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CHAPTERFOUR
Lorna would have preferred a few more hours of sleep but she woke early to the sound of angry birds chirping right above her roof.
What's upset ye lovely little creatures, she wondered in a state of half-sleep. She also awoke to what she thought were raised voices just outside her door. They were male voices, rising and falling, competing with one another.
What could possibly bewrong this early in the morning?
Shedrew her robe tight around her and dragged herself out of bed. She slid out of her room, light on her feet and careful not to tip anything over or draw attention to herself, to find two male figures standing by a window across the hallway.
One was easy enough to recognize, by his broad shoulders and his back that was slightly hunched over with age: the Laird MacLean. The other man was unknown to Lorna. He had the strong shoulders of Laird MacLean, but he was taller, and his frame was lean, the morning wind tousling his hair to and fro, sending his black curls tumbling over and around his head.
He had the most captivating voice Lorna had ever heard. His speech burst out from the depths of his belly, each word ringing as if it had a life of its own. Lorna could have listened to him all day as it was but even more interesting than the rich timbre of his voice was their topic of his conversation. Realization dawned on her like a candle alighting in her mind. They were talking about her!
"It was a dinner held in yer honor, Arran. The least ye could have done was be there! Even if for a moment!"
"Then I pray you accept my remorse," said the man but did not sound remorseful at all. He did not seem remorseful either. He was tapping his foot against the stone floor, clearly anxious to abandon all talk of yesterday's dinner and ready to depart from his father's presence.
Laird MacLean combed a hand through a patch of his balding hair. "Surely ye must consider this isnae easy for yer future bride either."
"Then she must also accept my remorse." Again, he sounded the opposite of remorseful. His tone was almost light and mocking. Lorna had good mind to burst out into the hallway and give Arran a piece of her mind but she kept still by wrapping her hand tight around the knob of the door until her knuckles felt sore and turned white.
"Ye shall offer them tae her yourself," said Laird MacLean.
"I shall be too busy tae do so but I'm sure a good bride understands."
A good bride? Lorna thought, one that he so obviously did not want to be groom to, or even spend a moment of his precious time with!She thought she heard mockery on the rim of his tone. A goodbride! He was making fun of her! Of course, he didn't care whether she was a good or bad bride. He had no feelings for her and didn't care if she knew it!
"Ye must invite her on a walk ‘round the castle, Arran. As yer faither, I command it. It's the least ye could do after last night."
"Unfortunately, I will be unable tae do that."
"Ye unfortunately will be unable to do that?" repeated Laird MacLean bemusedly. He sounded as astonished as Lorna felt, as she watched the scene unfold from the shadows – far across the hallway.
"My exact words, indeed," agreed Arran.
"Why ever nae?"
"Riding. Archery lessons. I shall be too busy, ye see."
"Arran! Cancel them all, will ye? This is far more important."
For the first time since Lorna had stepped out of her chambers to watch the MacLean father and son speak in heated tones about her, Arran stepped away from the window.
He tucked a gloved hand into his pocket. "Oh but I disagree, Faither," he said.
Lorna couldn't stand it any longer. She stormed into her chambers, oblivious to the fact that she had forgotten herself and let the door slam behind her. So what if they heard and realized she was listening in? Let them! Her future husband was obviously indifferent. Last night, he had openly ignored her in front of his father and the entire clan. So why should she be concerned if they heard her?
A good marriage, she'd been told, was built on mutual respect, which her husband-to-be was expertly demonstrating he didn't have for her. Lorna wanted to stomp her feet in rage.
While the morning sun gorgeously streamed in from the windows, catching her lush red hair in its light and setting its hues on fire, Lorna paced about her chamber. She tore out of her robe as if the piece of clothing had jointly offended her. She needed fresh air. Yes, that is exactly what she needed.
She needed to clear her head before Arran's words buried too deeply under her skin, before she let his contemptuousness color the rest of her day. Oh, but I disagree, Faither, she recalled. He audaciously disagreed that a walk around the castle getting to know his future wife was more important than horse riding and archery!
Lorna angrily brushed her hair, then clasped her belt snugly around her waist. She would take a long, winding walk far away from the castle – far away from everything. She remembered to have caught sight of a chapel planted in the middle of a cluster of pine trees on their journey to the keep yesterday.
She resolved to end her walk there. She would say a little prayer, say anything that might help her get through the day and the many days to come.
She drew the hood of her coat over her foreheadand dashed out of her room, down a series of corridors until she was out in the fresh morning air. Lorna closed her eyes and took a deep breath before reopening them. She felt light on her feet after only a few steps into the gardens. Few things could make herfeel better than a morning walk.
