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 didn’t have to go that far. In truth, he was at least named a Lochmore. His mother might have lain with another, but it must have been done in great secret given the truth had never been revealed in all these years. As a result, their marriage would still be a Lochmore marrying a McCrieff and maybe that was enough.
Unless the Tanist discovered the truth one day and took it as an insult. So many possible possibilities. But once something was done, it couldn’t be undone. He was proof of that. Marriage and their children were permanent despite his fears of his past.
Thuds and roars from behind the door. They both froze, until goblets thumped on heavy oak tables and laughter rang out.
An offer of marriage.
Marriage. He returned his gaze to Ailsa, who gazed back unwaveringly at him. He admired her again. More so because he’d refused her and she’d replied with reason and pride.
Such fire within her veins and it called to his own. But it was a reminder as well. No matter his dreams or hopes, there was no talk of a happy marriage or children from her. She talked of preventing bloodshed, not peace. She cared, but she didn’t say she cared for him. This wasn’t personal for her and it shouldn’t be for him.
And yet, if this was a trap, they had made the prize too dear not to reach for it. All he needed to do was agree and the possibility of more would be his. But the possibilities of a better future wasn’t what pummelled through his chest and coursed hotly through his veins because his body didn’t concern itself with property or power. His body believed Ailsa was the prize. Thus, she was his right not as a ruler, but as a man.
He’d take her.
‘Say my name, Ailsa. Say it and that possibility you want will be so.’
She straightened, seemingly to brace herself. ‘Rory.’
Victory and far sweeter than he had envisioned for this day. Two strides to the door, he flung it open to see Frederick on the other side with his sword out. At Rory’s glance, Frederick sheathed it.
A moment of hesitation and a truth rang out. Frederick was guarding the door. But his expression showed something else. Gone was father and warrior, now he carried only the expression of a politician.
A wife who didn’t care for him. A father-in-law that had an agenda he knew nothing about. Still, the possibility of more... ‘I, as representative of Clan Lochmore, as son of Chief Lochmore, agree to this offer.’
Frederick’s eyes switched to his daughter and held. Whatever he saw there, it was enough for him to say, ‘As my daughter is witness, it is made in good faith.’
‘That won’t be good enough,’ Rory said.
‘Ah, yes, this calls for a formal announcement.’
Frederick strode to the door leading to the Hall and opened it. Rory held back and looked at the woman who would soon be his wife. Her face was as implacable as her father’s. She, too, was a warrior in her own right.
He didn’t touch her, nor did he speak, but when she walked quietly up to him he approved. When they left this room, they would be side by side. The image of them both as one entity would be solidified, the words that needed pronouncement almost redundant.
Their entrance quieted the Hall. All his men were hale, hearty, Paiden’s keen alertness showing though he lounged as if he was relaxed in his own home. He was up to something as usual.
Then Frederick was saying the words with the necessary reverence and Rory ensured his own gaze locked on to as many clansmen as possible in the cramped quarters. There was surprise by his own clansmen and by McCrieffs. There was also hostility and defiance, which meant Frederick had kept this secret not only from his daughter, but also from his own clansmen. The underlying sense of wrongness again clamoured inside Rory. It was one matter to surprise the Lochmores with an arranged marriage, but such an alliance would have, under normal circumstances, been discussed from every angle with the elders of a clan. Why would Frederick keep it secret from them?
A trap, but he obtained the prize. He and Ailsa’s marriage had been announced to all and could not be undone. If he had to sleep with one eye open and keep a guard at his door, if he had to threaten every clansman from now until his death, he would ensure the future he wanted. Because now that hope he’d been trying to contain expanded inside him. He’d made this deal on his own, without his family’s approval. Without his father’s approval. He would argue that he did it for the clan, to secure the land. He knew the truth—he did it for himself.
When Frederick shoved his hand into the pouch around his waist and cupped dirt in his palm, Rory, without hesitation, accepted the transfer of it to his hand. The dirt was not mere dirt, but McCrieff soil.
More formalities would have to be done, more announcements and ceremonies. So many more customs to uphold, but this Tanist had the foresight to gather dirt to make the legal gesture of transferring McCrieff land to Lochmore. By accepting the dried clods, the transfer of land was complete and binding.
Wily warrior. Frederick had expected Rory to agree to his offer and had gathered the soil before the meeting. But what man wouldn’t agree to it? He almost hadn’t. He still shouldn’t. Frederick had planned for his daughter to marry the Lochmore Chief’s son, but Rory alone knew that Lochmore’s blood did not flow in his veins and that should have been enough to stop him from marrying now.
Servants were bustling in with freshly filled flagons. Paiden swiped a flagon and a new goblet off the tray to extravagantly pour the contents of a deep rich wine.
His eyes held
