Highlander’s False Betrothal by Alisa Adams
9
There was plenty of drinking and dancing among the guests at the wedding. Caroline insisted on a handful of dances with Aodh. He resisted, not eager to make such a display in front of Ainsley, who, he imagined, was feeling forlorn enough as it was. But Caroline insisted, quietly yet firmly, reminding him that they had appearances to maintain.
In truth, even without Ainsley to consider, Aodh had never been much for dancing. He found it frivolous, and beneath the dignity of a laird. When he grumbled words to that effect, though, Freya mocked him relentlessly for being so dour until he finally relented and took Caroline’s hand.
After roughly an hour, however, Aodh felt quite another hand fall heavily on his shoulder, shaking it roughly to get his attention.
He turned and saw Laird Bhaltair Carnegie’s ruddy face peering at him. The man was stout and solid, with bright red whiskers braided beneath his wide chin. His muddy brown eyes were like a toad’s, bulbous and blinking at him.
“A curious thing indeed, Laird Aodh,” he said in his raspy voice. “Wedding the daughter of the English bastard who butchered my eldest son Declan.”
Caroline reacted as though she had been slapped.
Aodh’s eyebrows shot up, and he turned to her. “Please pay him no mind, my dear,” he said under his breath, “for clearly, he has had too much to drink. Do excuse us for a moment.”
He took Bhaltair’s arm and quickly steered the older man toward a less-populated corner of the courtyard. Bhaltair sauntered after him at a deliberately leisurely pace, as though daring Aodh to handle him more roughly.
For his part, Aodh was relieved that Lord George had not been within earshot of the remark. He was certain that the stuffy Brit would have caused a scene, and that was the last thing he needed.
“There is no cause for such insults, sir,” Aodh told him. “I understand your grief at the passing of your son—”
“The killing of my son,” Bhaltair corrected him sharply, pointing across the courtyard at George. “By that man.”
“Very well,” Aodh conceded. “You speak the truth, and none would dare say otherwise. However, the fact remains that many conflicts such as these are settled with arranged marriages.”
“Aye, arranged marriages between clans,” the man snapped. “Not with the spawn of English swine who have stolen our sovereignty and lorded their ways over us for generations.”
Aodh’s expression darkened, and his jaw twitched. “Laird Bhaltair, you are a most valued friend and ally to the Campbells, and no one appreciates your years of service to our banner more than I. Even so, a man of your honor and intelligence must surely understand that there are limits to the unkind words I will hear regarding my bride, especially upon the day of our wedding. I do not wish for any unpleasantness between us, this day or any other.”
Bhaltair sized him up for a long moment, then shook his head. “No. Nor do I. I grieve the boy’s loss bitterly, as I’m sure you can imagine. He was my beloved heir. He was meant to be the very future of my clan, and now…” He choked back a sob.
“Your sacrifice is appreciated more than I can possibly say,” Aodh insisted. “I had hoped, in fact, that you of all people would understand the necessity of such a union between my people and his to prevent any other fathers from losing their sons. At least you still have your other son Scott to preserve the legacy of your noble house.”
“Aye, that I do,” Bhaltair conceded, stroking his whiskers pensively. “In fact, Laird Aodh, it is that very subject—the legacy of my house and of yours as well—which has brought me here today.”
Aodh’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “Really. And here I thought you had come as a comrade and friend to bid me good luck and congratulations on the day of my nuptials. A shame to discover you have a separate motive entirely.”
Carnegie laughed humorlessly. “Come now, Aodh. I have known you since you were a wee lad, but you have since grown far too old for fairy tales. We are both men of some responsibility, and when the time comes for us to speak frankly, I should think that neither of us would shirk from it.”
“Fair enough,” the younger laird confirmed. “In that case, by all means, tell me what is on your mind.”
“Another arranged marriage, as it happens. My Scott and your sister Freya.”
Aodh was so surprised that for a few moments, he could not even conjure any words. When he finally found his footing again, he said, “I must confess, I was so preoccupied with the prospect of my own marriage that I had not prepared myself to entertain the idea of another.”
