Almost.
But that would break his own first rule.
“I tell ye this now,” he said instead, voice rougher than he liked. “Because I will nae have ye come to me hall and expectotherwise. Whatever else we are, whatever else we become, there will be nay child between us.”
Her hands tightened in her lap. For a moment, he wondered if she would ask why in spite of his rule, push at the sore place he had just bared.
She did not. She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Thank ye for telling me before I built dreams upon sand.”
Guilt pricked, sharp and unexpected. “If that is something ye can nae accept…”
“What choice do I have?” she asked quietly. “The vows are already spoken. The clans are already watching.”
He flinched inwardly at that truth. “Even so.”
She lifted her chin. There was hurt in her eyes, but there was resolve too. “I told ye in the yard I would do me duty. That has nae changed. I will perform the tasks ye set. I will nae speak of what ye have forbidden. I will accept that there will be nay babe in me arms because of ye.”
The last words had a raw edge that dug under his skin.
“But,” she added, and there was steel in it now, clear and fine, “I have a rule of me own.”
He had expected meekness. Compliance. He should have known better. “Which is?”
“That ye treat me as an equal,” she said. “Nae a child. Nae a decoration. Nae a shield to be moved about while ye play at war. If I am to stand as Lady of McNeill, then I will stand beside ye, nae two paces behind. I will nae be kept from the truth that concerns me life and the lives of those under our care.”
He stared at her.
The fire crackled. Her cheeks were flushed, but her gaze did not waver.
“Ye ask a great deal,” he said slowly.
“Do I?” she replied. “I am nae asking for love. Ye have made nay promises of that. I am asking for honesty and respect. For yer trust in me so that I may be useful. To bear some of the weight ye and me braither seem determined to shoulder alone.”
He thought of Frederick, worn and proud. He thought of himself, younger and burning with the desire to decide everything, to fix everything, only to watch it fall apart in blood.
He had not had an equal then. Only men older who doubted him, boys younger who followed blindly. No one who looked him in the eye and said,Let me carry part.
He found her gaze again. For a long moment, they simply looked at each other, flames reflected in hazel and green.
“Very well,” he said at last. His voice felt different in his own ears, as if shaped by something softer and harder at once. “I will give ye truth where I can. I will nae keep ye from matters that touch yer duties or yer safety. I will treat ye as Lady of McNeill, in name and in fact.”
The tension in her shoulders loosened a fraction. “Then we have an accord.”
“Aye,” he said. “We do.”
Their eyes caught once more, some thin thread pulling taut between them. Not affection. Not yet. But recognition. Two people suddenly aware that they were not just bound by parchment and vows, but by choice as well. And mutual respect.
It was a strange foundation for a marriage, but it was more than he had expected to have with any woman, let alone one he had known barely two days.
The fire popped, sending a small shower of sparks up the chimney. She glanced toward it, then back to him, as if reluctant to let the moment break.
“We should sleep,” he said, more brusquely than he intended.
Her cheeks pinked. “Aye. Of course.”
He rose, grateful for the excuse to move. As he crossed to the room, he felt her gaze on his back, warm and questioning.
There was only one bed. He had known that.
