‘It seems you ail, Sir,’ said Bryce evenly.
‘Not so gravely that I cannot put you in your place. And aye, I ail. They don’t call it consumption for nothing. I feel as though my lungs are being munched on by rabid dogs. You like that, don’t you? Revelling in my agony.’ He leapt forward, fists bunched as if to pounce on Bryce, who stood his ground. ‘Don’t fash. I do not think you can catch consumption so easily by breathing my air. It takes years of rough living to get this malady, not a life of grand ballrooms and cosy hearths and dining on pheasant, quails’ eggs and brandy.
‘Consumption is a terrible, suffocating death,’ said Bryce. ‘It would seem God has given you a just reward for all the murder and thievery you have committed.’
‘Maybe. But I will not go down to my enemies without a fight.’
‘I am not your enemy.’
‘Aye, you are. But you want my daughter, so you are prepared to swallow your pride and suffer an unholy relation souring your family well. More fool you. Now, we have said all we need to say. I despise you, and you despise me, and I doubt we shall ever meet again. But know this. Maren is a McEwen of strong stock and an ancient and once-proud lineage. Cross her, and you will rue the day, for I will come back and haunt your fancy castle and hound you to your grave if you ever do her harm.’
Bryce did not return fire, but it took every ounce of his self-control to master his anger. He felt Colm McEwen’s words were meant for Maren, not him.
‘Come, Maren. We are done here,’ growled Bryce, beckoning her with a flick of his hand and stalking away before the urge to smash the man’s face to pulp grew too strong.
Maren began to follow but was brought up by her father’s hand clutching her arm. If they had final words for each other, he would not eavesdrop, so Bryce walked out of earshot and watched the churning ocean in the bleakest of moods. When he felt a soft hand on his arm, he took Maren’s hand and led her from her father’s manor. The look in her eyes surprised and dismayed him.
***
It took two days to return to Inverness. First, they had to haggle an old and plodding nag from a farmer in Durness and then make slow progress for miles until they reached Thurso. From there, they took a small fishing vessel down the coast to Inverness.
Bryce was unusually quiet on the way home. He said little but held Maren close while they slept out in the open the first night, huddled together under his plaid. Maren wanted to make love to him in the grass, under the stars, for she was so grateful for his defending her to her father. But Bryce seemed disinclined to do so, and when she gave him a passionate kiss and slid her hand down to his manhood, he pushed her off.
‘You need to get some rest, lass, as do I. It has been a trying few days.’
There was no mistaking his turmoil of torn loyalties. Bryce had wanted to run her father through for his crimes but had stayed his hand on her account. Honour compelled him to take vengeance for the wrongs done to his clan and others, and it was a very great sacrifice on his part to refrain. Maren dared not press him on what burdened his mind in case he said he was done with her and all her terrible associations. She had learnt long ago not to prod at a pensive man.
As the ship sailed up the Moray Firth, they stood hand in hand at its prow.
‘What did your father say to you when we left?’ said Bryce out of the blue.
She stared up into his eyes, so blue-green, so penetrating. ‘Nothing of importance.’
‘That is not true, is it?’ he said softly.
‘You still don’t trust me, Bryce.’
‘It is not that I don’t trust you. I think you always keep part of yourself hidden in the shadows.’
‘Oh, Bryce. I just hate that I must drag my past along behind me in life, like an anchor tying me down.’
‘If you continue to think that I despise you for your past, which I do not, then we will never truly know each other, lass.’ He stroked his thumb down her cheek. ‘I would know all of you, the beautiful and the ugly.’
Maren looked at the grey water arching over the ship’s prow. ‘Alright. I will tell you what my father said. ‘Twas not words of love or affection. He said, ‘You think you are too good for your birthright now, don’t you? You will forget who you are and where you come from, but my deeds will endure long after I am gone, and you will always have my blood in your veins. There is no escaping it.’
‘And what did you say to that?’
‘I said that his manor would soon be claimed by the wind and sea and crumble to dust. And I said that I would never forget where I came from, and whenever I remember my miserable father, I will cross myself against the Devil and thank God that I escaped to a good man who loves me and makes me happy.’
Her words seemed to please Bryce, for he favoured her with a smile and kissed her forehead.
‘Yet still, you shed a tear at your parting. I saw how you tried to hide it.’
‘I cannot explain why I wanted to cry. I have no love for that monster of a man, but I suppose I was lamenting what he could have been as a father, what I was cheated out of. I see you with your father, and I envy you, Bryce. Jasper’s love for you is there in his eyes whenever he looks your way.’
‘Do not speak of my father, nor his pride in me, Maren.’
‘Why?’
