He shook his head and then set his full force upon her, his voice booming under the tufts of his dark beard now peppered with grey. ‘Aye, daughter. It is. You are almost five and twenty. And you...’ He cleared his throat, focused on a spot off in the distance and continued. ‘And you produced no heir for Peter.’
She blanched, feeling the colour and warmth drain from her face. Ewan reached out and squeezed her hand.The fall.Her earlier confusion evaporated. Now she understood why Ewan had thought her unsettled from yesterday and what he’d attempted to explain minutes before. She’d had a fall before, one similar to yesterday, but the loss had been much greater. She’d lost the babe she had carried. It had been early in her pregnancy and Peter had not even known she was with child when he’d shoved her away in anger, causing her to fall hard on the castle stairs. When he’d learned what he’d done, what his rage had cost him, he’d left her alone for a time. There were even a few weeks when he had been kind to her. But as all things were with Peter, they did not last. She swallowed her emotion, blinking back such ugly memories and thrusting them deep down, far away, as if they belonged to someone else altogether. She released Ewan’s hand and smoothed her skirts before daring a glance at Father.
‘You may not wish to acknowledge it, Moira, but thisisyour last chance to secure a union where you will be properly cared for and bring some semblance of honour to the clan by gaining us another ally. Do you understand?’ Father’s tone had dropped in pitch, but its message still stung.
He viewed her as an old widow, a burden, and almost beyond redemption.
In his eyes, she held little value.
She felt sick.
Her cheeks heated, and she dared a glance to Ewan, who watched her with empathy and concern, his eyes wide and rounded. All traces of irritation erased from his features.Fool.She understood now. Ewan hadn’t betrayed her in teaming up with Father against her in selecting a husband. Her dear brother had attempted to spare herthisconversation, this final humiliation, this painful opening of old wounds by manufacturing another outcome their father would approve: a union with Laird Garrick MacLean.
‘Then why pretend to grant me any power over my future at all, Father? Such a promise, to be given, and then snatched away...’ Her words strained to escape her throat. ‘It is a cruelty of its own.’
He shrugged. ‘Ewan believed it would help your spirit. I believed you would just yield to my suggestion in the end. You have always done so in the past.’
Had she? Aye, she had.
‘Perhaps I no longer wish to.’ Her words sounded small and hollow.
He released a hearty laugh. ‘Now that we have secured you a match with a fine man and laird, you decide to ignore it to marry some dying man? You cannot be that daft, Moira.’
She pushed up from her chair, her heart pounding in her ears, anger raging through her limbs. This would be it. Her final stand. It was now or never to secure her future, even if it meant disobeying her father. ‘Nay, I will not be as daft as to follow your directive again. I almost died by the hands of your choice of husband last time. I will not risk my life to soothe your pride.’
Father stood, slamming his palm on his desk with force, rattling its contents. ‘And soon,daughter, I shall not care which man I secure for you, but youwillhave a husband before this tournament concludes.’
‘Aye, Father, I will. A husband that I so choose, not you.’
‘Moira, if you’d just listen,’ Ewan pleaded.
‘Let her be, son. You’ll get nowhere while she’s in such a temper.’
‘This may be one thing we finally agree upon, Father.’ She grabbed her cloak, spun on her heel and headed out of the study.
She would marry Laird Rory McKenna. She would finally create herownfuture.
But how?
She walked down the long hallway, heading to the alcove which led to the outdoors. Fresh air would clear her mind and then she could concoct a plan. The wheels in her mind spun.
All she needed to do was secure her engagement with Laird McKenna while kindly and gently depositing Laird MacLean’s attentions elsewhere. Then he would withdraw his intentions and proposal on his own. She sighed. It would be nothing short of a miracle if she could manage it. Lairds were not known for their flexibility or willingness to withdraw from anything.
She huffed out a breath. Of all the foolish things to have happened. Just when she had things as she wished for them to be and had gained a smattering of control over her own future by securing a match of her choosing, Ewan and Father muddled up her efforts.
Moira struggled to wrap her cloak around her while walking at such a brisk pace and, flustered, left it half on and half off, the material trailing behind her on the floor. She thrust through the side door to the alcove with the sight of the outdoors and fresh air just within reach. She had but half a day to create and implement her plan and no firm idea as yet on how to do it. Her cloak tail wedged itself in between the flooring and the base of the open door, pulling her backward.Blast.She paused, bent down and yanked with all her might to free herself. The material popped loose, and in her haste to carry on out of doors, she walked backward and right into a man’s chest. Strong hands grasped her forearms.
‘Oh, I apologise...’ Her gaze made contact with the man’s own. The blood drained from her face.
Curses.
‘Mrs Fraser.’ Laird Garrick MacLean smiled at her and nodded. He released his hold and stepped back. Warmth registered in his eyes. He was as genuinely pleased to see her as she was horrified to see him.
She busied herself readjusting the cloak now threatening to spill to the floor. Of all the people to find herself with at this moment. Why could it not have been Laird McKenna she’d walked headlong into?
‘Laird MacLean,’ she responded in a light tone.
‘I am pleased to see you this morn. I enjoyed speaking with you at dinner.’ His brow wove concern around his pale green eyes. ‘You seem a bit distressed. May I be of help?’
