‘He’s no better nor worse than most men, and I have told you, I’ll not hear a word against Cullen. He has a little of the villain in him, but his word is good to those he cares about.’
‘He does not care about me.’
Connie gave her a hard look. ‘Well, I cannot speak for his heart, but he is loyal to his friends, is what I mean.’
Homesickness made Lowri blurt out, ‘Marriage is not easy. I am not used to serving a man, and I rail against it. And I am sharing the bed of a stranger. I don’t know much about Cullen at all.’
‘Most brides do not know their husbands much before the wedding night. Some marry for safety, or money or protection. Some marry on their father’s order, their brother’s. Women get very little choice in life. You should thank God you got a man who does not beat you and force himself on you every night.’
‘But surely, we can hope for more than that?’
‘Lowri, you are no soft lass to be bullied by a man. I can tell just by looking at you. Stick up for yourself. And if your husbandis a stranger, then get to know him before you judge him. And don’t forget, Cullen knows nothing of you, save that you are bonnie and hard to please, nor will he, unless you open your heart, lass.’
‘Hard to please? What has he said?’
‘Nothing.’
Connie was fiercely loyal to Cullen, so Lowri did not press her. ‘Forgive me. I am in an ill temper with the world.’
‘Ah, I’m sorry to hear that, lass. ‘Tis disappointing when blood comes instead of a bairn. There’s some say your womb has to quicken to catch a bairn. If you’re not enjoying your husband, that might be the cause, either that, or you are barren, like me.’
‘Forgive me, Connie. I did not mean…’
‘Ah, do not fash. I have grown used to it, and Gormal might not look much, but I still enjoy trying with him,’ she said with a smile.
Lowri’s bad mood deepened. She’d been hurtful to kind-hearted Connie, and if she was actually barren, how could she ever free her friends?
Connie’s expression softened from exasperation to concern. ‘Will you take some advice, lass? Go to the faerie stone on the coastal path, down at Midge Beach. ‘Tis a lump of stone with carvings in it - old pagan symbols. Say a prayer on a full moon, and your womb will quicken, or so folks say.’
Lowri’s guts twisted in pain, and after a while, she said, ‘I am not good company today, Connie. I think I will take a walk and find that stone.’
Once she had taken her leave, Lowri followed the path along the hedgerows and across the fields to the sea. She found thestone, which had a little hollow carved into it. Someone had left flowers there. Was it an offering to the gods of fertility, a pagan rite carried out by some desperate woman? The flowers had long since dried, and when Lowri tried to pick them up, they turned to dust under her fingertips and blew away in the wind.
Homesickness overwhelmed her as she looked across the bright water towards Scotland. It was all hopeless, this arrangement with Cullen, doomed to crash on the rocks of their mutual distrust. Yet she had to own that his home was beautiful, the black cliffs stark against the blue of the ocean. And everything was bursting with new life. In the distance were seals, hauled up on sandbanks, their pups vivid against the dark rocks in their white coats. Lowri sat amid swathes of wildflowers, watching lapwings fluttering by as they gathered insects for their chicks. Time passed her by as she sat, frozen, while the sea breeze plucked at her hair. Her mind wandered back to Scotland and the life she had sacrificed for the sake of pride - a life of freedom she had never fully appreciated.
Lowri glanced along the path and scrambled to her feet. A man was walking towards her, an ominous black silhouette against the sky. He quickened his pace when she took to her feet. He was big, dark, and he was too close for her to outrun him. Lowri cursed her lack of vigilance and put her hand in her pocket, sliding her fingers around the grip of the little pistol Cullen had given her.
‘What providence!’ the man declared, sweeping into a low bow with a flourish. ‘I decided to take a walk on this rare day and then, to stumble across such beauty. Might a humble soul beg your name?’
There was nothing humble about him.
‘No, he may not,’ she replied.
He smiled, and Lowri’s knees trembled, and it wasn’t through fear. The stranger was undoubtedly the most handsome man she had ever encountered. He was tall, well over six feet, and broad-shouldered, heavily muscled. He was finely dressed, all in black, which matched his flashing dark eyes and jet hair, tied back from his face. His hands bore several gold rings, which must have cost a king’s ransom. Oh, and that face was beautiful, all hooded eyes, swarthy complexion and devilish eyes, flashing charm and amusement. His smile broadened as her eyes licked over him.
‘Do you wish to know my name?’ he said. ‘I’d wager you do.’
‘Not in the least.’
‘Ah, such a pity, for we could be friends.’ He looked out to sea and then back at her and smiled again, but this time it did not quite reach his eyes. Every instinct in Lowri’s body screamed at her to run, and a prickle of fear crept up her spine.
‘You should show respect to your king.’
‘You don’t look much like a king to me.’
‘Aye, well, I am.’
‘King of what?’ she snapped.
