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As if by divine intervention, his mother came to the rescue, as was most in her nature. "Happy birthday, my dear boy," she said; taking his hand lightly in hers.
Arran gave Esme one last hard look before returning her smile. The smile would have been inconsequential to anyone elsebut to Arran, who had shared her loss and grieved alongside her, it meant more than words could ever express. It was a smile that told the story of a lost love and a broken family.
"Thank ye, Maither," Arran said.
"Ye look handsome," replied Ma. "Just like Bruce."
Ma and Pa had hardly spoken of Bruce since his passing as if mentioning his name would be like reliving his death all over again. As such, Arran was surprised to hear his brother's name slip from between his mother’s lips. Her eyes too were filled with surprise as if she were also taken aback by her uttering her son’s name.
And all of a sudden, the dining hall fell into a grave silence that stretched from the noblewomen in their jeweled earrings and the beaded pearls that clasped elegantly at their necks, to the noblemen who had been happily talking trade, commerce and England mere moments before his mother's words.
Much to Arran’s relief, Pa broke the silence as he raised a glass. "A toast," he said, "to our guest of honor, to my boy, and to you future Laird!"
Wine spilled about as the attendees lifted their glasses in Arran’s name and drank gladly. "To Arran, our future laird!" they echoed.
Arran returned his father’s smile; a real smile – one that widened his cheeks and spread up to his sad eyes.
But alas, it did not last. Soon enough, his father had slipped back into his shell; eating and sipping at his drink in frail silence, and nodding along to whatever Sir Ian or a tipsy nobleman was rambling about while occasionally chipping in an "oh," or "ah, yes."
Over a decade had passed since that fateful battle. The MacKenzies had kept their side of the bargain regarding taking care of the MacLeans and their clan. Peace had reigned but Pa had never been the same.
Time and the loss of his firstborn son had turned him into a twitchy old man. He sunk into himself and wore his aloofness like a second skin. He demanded silence without saying anything in any room he entered, and he spoke little, even when pressed to part his lips and address a crowd.
Arran was not surprised, but he was embarrassed. He knew he'd never forget how quickly Pa had surrendered to the MacKenzie clan after Bruce had been killed, how he had allowed the MacKenzies to attack them in the first place and claim Bruce's life, to trample over him and his will like a spineless dog.
Twelve years of peace, for what? For muteness, for cowardice.
Arran ate and drank in silence. Surprisingly enough, after a short moment, Pa cleared his throat beside him and leaned in close. "Ye've entered into a new year, my son," he said. "And the time has come for you to honor our commitment to the MacKenzies."
Arran gulped down his drink and then pushed his glass away.
He had known for years that this day would come. Even though Douglas had spoken of it earlier, nothing could have prepared him for his father’s concession.
Anger bubbled up within him like hot bile. He was enraged at his father's suggestion, outraged at the prospect of marrying the daughter of the man who had murdered his brother. Of course, there would be no way around it. He knew he couldn't outrun his fate or his father's pact, but nothing could have prepared him for the sick feeling in his stomach when he was finally confronted with the reality of his fate.
Arran yanked on his shirt;gasping for air. He could tell Esme was watching him from the corner of his eye because of her sly demeanor. She tipped her glass toward him, then flicked the rimwith her tongue and sipped. Douglas and Ma were also present, Douglas to his left and his mother to his right. Douglas's face was overcast in dark shadow, and she had stiffened beside him.
He cleared his throat, awfully aware that he was ill-prepared for this news. The last thing he wanted was to make a scene at his own birthday feast. He turned to Pa with a tight smile. "What might ye be speaking o', Faither?"
Of course, he understood exactly what his father was talking about. The truth was staring him in the face, even though he wished it away as fervently as he had wished Bruce's death away all those years ago as he held his pale, cold hand.
"Yer betrothal, Arran," his father confirmed. "'Tis time tae marry the MacKenzie lass." Pa cleared his throat and downed a glass of water. Beside him, one could almost feel the unconstrained fury buzzing through his younger brother's veins.
"I'm old and ye've come o' age, Arran," said Pa. "The time for waiting is over. Ye ought to invite the lass to our keep by the end of the week. Our clans await a marriage, and we'll give one tae them."
"A marriage tae the woman whose faither murdered my brother," said Arran through gritted teeth. He knew it was unseemly behavior to talk back to his father, especially in the midst of guests but he couldn't help himself.
Pa sighed. "A marriage tae maintain peace and unity between two clans," said Pa. "A bargain is a bargain." He clasped his hand gently over Arran's shoulder and said as convincing and fatherly a voice as he could muster, "This is yer part to play, son. Husband tae the MacKenzie lass, and future laird o' our united clans."
Arran shrugged off his father's hand, albeit politely. He looked at his mother, who had a pleading expression on her face. Her eyes pleaded with him not to make a fuss, to listen to his father, to accept what he couldn't change, to marry the MacKenzie lass. He despised seeing herin such distress.
Arran moved his gaze away from her; h e couldn't take it anymore. His eyes weredrawn to Douglaswhosebushy brows were knitted together, his face flushed and ablaze with righteous fury, and something else, which Arran recognized all too well. When he looked in the mirror, he saw the same glint of desire in his own eyes: vengeance.
He could almost hear his younger brother's voice in his head: Remember our promise. Now is our chance.
Arran wrapped his hands over the nearest cup and downed it in a single gulp. His mind was a mess, swirling with a hundred thoughts and emotions, but the memory of his dream – of Bruce drifting away – burned at the back of his eyes. His promise echoed like church bells in his head. He caught a sly look on Esme's face as he reached for Ma's hand and squeezed it gently. Then, he leaned into Pa and said evenly, "Forgive me, Pa. Yer right. I shall send for my future wife first thing tomorrow."
The table erupted in light applause. The gatherers had been listening between their whispered discussions and clumsy silences.
