait longer for him, but how long could she delay her wedding to the Earl without the man figuring out her plan and executing her father as a punishment? She didn’t want to risk Wentworth’s wrath, and so she nodded slowly, her eyes brimming with tears.
The despair that she felt tore at her insides, an unstoppable force with which she would have to become acquainted. She doubted that the feeling would ever go away as long as she was married to that man, and she couldn’t help but mourn for the life that she could have had with Chrisdean.
She would never find happiness again, she thought, and a sob escaped her lips before she could stop it. As much as she didn’t want Wentworth to see her cry, as much as she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, the truth was that he had broken her. Even if he hadn’t allowed her to end her life, he had ended it himself in a different way.
Wentworth smiled at Nimue, much to her frustration. He seemed happier than she had ever seen him before, and she hated knowing that her misery was the source of his happiness. If she was going to be miserable, she wanted him to be just as miserable as her.
“Very well,” Wentworth said. “It’s settled. We’ll marry tonight.”
With a wave of his hand, the men put their swords back in their sheaths, and then she and her father were both carried back to the tent that they shared. The two men that dragged her there stayed outside, keeping guard, and Nimue realized that there was no way out anymore. They couldn’t run. They couldn’t escape. They could do nothing but wait.
Even so, the wedding wouldn’t be for several hours, hours that Chrisdean could use to find her. But in his weakened state, Nimue feared that he would get himself killed, or perhaps he wouldn’t even be able to search for her.
Has anyone even noticed that I’m gone? Do they ken that the Sassenachs have me?
“Nimue,” her father said, pulling her out of her thoughts. His voice was gentle, but Nimue could hear the undercurrent of pain as he spoke. “I’m sorry.”
Nimue looked at her father, and all the love that she had for him was not enough to make her anger dissipate. Her lips curled into a grimace as she looked at him, all the pain and the hatred that she had pouring out in that one glance.
“Sorry?” she asked. “Ye’re sorry? How can ye say that to me after everythin’ ye’ve done? Do ye still think that Wentworth is the best husband for me? Do ye?”
The Laird shook his head. “Na,” he said. “And I wish I could say or do somethin’ else, I really do. Seein’ ye with that sword, I thought . . . I thought I’d lose ye forever.”
“Perhaps ye will,” Nimue said. “Wentworth isna the kind of man who keeps his promises. Perhaps in a few years, he’ll tire of me. Perhaps he willna want me anymore, or perhaps I’ll say somethin’ to anger him, and he’ll have me killed. I told ye to na trust him. I told ye.”
“I ken that,” the Laird said. “I do, and I wish I had listened to ye. But what is there for us to do noo? What is there for me to do?”
Nimue didn’t have an answer for her father’s question. She didn’t have anything else to say to him, either, and she didn’t care if that made him feel worse. A part of her wanted him to feel that regret, to feel anything that could help him atone for what he had done to her. A bigger part of her, though, refused to wish any pain on him.
I wonder what maither thinks about this. I wonder what she thinks when she looks down on us from Heaven.
Surely, she wouldn’t be pleased with her husband and his plans. Nimue was also certain that Guinevere and Tristan would be furious to learn that she was being forced to marry a man she didn’t want. But her mother was dead, her siblings were far away, and none of them could help Nimue now. None of them could do anything to save her.
“Will ye ever forgive me?” her father asked, breaking the silence between them.
Nimue looked at him with a heavy sigh on her lips, crossing her arms over her chest. “I dinna ken,” she admitted. “I dinna ken if I can.”
But she also didn’t know if she could hold a grudge against him. After all, however misguided his attempts were, all her father had been trying to do was ensure the future of their clan. Had it not been for Chrisdean and for the knowledge that Scotland could defeat the English if only the clans banded together, Nimue would have married the Earl without any complaint. She would have done anything for her clan.
“I need ye to ken that everythin’ I’ve done was for the good of our family and that of our clan,” her father said. “Our clan may be powerful, but na as powerful as the English. Scotland as a whole isna as powerful as the English.”
