And that was the true problem.
“The problem isnae thewedding,” she told him acidly as he looked at her, clearly surprised. “It’sus. We scarcely know one another, Ewan! How does that provide the basis for a marriage, a partnership?”
“Plenty of marriages begin on less,” he countered. “We’ll have all our lives to learn about one another. Once ye and yer sisters aresafe.”
Safe. Protected.
Controlled.
Ewan was a man, the son of a laird. He couldn’t understand how, to a woman, these things were not so far off from one another.
And that meant that, no matter how much time they had, there would always be a divide between them.
And yet, her duty remained.
But not today. She had two more days in which she could walk away from him.
And so she did.
“Leave me be, Ewan,” she said. “Just, please. Let me go.”
He let her walk away. Ailsa thought that might have been the thing that stung most of all.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ailsa should have been exhausted.No, she was exhausted, she amended as she moved restlessly through the halls of the keep in the middle of the night, her fingers tracing lightly over the aged stone walls that were covered here and there by tapestries, to keep the heat inside during the long, frigid Scottish winters.
It was more that she should have been exhausted enough to sleep. And yet, her mind had roiled until it had driven her from her bed, desperate for something, anything that would distract her from the chaos of her thoughts.
Her parents, dead.
Finlay Gordon, her father’s wretched illegitimate brother.
Her marriage scheduled for two days hence.
And Ewan…
Well, she knew least of all what to make of Ewan.
So much of her fear that submitting to being his wife meant giving up all control of her destiny; meant erasing the part of herself that was a Donaghey; meant forcing herself into a mold that she knew would never quite fit.
But thatkiss…
She didn’t want to think of the kiss.
Ailsa turned another corner, her dressing gown whispering softly against the stone floor as she went. Whoever owned the garment was a little taller than Ailsa, and she had to take care not to get tripped up in the fabric. She tugged the heavy brocade around her even as she saw a glimmer of light up ahead, too bright to be a banked fire.
Someone was still out of bed.
Ailsa feared that she wasn’t very good company at present, but she was so desperate for a distraction that she sacrificed her fellow late night wanderer. She headed toward the small sitting room and found Captain McGregor sitting in an armchair, gazing contemplatively at the fire as he nursed a tumbler of whisky in his hand.
The captain had the finely honed senses of a soldier; he turned the moment Ailsa approached the doorway. His features were as soft as she’d ever seen them as he beckoned her in.
“Ah, my lady,” he said. “Do come in, if it pleases ye.”
Her nose wrinkled at the sound of the title before she could think better of it, but Captain McGregor only laughed.
“Come, have a dram,” he encouraged, already sounding less formal. “I daresay ye earned it, these past days.” He gestured to where a decanter sat with some glasses, then to the chair opposite. “It will help ye sleep,” he added by way of additional enticement.
