He forced himself to knock anyway.
There was a flurry of movement inside the room, and then Ailsa opened the door. Her hair was loose this morning, and the sight of it sent Ewan, in a flash, back to ten years prior.
There was no hesitation in him as he rapped on Ailsa’s door. Perhaps it was theslightestbit unorthodox for him to visit a young lady in her chamber, but this wasAilsa. He’d known her since they were children.
And they were to be wed, after all. Besides, it wasn’t as though they were part of the lily-soft Englishton, where they seemed to think that a mere glance between an unwed couple immediately consigned them both to hell. This was Scotland, where people were reasonable.
People, though not apparentlyAilsa, as she opened the door with a distinct look of irritation on her face.
She was very pretty, this girl who was to be his bride. He’d nae been sorry at all when the betrothal had been finalized. She was young, of course, but they were not in any kind of rush. He had no objection to waiting a year. More, even, if she truly needed it.
They’d be patient, and then everything would be grand. He was certain of it. He’d thought Ailsa had felt the same. After all, they got on well, did they not? But the way she was looking at him now caused doubt to spark in him, unpleasant and sharp.
“Is everything a’right, Ailsa?”
With a huff, she opened the door wider, offering him admission.
This was certainly even more improper, but, again, they were not English, thank Mother Mary and all the saints.
“I thought we might go for a wee walk. What d’ye think?” he asked, feeling suddenly uncertain.
The look she shot him was poisonous.
“Nay, Ewan.” His name was sharp on her tongue. “I dinnae want to go for a walk. I dinnae want to go anywhere with ye. I-I cannae believe ye agreed to this!”
She threw an arm out wide.
“To… our betrothal?” he asked cautiously.
“Aye!” She blinked, her eyes full of angry tears. “Nobody asked us if we wanted this. Our fathers, they… They just decided! Nobody ever asked!”
He paused. This, he supposed, was technically true. His father hadn’t asked if he’d wanted to marry Ailsa. But Ewan had always known that he’d need to marry for the betterment of the clan, and an alliance with the Donagheys, particularly one as unshakeable as a marriage, would undoubtedly benefitthe clan. And, besides, he’d been happy enough with the way things had turned out.
“Nae,” he said. “That’s true, but?—”
“But what?” she demanded. “But I am naught but a woman, so I ought to go along with whatever the menfolk decide?”
“Nae,” he said again, “but if ye are hesitant, we can wait. We can be husband and wife in name only to start. We need not rush anything.”
“That’s not what it’s about,” she insisted.
“Very well, but we can accommodate any concerns?—”
She cut him off again.
“Nobody has asked for my opinion, so let me be clear,” she snapped. “I dinnae want this. I dinnae want to marry ye. I willnae consent to it. Never. Notever. So if ye and our fathers intend to see this through, ye shall have to bind me and drag me to the altar screamin’, for I willnae relent on this matter.”
He was nineteen years old, full of pride and fire.
The words left him before he could stop himself.
“Ye are making a mistake, Ailsa Donaghey,” he spat. “One that, I vow it to ye, ye will live to regret.”
Ewan blinked himself back to the present.
This version of Ailsa was not looking at him with anger in her eyes. Instead, there was only surprise.
And maybe the tiniest bit of hope.
