Secrets Of A Highland Warrior. Nicole Locke
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none closer or convenient. And for that matter, none merely handed to you.’
Ailsa’s beauty was one thing, her unexpected intelligence was another. Everything about her was unexpected. She was fair of face and body. Mere hours in her presence and he knew she had a fine mind as well. There would be no burden to marry her.
He wouldn’t voice it, but there was a possibility to gain all the McCrieff lands. An achievement none of his clan would expect. All of this done without bloodshed, but there was a catch. There was always a catch when it came to the McCrieffs and the Tanist confessed it. He didn’t intend to concede power. By doing so, Frederick projected to his clan that McCrieffs remained in power.
Where would that leave him? Waiting for the warrior’s death, counting the years until he could wrest control...even if he could. However, it was inconceivable that Frederick would want that for his daughter’s children. Maybe the old man had hope to combine the clans as well. Frederick, as a McCrieff, would be in a better position to know if that hope was possible.
So he married a McCrieff’s daughter, which solved nothing now and only perhaps gained something in the future. Even with all this disclosure, and the almost certainty that Frederick would want a brighter future for his daughter, Rory still sensed a trap.
It was Frederick’s movements before he left the room, a jitter to his leg, his sword hand opening and closing. The frequent glances to the door as if he expected it to burst open. His readiness to be on the other side of the door. He left giving the pretext of privacy, but was it possible he stood on the other side of the door to guard it?
For now Rory could hear muffled voices and the clinking of goblets. There was much talking and occasional shouts of merriment. Was he being merely suspicious?
The danger surrounding him hadn’t been the travelling on McCrieff land, or the offering of marriage. The danger was something he couldn’t see or understand. And for a moment, Rory wished for his sword so he could lay it firmly against Frederick’s neck and demand the truth.
There were lies everywhere. That same instinct that told him something was wrong with his past told him something was wrong now. There was disclosure in this room, but something still felt amiss. Secrets, he saw them everywhere, he’d been trained at it since he was very young.
He knew, though he had never been told, he was not, and could not be, Chief Lochmore’s son.
Though he emulated his parents, though he behaved and trained as the son of a chief should, something inside him warned that he didn’t belong. And it was that which made him refuse the offer now. Not some trap or unknown future. Not some false sense of pride that he wasn’t a pawn to game. They were all pawns and everything a trap. It was that frisson of something amiss that held him back.
‘As the son of a chief, as an enforcer of King Edward’s decree, I cannot accept this offer.’
‘Why, because of this power?’ she scoffed. ‘Because you will not have any since my father will not concede his?’
Power. It was all about power. She might think he held off because of her father, but in fact, he held back because he had none. ‘Power is everything.’
‘So shortsighted! Today we could have some peace. Blood would not be spilled.’
Rory stood then. He was irritated that he could not tell the full truth because he knew these people weren’t. Since that was the case, he’d continue to argue what was known. ‘Shortsighted? A marriage isn’t only for today, it’s for the future. And your father’s proposal curtails mine.’
Small room and a woman who should have looked insignificant against his size now that he stood, but she raised her chin defiantly and he saw nothing but her own stubborn strength and fire.
He had some of his own and his impatience with these people, with his own circumstances, roiled harder inside him. But when he took the steps necessary to be even closer to her, to now intimidate her, she held her ground. And he knew, absolutely knew, he lost some of his. Despite the facts and the glaring falsehoods, he wanted her.
‘I have shears, Lochmore.’
‘Call me Rory.’
A flicker of something across her stunning green eyes and the elegant lines of her neck moved when she swallowed. When he stood with her at the dining table, she had not shown this wariness. Was it the privacy of the room and the fact they were alone? Or was it because his asking her to call him by his name felt too personal?
‘If we are to marry, you would need to say my name,’ he said.
‘But you said we would not marry?’
‘Perhaps you persuaded me with your shears.’
Her eyes narrowed, and he couldn’t help the curve to his lips. She didn’t believe him. Good, she shouldn’t.
He shouldn’t marry her either and that had nothing to do with what they discussed. There was every chance he could leave today without marrying her and there would still be no bloodshed. Frederick could take him prisoner if he refused the proposal, but that would bring the entire Lochmore clan here, and, if Frederick cared for his daughter, he would not jeopardise her life.
Another scenario could be him leaving here and informing his father that he had ensured the border’s safety. A partial untruth, but he’d bet his life that Frederick, meeting him and his men, wouldn’t now fight over something that was almost...personal.
All the conjecture led to one conclusion: to marry Ailsa was superfluous.
A half-step more and her gown brushed his legs again. This time there was no movement from her to indicate her impatience or frustration. Her gown was still, like she was before him. Confusion, yes, he saw it in her eyes and the barely discernible way her body tensed. But there was something else now...an awareness that perhaps matched his own.
Could it be she felt as he did? After all, she had agreed to marry him. ‘Perhaps you persuaded me, Ailsa, that the marriage is necessary to ensure no more bloodshed.’
‘You don’t believe that.’
He wanted privacy so he could gain some answers to this day. To understand or at least appreciate Frederick’s bargaining his only child. Nothing was clear, except this moment. Right now.
There were falsehoods here, but Ailsa and her need to heal was not one of them. She actually...cared. How that was relevant or whether it should be, he didn’t know. But something eased within him.
‘You know, we could marry and our clans could still war. There’s the probability it could make matters worse. What you want to prevent may come about by our joining.’
She exhaled roughly. ‘I told you that our animosity runs deep. I understand that. I also know the land is already yours by a king’s decree. Marrying me could solve nothing. And yet... I know that the way matters are between our clans is of no benefit either.
‘I lost...’ She canted her head and raised her hand. For one infinitesimal moment, he thought she’d lay it on his chest, right on his heart that suddenly beat uncontrollably.
Then the moment was gone. A stuttering of her fingers as if she realised what she was about to do before she lowered and clasped it before her. ‘All I want is the possibility of something different.’
A possibility. Her words were another punch to his battered body. Everything here was a possibility. For her the lives saved. For him...power. Control. The chance for more for his clan and hers, for a family of his own, children. He’d have a wife who cared for others with a fierceness he didn’t realise he’d wanted until he met her.
Impossible, these possibilities. All the more so for the other pressing reason he shouldn’t marry her. They believed him to be the Chief’s son and if it ever came to light that he wasn’t, what then?
Yet, a possibility for a future he didn’t dare dream of... Any warrior, any man, would lie and steal for that dream. Maybe he