“Well, I encourage you to ‘entertain’ it now,” Bhaltair sneered. “I have watched you over the course of the day, and I have noted that you have consumed almost no wine or ale, meaning your head is clear enough to speak on such matters. Indeed, you almost never seem to imbibe as other men do so freely, which is a thing I happen to greatly respect about you. You have a seriousness of mind that I admire. It is something I feel we have in common.”
“I am honored to hear it,” Aodh replied, even though at that moment, the prospect of sharing any traits with this waddling and bellicose man frankly nauseated him. “I shall give your proposal its due consideration, Laird Bhaltair, and furnish you with a response as soon as I can.”
Aodh moved to leave, but Bhaltair’s hand clamped his upper arm like a vise. “I am afraid I must insist upon an answer now, young man…and I must insist that the answer be ‘yes.’ For, although you have insisted that you understand the depths of my bereavement, I fear you do not. I committed the lives of my kinsmen to your cause against George Lloyd, and the incompetence with which you waged that war cost me the life of my most treasured offspring. Now, you spit in my face by marrying Lloyd’s daughter, and you have the effrontery to tell me to my face that you are doing it for me? How dare you, sir? No, your choice must be immediate, and it is a simple one indeed: Your sister will be wed to my second-born, or my clan will cease to be your ally and become your enemy. My honor demands no less.”
“You expect me to simply answer now, without discussing the matter with Freya herself?” Aodh asked dubiously.
Bhaltair scoffed harshly. “Since when does a man in your position require the agreement of the women in your clan when it comes to arranging a marriage? Damn it, boy, are you a laird, or are you not?”
The words hit Aodh like an ax to the chest. He had already found the events of the day most disquieting, and now this?
However, he was left with little choice.
“As you wish,” he replied. “Freya and Scott shall be married.”
“And does ‘Freya’ have any say in such matters?”
Aodh’s heart clenched at the sound of his younger sister’s voice behind him, and he turned to find her red-faced with rage.
“Freya…” he began.
“You, whose life has been tied in knots over an arranged marriage!” Freya balked, jabbing a finger into Aodh’s chest. “You, the bravest and most honorable man I know capitulating to this…this brute! This bully! Promising me to someone forever, and without even asking me? I thought you cared about me, Aodh! I thought you were on my side, as I have always been on yours!”
“I am on your side, Freya. Always. I promise,” Aodh protested.
But it was too late for any of that. She turned and ran off, back into the recesses of the castle.
Bhaltair pointed a thick finger in the direction she had run. “You had best make this union happen, boy, with her objections or without them. Lloyd has already cut down a third of your kinsmen. Do not force me to finish what he started.”
“I cannot comprehend why you would come to my home and speak to me in such a manner,” Aodh said. He was angry, yes, but more than that, he found himself bewildered. “As you said, I have known you for most of my life. There has always been good will between our clans.”
“All ‘good will’ between our families died with my son on the battlefield,” Bhaltair growled. “Now it is up to the next generation to forge a new bond that might replace the old one. If I can cause that to happen, at least, then I might go to my grave having secured the future for my people, which I ruined by entrusting my Declan to your care. Good day, sir.”
And with that, Bhaltair left the festivities without looking back.
“You certainly cannot blame Freya for being horrified by your acquiescence to that odious fellow,” Caroline said later when the reception had ended and they were alone—in the chambers they would be expected to share.
They had gone to the room together once the guests had retired for the night.
So far, neither of them had chosen to bring up the subject of their sleeping arrangements. The unspoken topic simply hung heavily in the air between them. They kept making idle conversation, each waiting for the other to mention it.
“No, I suppose I cannot,” Aodh sighed. “Such a reaction would be expected from anyone under the circumstances, let alone a girl as spirited as Freya. But what else could I do? He had me cornered at my own damn wedding, and he was right: Thanks to your father’s war against us, our forces are already severely depleted. I could not agree to a marriage such as this one to make peace, only to tell my kinsmen that the peace had been broken before even the first of the guests had excused themselves from the reception. And worse, that they would be forced to fight against the very men who had fought beside them only weeks before.”
“Your situation is a difficult one,” Caroline conceded gently. “I do mean that. Truly. Still, you could have stood your ground. You owed that much to your sister, who loves you and trusts you.”
