Highlander’s False Betrothal by Alisa Adams
11
“Now then,” Bhaltair grunted at supper as one of his servants speared a large piece of ham onto his plate, “how have the two of you been getting along, eh? Well, I hope?”
“Oh, absolutely!” Caroline answered before Aodh had a chance to answer. She reached over and put her hand over his, squeezing it tightly and beaming at him with a rapturous gleam in her eyes. “We have found that we have so very much in common with each other, and now we simply adore each other’s company! Why, I had planned to remain at Campbell Castle in order to better acquaint myself with it and its servants, as well as my new kinsfolk and lands, but Aodh simply would not hear of it! ‘Caroline,’ he told me, ‘if you choose to stay and force me to make this journey without your company, then you may as well pull a sword down from the wall and ram it through my heart, for now that we are wed, and my heart’s deepest desire has come true, I cannot fathom living without you even for a handful of days!’ Is that not so, my beloved husband?”
Aodh nodded, suppressing a laugh. They had agreed to playact convincingly as husband and wife, but her exaggerated tone and flowery words had tickled him as few things ever had before. “Yes, that sounds essentially word for word, my darling dove,” he answered, putting his other hand over hers.
She put her remaining hand over that one, giving him a playful wink, and then he snorted with amusement and had to disguise it as a cough.
“Oh, you are not getting ill, are you, my strong and wonderful laird?” Caroline pressed, making a show of examining him and laying her hand on his brow. “Shall I get you to bed and do all I can to improve your health at once?”
“That…ahem!...will not, I think, be necessary.” Aodh was almost trembling with contained mirth now. “Though your concern is sweet indeed and makes me fall in love with you anew.” He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Bhaltair chewed his ham, pointing his fork at the two of them and turning to Scott. “There, you see, my boy? Not all arranged marriages are joyless affairs! Why, these two families were mortal enemies—aye, mortal enough that their conflict cost your brother’s life—and look at them now! Snug as can be.”
Aodh raised an eyebrow. “Had you reservations about an arrangement with my sister, sir?”
“Oh, not her specifically, Laird Aodh!” Scott protested quickly. “Please do not think that!”
“No, it’s only that despite my best efforts to raise strong and dutiful sons, I only managed it halfway,” Bhaltair grumbled. “Unlike his late sibling, Scott is given to fanciful notions of romance and the like.”
“I suppose that is true, after a fashion,” Scott remarked bashfully. “I have always taken after my grandfather that way. Or so my father says, at least. But I am something of a romantic at heart, yes, and as such, I had always imagined I might marry for love rather than family convenience.”
“Yes, I have no doubt of it,” Bhaltair mumbled, helping himself to a forkful of potatoes and washing it down with a mug of ale. “Composing wistful sonnets to his sweetheart by the moonlight and other such folderol reserved for people without means or ambition.”
“But as you’ve only just pointed out, Father, the two need not be mutually exclusive!” Scott added, casting a hopeful glance at Freya.
Freya raised her eyebrows at him. “Shall I take that to mean, then, that I might expect to receive a poem or two from you during my stay here?”
A spot of color rose in Scott’s cheeks. “I would certainly not discount the possibility, Lady Freya.”
Such light banter and flirtation continued between the two during the rest of the meal. When it concluded, the guests were shown to their rooms. Unsurprisingly, Aodh and Caroline were given a chamber together.
As soon as the door closed behind them and they were alone, Caroline burst into an unruly fit of giggles, and she was surprised to find that Aodh was laughing uncontrollably as well.
“You laid it on a bit thick back there, did you not, my enchanting lily of a bride?” he chuckled.
“Actually, I thought I was being rather understated, my dashing hero of a groom!” she retorted, so overcome with amusement that she could scarcely breathe. “At any rate, I believe I was still more withdrawn by far than our young Freya!”
“Aye, true enough! The lass practically sat in Scott Carnegie’s lap! If only we had gotten on that well at the start, we might have been able to speak our vows truthfully!”
That brief reminder of the truth of their situation deflated Caroline’s mirth somewhat. The events of the day had allowed her to momentarily forget that they were not actually husband and wife.
