exclaimed.
So that was all. Ah well, Alan understood now. The poor lass hated being dished out like a treat to whomever Tavish wanted to hold his lands. He could not blame her in the least.
Marry, indeed! Why, she needed time to accept Tav’s death. He would see she got her time, and no mistake. All the time she wanted. The hell with Bruce.
He laid a hand on her back and patted gently. “I’ll bide and protect ye, my lady. I’m certain Tav only wanted to—”
She rounded on him with her hands on her hips, leaning forward with her chin up. “What about what I want? I have no wish to wed anyone. Especially not you!”
“Me?” Alan heard the word croak out of his mouth, leaving a bad taste behind. Then another followed, more in the nature of a groan. “Marry?” He backed up and dropped to the window seat, his knees too weak to hold him. “Oh, shite!”
“Just so!” Lady Honor snatched the letter from the priest’s hand and, crumpling it under Alan’s nose, assaulted him in rapid French. Still shocked by Tav’s orders and unable to grasp more than the occasional word, he simply stared at her until she switched to English.
“Saints! He has commanded us to wed this day! This very day! He swore that he loved me and now he demands that I marry a—”
. “A what?”
“A highland savage,” she retorted, shaking a finger under his nose. “Mais oui, I can tell by your speech that is what you are in spite of that fine mail you wear! And ignorant, as well, by your own admission!”
“Unlettered, Lady. ‘Tis not the same as ignorant. And de’il take ye wi’ all yer plaguey French airs! Ye’re still a Scot yersel’!”
“Praise God, only half!” she shouted.
“Then I wish to God ‘twas th’ upper half wi’ th’ mouth!”
She gaped. Her chest heaved up and down like a bellows. Alan wrestled with his anger until he had a firm grip on it. Surely ’twas only her grief speaking here. Shock had undone her, and him carrying on as if she were to blame for it all.
“Why would my husband do this to me?” she demanded, turning to the priest.
“Well, how d‘ye think I feel, eh?” Alan countered. “Trapped, is what! Bound by a stout chain of friendship reachin’ inta th’ verra grave. Hist, I’d as lief fall on my dirk as surrender my freedom, but my word’s my word, by God!” He slapped his forehead and groaned toward the ceiling. “Och, Tav, what’ve ye wrought us here? What have ye done?”
He fumed. She paced. He could hear the scuffing of her feet through the rushes, the rustle of skirts about her legs. The sounds were near as loud as the thudding of his heart.
Alan realized Tavish had no way of knowing the words he had written to his wife had gone unread that night. And just who bore the fault for that misunderstanding? Alan himself, none other. Tav had asked whether Alan agreed to the missive and got a ready answer for his trouble. Aye, braw advice. Ha!
That had been as near to a lie as Alan ever uttered, and it troubled him sorely. Everyone he knew remarked on his word and how he could be trusted to speak nothing but the truth in all matters, never mind the consequences he must suffer for it. That was a thing of great pride for a man who had little else in the world to recommend him. His departure from honesty—even in such a small way—had brought on disaster.
Lady Honor spoke truer than she knew just now, he thought. He had acted as ignorant as the barmiest village idiot in this. How stupid to agree to a thing when he had no idea what it was. Just proved what he had always known. A lie, even a near lie, led to one sort of perdition or another. This one had cost him his freedom. And the poor lady, her peace of mind.
Oh, he admitted he might have imagined himself lolling about a castle with a well-born woman now and again, especially when Tavish had waxed poetic about his own, but Alan knew very well such a life did not suit him. He had been thrust out of that sort of existence and into a rugged bachelor household too early on. But not so early that he did not know what he had lost by the move. To be perfectly honest—and he strove always to be honest, if nothing else—Alan simply was not equipped to deal with marriage and family life. Even if he wanted to, he did not know how. Now, due to this almost lie of his, he knew he must team.
Father Dennis cleared his throat. “Pardon, sir, my lady, but the hour grows late. If there is to be a wedding—”
“No!” she shouted, throwing up her hands.
“Aye!” Alan declared, rising again on steadier legs. “Go, Father, and gather all who will come to yer chapel.”
“We have no chapel, sir. The hall must do.”
“There will be no wedding!” the lady said heatedly, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Leave us, Father, and make ready,” Alan repeated. When the door had closed, he turned to his new intended. She looked ready to scratch out his eyes and he could hardly blame her.
He forced himself to speak calmly, reasonably. “If ye loved yer husband, Lady Honor, ye must mind his last wishes.”
“That fever you spoke of baked his brain! Rightminded, Tavish would never have wished this on me. Or on you,” she added belatedly, obviously hoping now to enlist him in her rebellion.
Alan wondered if she had the right of it. Had the fever affected Tav’s mind? No matter. “Even were that true, my lady, Bruce made Tav’s wish a command. We dare not go agin’ the king.”
She laughed, a mirthless sound if he had ever heard one. “La! King, indeed!”
“Aye, well, he is that and owns Scotland now. Ye might flee to France and yer father if ye wish to escape the royal wrath. Where am I to go, then?”
In truth, he had no fear left of Robert Bruce. The man would either kill him or not, and everyone died sooner or later. He only thought to stir a bit of guilt in the lass. She had hurt his feelings, calling him ignorant. Even if it was true, she had no call to treat him as pig droppings on her foot.
Her fury seemed to die out on the instant and leave her sad. The tears were back, trailing one after another down those petal soft cheeks. “You don’t want this any more than I,” she said softly.
“Ye have the right of that. But ’tis a matter of duty now, yer own as well as mine. Tavish asked it of us.”
He cocked a brow and gave her a half smile for her forlorn little nod of agreement. “I know ye grieve for him, sweet lady, as do I. But come now and we’ll make the best of it, eh? ’Tis all we can do for him.”
“Wait!” she cried as he grasped her hand more firmly and headed for the door. “Hold a moment, sir. We must speak further before we do this thing.”
Alan capitulated with a weary sigh. “Look ye, we have years in which to know each other. As yer priest said, the hour grows late and I’m fit to drop to the nearest pallet.”
She colored to a bright rose hue and glanced guiltily at the curtained bed in the corner. “Well, that is the problem, you see. I cannot... that is, we must not—”
“Lie
