“The ransom is high, lass. I cannae pay it all. Not now. ’Tis necessary to make a choice. My heir takes precedence.”
“But to leave her in that man’s hands for so long. Ye ken what could happen, if not by force then by seduction.”
“Aye, I ken,” Lachlan growled, the long day and trying decisions taking their toll on his patience. “I ken that he will bed her. She is a comely wee lass that many a man has ached for. Mayhaps he will even fill her belly with his bairn. I wonder how fair Rory will like that? There is naught I can do about it, Giorsal. Naught. So leave it be, for sweet Mary’s sake.
Leave me be. ’Tis done and cannae be changed. Aye,” he muttered, his gaze looking distant and unfocused, “it cannae be changed but mayhaps what was to be will be.”
Giorsal left confused and angry. Her father’s claim that his heir was more important in this instance did not ring true. She sought out her husband to complain even though she knew he could do little to change matters. Just as she found him, her attention was suddenly diverted for the Black Parlan himself strode into their camp.
She could only stare in awe at the tall, dark man flanked by four men who would have been equally impressive on their own but were overshadowed by the Black Parlan. Magnificent was a word that sprang quickly to mind. So did large and overpowering and Giorsal felt afraid for her little sister. Such a man could crush the small Aimil with no effort at all. When his obsidian gaze settled upon her, she shivered but not only with fear for Aimil. Even she, so newly awakened to the delights of the marriage bed, felt the man’s sensual draw. Giorsal doubted that, even if her strong-willed, young sister wanted to, Aimil could resist that pull for very long.
Recognizing Iain MacVern from one meeting at court a few years ago, Parlan greeted him with reserved cordiality. He noticed the look that came from the well-rounded blond woman’s eyes but did not respond with his usual calculated flirtation. With Aimil in his bed, he found that he had little interest in other women. He was doubly glad for that when she was introduced as Aimil’s sister Giorsal.
Lachlan appeared even as the pleasantries were ending and Parlan was about to ask for him. “What do ye want now?”
“I have come to invite ye and your family to dine at my table this eve,” Parlan replied quite pleasantly, unperturbed by Lachlan’s crossness.
“Will Aimil be there?” asked Giorsal, thinking that the man’s voice was as dangerous to a woman as his looks.
“Aye. Aimil isnae confined verra tightly. She has free access to all within the walls of Dubhglenn. Do ye join me or nae?”
“Aye, we will be there.” Lachlan then bid Parlan a curt farewell and strode back to his tent.
“The man is oppressed by many worries as ye ken weel,” Iain offered in apology for Lachlan’s rudeness. “He must be excused.”
“For this, aye.” Thinking of Aimil’s pain, Parlan’s expression hardened slightly. “For other things, nay, not until I ken the reasons.”
“What did he mean by that?” Giorsal asked after Parlan had left.
“I cannae be sure. I think he refers to Lachlan’s coldness to his daughter. Aimil may have revealed how it pains her.”
“He should think more on how he could hurt Aimil. She is such a wee lass and he is…he is…”
“Such a great lad?” Iain finished with a grin, which widened when Giorsal blushed.
“’Tisnae a matter of jest. ’Tisnae just his size I speak of either, but him. I mean, he is so much a man. Even I kenned it.”
“I noticed,” Iain drawled. “Dinnae scowl. I ken what ye mean but I think ye are as fooled as many by Aimil’s delicacy of looks. Aye, she is a wee lass and comely enough even for the likes of the Black Parlan. She is also made of steel. She can be as tough as Lachlan. The Black Parlan willnae find her bending to his will easily. Nay, nor petting his vanity as so many women have done.”
Although Parlan enjoyed the way Aimil did not quail before him, at the moment he was viewing her with a distinct lack of amusement. He saw her refusal to dine with her father as pigheadedness. Parlan did not feel that avoiding unpleasantness was the way to solve anything. Despite that, he did admire the way she met his growing annoyance squarely. Too few did.
“Ye will come down, lassie, even if I must drag ye down by the hair and tie ye to a seat.”
Aimil glared at him, unaware that she was doing anything unusual by not cowering before his displeasure. “Ye wouldnae dare.”
“Try me,” he purred.
She did not think that would be a very good idea but refused to go down without a fight. “I cannae sit before my family and act as if naught has changed. That is a lie too large for me to play out. Someone will say something that will set me to blushing and they will ken weel what has happened.”
“Ye worry over naught.” He started out of the door. “Ye best be at that table when the serving begins.”
She stuck her tongue out as the door shut behind him. It was an ill-timed gesture for he quickly reopened the door to look at her again, catching her childish response to his command. Hastily, she drew her face into the lines of sweet innocence, refusing to be embarrassed.
“Ye have ten minutes,” he growled, but lost his stern expression as soon as he was out of her sight. “Little witch,” he murmured, laughing as he started down to the hall where his guests were gathering.
Cross but resigned to her fate, Aimil finished getting ready. She still wore boy’s clothing but she had an extensive wardrobe of them. The red and black outfit she wore suited her very well she decided, smiling faintly over her touch of vanity. Brushing her hair and securing it with a red ribbon, she squared her slim shoulders and started toward the hall. She was determined not to reveal anything to anyone. If her family discovered that she was no longer a maid, it would not be from her. Taking a deep breath in a last effort to strengthen her resolve, she marched into the hall.
“She looks quite elegant,” murmured Iain as Aimil approached them.