Suddenly, she became very aware of the fact that they were alone once more in a bedchamber that had been reserved for newlyweds. Each new room in which they were supposed to sleep together seemed to renew the temptation for them to move beyond the arrangement they had agreed to.
Would she give in this time?
Would he let her?
“If I tell you again that you needn’t sleep on the floor,” she mentioned casually, “would it do any good? You must concede that no matter how short this marriage lasts, it will feel long indeed to you if every night is spent sleeping on the ground like a dog.”
“‘Tis a strange thing indeed, to be invited to share a bed with a woman who compares me to a dog in the same breath,” Aodh laughed.
“You have a nice laugh,” Caroline told him. “You ought to laugh more often. I doubt the members of your clan would hold it against you if you took the occasional respite from being solemn.”
He cleared his throat, getting himself under control. “I do not deliberately withhold laughter,” he replied stiffly. “I have simply never found much in life to be amusing.”
“Good heavens, when you say it out loud like that, it sounds rather sad, doesn’t it?” she pointed out.
Aodh tilted his head, as though the thought had never really occurred to him. “In a way, perhaps, though I never saw it that way. A laird should have a serious frame of mind. A laird should be focused at all times, for the good of those who put their trust in him for their safety and prosperity.”
“That sounds like a miserable proposition as lives go,” Caroline said. “I am not from here, so I have no frame of reference. However, where I come from, lords manage to have a great deal of fun indeed if they have a mind to. Are there no lairds who do as well?”
“The words only sound similar, lass.” Aodh sounded slightly offended. “Life for the noble-born of England is quite different than it is here. Wars between the clans are frequent. Battle is a natural part of life here. Not like your British lords, who dabble in politics and spend the rest of their time poncing about with fox hunts and tea parties.”
She put her hands on her hips indignantly. “Here now! Have a care!”
“Are my impressions incorrect, then?”
“I should say so, yes! Just because British nobles unite to fight for the crown rather than squabbling amongst each other like savages does not mean they are strangers to the responsibilities of leading their own into war. True, it happens less often, but that only shows that our people are more enlightened than yours…less willing to tear each other to pieces at the slightest grievance or perceived slight!”
“Aye, there’s that word again,” Aodh sighed bitterly. “‘Savages.’”
Caroline took a deep breath, realizing that she had erred. “It was unkind of me to use that phrasing. I apologize. I do not see you that way at all. I suppose I am simply disappointed that you see me that way.”
His expression softened. “I do not. It was I who was careless with my words, and for that, I am sorry. In truth, I have very little experience with the English.”
“Except on the battlefield?” she interjected.
He nodded slowly. “Except for that, aye. So I spoke too glibly, perhaps, without adequate knowledge of the topic at hand.”
“That does not sound like the sort of thing lairds should do!” she said, feigning shock and outrage. “However will you live with yourself? And by the way, the offer still stands regarding our sleeping arrangements.”
From the look on Aodh’s face, he was giving the matter serious consideration. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. But we must still face opposite directions when we dress for bed.”
She agreed, and they faced separate walls, each disrobing, each longing to catch the briefest glimpse of the other in such a revealing state. As Caroline slipped out of the last of her clothing, she dared not look back. But she imagined his eyes upon her naked body, and the fantasy provoked a peculiar twinge of fear and desire deep in the pit of her stomach.
After she had put on her sleeping clothes, she asked, “Are you clad?”
“I am, aye. Are you?”
“Yes.” She hesitated for an additional moment, almost hoping that he was lying, that she would turn and find his nude form waiting for her, its contours rippling in the candlelight.
But no. He was in his sleeping attire as well and prepared to climb into bed.
He clung to the edge of his side, as though afraid that taking even one more inch of the bed for himself might be seen as some sort of provocative gesture. She opened her mouth, ready to assure him that he could make himself more comfortable, then closed it again, afraid that such a comment might be misinterpreted.
Or perhaps interpreted too keenly,her mind amended.
For her part, Caroline was determined not to lose rest by making herself uncomfortable in the name of propriety. As she’d said before: If she did, it would feel like a long marriage indeed, no matter how brief the actual span of time.