Aodh sat on the edge of the bed, hanging his head ruefully. “If I’m being entirely honest, I had hoped the answer would simply put him off temporarily, perhaps. Allow me some time to come up with a better plan. One that would not involve promising Freya to his son. Alas, I had no idea that Freya was close enough to hear the whole damned thing.”
“Laird Bhaltair’s son…Scott, was it?” She stood before him awkwardly, the subject of the bed—and the rest of the night—still towering between them. “Is he a good man, at least?”
He tilted his head to one side, giving the question serious thought. Then he shrugged. “In truth? I have no idea. Bhaltair always made such a great show of parading Declan around that I did not even realize he had a second son until after the first had died.”
“Well, hopefully the boy has better manners than his father,” Caroline said.
Aodh snickered. “If not, I have every confidence that Freya will teach him some.”
They laughed together, and it should have broken the tension between them.
Instead, bafflingly, it only seemed to add to it.
“It does not bear repeating, I suppose, that our union cannot be consummated,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact with her.
“No,” she answered softly. “I suppose it cannot, else we might risk it becoming more real than we might like it to be.” She paused, then added, “At least we were able to kiss earlier during the ceremony and get that over with, eh?”
Now why did I bring that up?she wondered. She tried to convince herself that it had just been an idle comment, a way to keep making conversation in an attempt to quell the discomfort that seemed to shroud the room around them.
But deeper down, she knew that there was more to it than that, even if she could not precisely define it.
“Aye,” he agreed. “Not that it was much of a kiss.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying I wasn’t much good, is that it?”
Aodh grinned sheepishly, a bit of color creeping up into his face. He so rarely seemed to smile that she found the effect entirely disarming—a rare and beautiful unguarded moment of boyishness from one who had clearly considered himself a man since long before his time.
“I was not saying that at all,” he replied slowly. “Merely that…well, I did not put any of my customary effort into it. That’s all I meant.”
“Do you mean to say that you deprived me of the fullness of what is generally an epic experience?” Caroline joked. She found herself edging closer to him, her body language teasing and angular, as though daring him to reach out for her.
She knew she should not behave in such a manner, yet curiously, she could not bring herself to stop. It had been such a strange day, and it had filled her with equally strange energy. Here she was, alone for the first time with a husband who was not a husband. How many women could claim such a thing?
And what might most of them do with the opportunity when confronted with such a devastatingly handsome specimen within arm’s reach?
What could she do now and confidently get away with?
“I suppose that was rather cruel of me, wasn’t it?” he quipped in return. “To hold back what can best be described—and, indeed, has been described many times before—as ‘a life-changing adventure of near-biblical proportion’?”
She pointed a finger at him sharply, her mouth twisted into a tight little sideways smirk. “Then it seems to me that you, sir, owe me something by way of restitution, and I intend to collect at once!”
What am I saying?she asked herself with feverish glee. Am I really doing this? Where on earth might it lead us?
He stood up, bringing his face inches away from hers. His eyes gleamed, seeming to stare into her very soul. She was suddenly aware of how hard he was breathing, how every muscle in his body seemed tense, as though he was trying to hold himself back.
Trying…and failing.
“In that case,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling her lips, “who am I to refuse someone so aggrieved?”
The words had barely escaped his mouth before they were locked in an embrace, bodies and tongues and essences all blissfully intertwined. Caroline pressed her body up against his eagerly, feeling every chiseled contour of his chest against hers.
And then, just as quickly, it was over, and there was space between them again.
“I…hope you feel somewhat less wronged now,” Aodh said gently.
I feel far more wronged, in fact,she thought woefully, but only because you released me.
“Yes,” she answered breathlessly.
“Now, as for the, er…sleeping a-arrangements,” he stammered, “you may have the bed, of course, and I shall sleep on the floor.”
“Surely there is no need for that?” Caroline replied, doing her best to sound casual. “‘Tis a large enough bed for us both to have room and maintain distance from each other, as long as we—”
“I think,” he interjected a bit too sharply, “it would be best for me if I remained on the floor. But thank you.”
“I see.” She lowered her eyes. “In that case, I suppose we should dress for bed. If you would be so good as to turn your back in order to preserve my modesty?”
“Aye.” He turned redder still. “As long as you will do the same.”
They both dutifully turned their backs to each other and undressed, each one wishing they could summon just the right amount of wickedness to peek.
