‘No.’
The emptiness of the word and his stern tone chilled Maren and birthed defiance. ‘I won’t do it,’ she snarled.
‘Oh, yes, you will, my sweet. I’ve come this far, and I’m not turning back now. And remember, I saved your life. So don’t tell me you’ve not the courage, for I know you are brave, Maren.’
She was a fool to like him if he was spiteful enough to bring that up. Maren bridled. ‘Don’t forget I saved you too, Bryce, back on the road with those redcoats.’
‘Happen you did. But I’m afraid I hold your fate in my hands, Maren.’ He took a deep breath. ‘You were freed on certain terms, lass.’
‘What terms?’
‘On the condition that I was responsible for you and that you were to remain with me. Laird MacKellar insisted on it. If you run, I can have you dragged back to face judgement and put on the next ship to the colonies. If the English find out you are free, you will be in danger of retribution. Who knows what that redcoat said about you?’
‘But….’
‘We made a bargain. So you have no choice but to come with me and hold up your end of it.’
All the concern and the seductive softness had gone from Bryce’s demeanour. Now there was just cold, hard determination in its place.
‘We have an agreement, Maren, and I mean to hold you to it, so there’ll be no turning and running. Too late for that.’
Anger choked her. ‘I owe you nothing.’
‘You owe me your freedom, Maren.’
Tears threatened, but she gulped them back down. ‘And if I run, will you hunt me down and throw me back in prison?’
‘You won’t run, Maren.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you know what’s good for you, and you are no coward. You can face what lies through these gates and triumph. Just think of marriage to me as a kind of benevolent slavery, only with more comfort, better food, and the added pleasure of my company.’
‘A plantation in the Indies is beginning to look like a much better prospect,’ she said bitterly.
Her reluctance had no effect on Bryce, who spurred his horse onward. Maren considered the prospect of returning to Balloch and the wrath of the redcoats. The alternative was Lawson’s offer to become his mistress or to end up walking the streets alone and starving. She could not go back to the Groggy Mare. Her bridges were well and truly burnt there since she had spattered redcoat blood all over its floor. After a moment’s hesitation, Maren sighed and followed her wretched captor.
Bryce watched Maren dismount through narrowed eyes, looking handsome and smug in the sunshine. Once she had smoothed her skirts, he grabbed her hand. His grip was tight, to the point of hurting. Perhaps his calm demeanour belied some trepidation on his part. Maybe it was not she who lacked courage.
Maren was swallowed up by Penhallion as though it were some great beast chewing on her little bones. She could barely take in its echoing oak-panelled corridors and thick mullioned windows before they stopped outside impressive double doors. Muffled voices came from within.
‘Here we are - the great hall of Penhallion. Come and meet my father,’ said Bryce.
Maren pulled on Bryce’s hand. ‘There are lots of people.’
‘Ah, and I recognise that voice. I do believe that is Fergal McMullan’s booming chatter.’
‘We cannot just march in and announce ourselves to your father. Let us wait somewhere quiet until whatever his name is, has gone.’
‘Not a chance. I am going to enjoy this.’
‘Well, I am not. Bryce, please I….’
Before Maren could compose herself, Bryce dragged her forwards and burst through the doors into the hall. They were confronted by a tall, elegant gentleman standing before the hearth. He had Bryce’s striking sea-blue eyes, and Maren immediately took him for the father. A heavy-set man stood before him with red cheeks, and together, they brought to mind a pig and a thoroughbred stallion.
To Maren’s surprise, there was also a lass possessed of painfully delicate beauty. She was the picture of ladylike grace, her hands folded in her lap, hair neat and smooth, and her figure trim and pert. She regarded them both with a bland expression, smooth and shiny, like the surface of a pond. Suddenly, Maren felt a fool in her fancy, flouncy dress. The lass’s wide, calm eyes fixed on Bryce as though Maren were invisible. But she said nothing and did not rise from her seat before the hearth.
‘Bryce,’ exclaimed the tall man. ‘Good God, son. Where the blazes have you been?’