Besides, she reasoned, it might prompt him to do likewise, thus closing the space between them.
Was she really intent on ensuring that something happened between them, though? It seemed as though she was, but she could not help questioning her own motives. If something did transpire, it would complicate their situation immeasurably.
Or would it?
Caroline was starting to like him, almost in spite of herself. She could hardly deny that any longer. He was a Scot, and he was so stoic that it was almost comical, and theirs was an arranged marriage she loathed the entire notion of. But even so, she was finding herself increasingly comfortable with him, and her attraction to him had only grown.
What if she found that he felt the same? What if they had no need for a “fake marriage” in the end? What if they decided to make it a real one instead?
Well, these are rather unexpected and fanciful notions!she chided herself. This sudden reversal seems to have come out of nowhere! Besides, for all you know, he still finds you objectionable along with every other Brit drawing breath!
Except that he didn’t. She was sure of it. She’d seen his feelings in his eyes, no matter how he’d tried to conceal them from her—and from himself as well, probably.
As if he was reading her thoughts, Aodh, staring up at the ceiling, asked, “Once our so-called ‘marriage’ has ended, Caroline, tell me: What are your plans for yourself then?”
“I confess, I had not given the matter much thought,” she answered slowly. “Back to England, I suppose, and my father’s manor. I had suitors upon leaving, and I imagine I shall have suitors once I return. Quite different ones, I suspect, now that I have been married, even falsely.”
“I am sorry to have deprived you of the best of the crop,” he said.
“If anyone is to blame for that state of affairs, it is my father, not you,” Caroline replied kindly. “And I am confident that there will still be one or two worthy fellows who seek my hand. Or at least, I hope there will.” Now that she had said it aloud, she found herself somewhat less certain of the prospect. “And what of you, sir? What shall become of you once you find yourself bereft of my presence?”
“Oh, I shall surely die from want of you,” he deadpanned. “I shall hang about the castle, gloomy as a spider, torturing myself with memories of the beautiful love we once shared. And then I shall fling myself into the nearest loch with a heavy stone in each hand.”
She laughed. “You have a vivid imagination, don’t you?”
“What can I say in response, except that you seem to bring it out in me?” he answered jovially.
Then his voice softened.
“No, I…promised myself to Ainsley once this is done with,” Aodh said.
Something in his tone made her roll over onto her side to face him. When she did, he flinched, his eyes still fixed upon the ceiling. “Is that the only reason you intend to go through with marrying her, Aodh?” she asked quietly. “Because you gave her your promise?”
He turned his face away from her for a long moment. “It is the reason that matters most. A laird must keep his word. Just as I gave her my word that you and I would not…consummate our union.”
Caroline reached over and took his chin in her palm gently, pulling his face toward hers. “But we are so far away. And unobserved. Surely, no one need know? We are meant to be husband and wife, after all. Even if someone were to find out, they would think nothing of it.”
Aodh seemed to incline his head further toward her. Not much, only the smallest bit.
But he stopped himself, shaking his head.
“I would know. And I would think something of it. I am sorry, Caroline, but I simply cannot betray my own values in such a way. For that matter, I believe you would think less of me if I did. At least, I hope you would.”
No,she thought forlornly, I do not believe I would at all.
“Now, if you will pardon me,” he continued, pulling his face away from her hand and rising from the bed, “I believe I will slumber on the floor tonight after all. I think that would be best. For both of us.”
She wanted to protest, to assure him that he could share the bed without fear of more advances from her.
However, she knew full well that it was not a guarantee she was certain she could live up to.
So she simply rolled over and closed her eyes.
Elsewhere in the Carnegie manor—specifically, in Bhaltair’s private study—the laird was pouring a goblet of port for himself (without even the briefest thought of offering any to his son, who sat across from him).
“But Father,” Scott said, “now that Laird Aodh—”
“Do not refer to that sniveling cretin as a laird!” Bhaltair snapped, slamming his fist on the surface of his desk. “Not when it’s merely the two of us speaking and you have no need to! He is little more than a weak and simple child, undeserving of the same title I have!”
“Very well,” Scott conceded. He was no stranger to the whims and caprices of his father’s horrid temper, especially over the past weeks and especially where the Campbells were concerned. “As I was saying, now that the Campbells have agreed that I may wed Lady Freya, might that not make for a proper end to this rather than bloodshed?”
“Oh, I see,” Bhaltair rasped, draining his goblet and immediately pouring another. “You have stars in your eyes for the wee lass, do you? Well, once our plans have come to fruition, you may have her and do as you like with her, and with my blessing.”
“I only mean—”
“Aye, I ken full well what you mean, you cowardly whelp!” his father interrupted harshly. “You wish to avoid bloodshed.”
“Do you not wish to avoid it, sir?” Scott suggested desperately, wringing his hands. “If we murder them while they are our guests—”
“‘Murder?’ Bah! ‘Tis justice, not murder, lad! ‘Tis balancing the bloody scales!”
“Aye, but it’s also a terrible betrayal of hospitality!” his son insisted. “The honor of the clan would be in ruins from such a disgraceful and shameful act! And more than that, again, it’s damned unnecessary when a marriage between our houses might heal these wounds!”
Bhaltair rose from his seat ominously, his eyes stormy with rage and grief. “‘Heal these wounds’? You daft little mouse! You embarrassment! How can you speak of such things when your brother lies dead, eh? How can you care so little for his passing?”
“Because I must weigh it against the hundreds more who will be lost in a needless open war with the remaining Campbells once word gets back to them! And as laird, so must you!”
“Oh, aye, I have, well enough.” Bhaltair chortled morbidly, settling back into his chair. “Their eldest, Dand, is disgraced and forfeited lairdship. Once we ensure that Aodh and his little sister never leave this place, there will be none left to avenge them. We will appeal to one of the other powerful families within their clan, perhaps appoint its patriarch as a steward to rule in our stead…”
“Aodh has other siblings,” Scott pointed out. “And there is still Lady Caroline’s father to consider.”
“Let them come!” Bhaltair roared. “Aodh’s wretched older sisters, and the damn British as well! We will fight them all, and we will outlast them all!” He drained the goblet and refilled it once more. “I only wish it were Declan by my side rather than a feckless halfwit such as you. Still, I suppose you’ll have to do, eh? And perhaps doing the deed will toughen you up a bit, at that. Maybe it’s not too late for you…”
But the rest of his words were swallowed by the goblet as he brought it to his mouth again.
Scott stood and left, not bothering to excuse himself. His father scarcely noticed whether he stayed or went anymore anyway, not since Declan’s death.
He’d been patient with his father, knowing how deeply the loss had pierced him. He had dutifully agreed to Bhaltair’s plan to kill their guests because, well, that was what good sons did. They obeyed their fathers, no matter what.
Now, though, he was beginning to genuinely wonder whether his poor father might have gone well and truly mad.
To invite the ire of the English while attempting to conquer and hold another clan such as the Campbells? Especially given that clan’s powerful allies—the Brodies? The Hamiltons? It seemed to Scott like the darkest and most self-destructive of whims.
And he hadn’t the first idea what to do about it, for as much as it vexed him, he could not imagine going against the will of his father.
Declan had been strong-willed enough to stand against Bhaltair on occasion, yes, though the old man liked to forget those arguments now and pretend that his eldest son had always been his golden favorite. Declan had been a good man and a wise one. He’d never failed to voice his opinion when he believed their father was in the wrong. No one had ever doubted that when his time came, Declan would manage to rule with the strength of his father and the grace of his grandfather.
But alas, Declan had died from a single well-placed British arrow, and no one seemed to think much of Scott as a prospective laird. Rather, all the men of the clan seemed quite willing to follow Bhaltair into oblivion on an order.
I suppose I should not be so stymied by that,he thought to himself as he wandered the corridors morosely. Our kinsmen have all lost people who were dear to them. It is no wonder that they are only too eager to answer the call to arms and righteous vengeance, even if it costs them all they have left.
Still, he fretted about what to do for hours after, feeling as helpless as a worm on a hook.
And every bit as doomed.
