Lowri struggled to hide her contempt. ‘He is quite respectable and well-bred, rich-looking and softly spoken.’
He’s an arrogant, fussy prig with a cold heart.
‘Is he handsome?’
Absolutely not. You will hate him on sight.
Lowri bit her lip and choked down the truth. Briony was too much of a child to hear it. ‘He is not ill-favoured in looks. He is a little older than I thought, but presentable enough.’
‘Is he kind?’
‘I cannot speak to that.’
‘But you must speak to it. I have to know if he is kind, because, you see, Flint is not.’ Briony’s wide eyes darted about, fearful, looking for Butcher. ‘Forgive my insolence just now. I could not say anything in front of Flint. I must go from this place. He has…well, he is rough and cruel.’
‘What has he done, Briony?’
Tears filled her big blue eyes, and her expression said it all. ‘He forced me into it. I was not ready, I said. But he just…oh, Lowri, it hurt so much. I should never have left you and Cullen. I met Flint on the beach, and he was so handsome, so charming. I admit I have been a fool to go away with him, but I never expected that horrible act.’ She trailed off, swallowing hard, her chest fluttering like the wings of a bird caught in a cage. ‘What happens between a man and a woman is unspeakable. I cannot do it again, ever.’
Lowri took hold of her hands. ‘If you wed either Butcher or Donald, you will have to.’
‘Wed. To Flint! Now that devil has had me, I don’t think he will want to wed me.’
‘He is after your fortune. Of course, he will.’
Briony’s hands curled into tight fists. She put both knuckles to her forehead, pressing hard, as if her skull were a nut to crack. ‘I have made a terrible mistake. I must make amends.’ She paced, staring out to sea and muttering to herself. Lowri feared she had lost her wits.
‘I can do this, put this right. I will meet Donald and make him take me away on the next tide before Flint comes back. But first, I must get out of this infernal thing,’ she cried, rushing off while tearing at the horrid red dress.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Donald Drummond paced back and forth in the inn’s upper room, an irritating mix of impatience and apprehension. He wrung his soft, white hands together, as if he were kneading dough. The whispers of the innkeeper’s daughters drifted in. They were as perplexed by the haughty stranger as Cullen, and were gossiping and giggling just outside the door. Larne got very few visitors of Donald’s ilk, so Cullen couldn’t blame them.
He could almost sympathise with the man’s situation. ‘It is no small thing to be tying yourself forever to a young woman you have never met,’ he said.
‘I have no concern about my bride being deficient. I am told she is the epitome of grace and beauty.’
‘You’ve never met Briony. Do I have that right?
‘You do. But I have reliable reports on her looks and good breeding.’
Drummond made Briony sound like a brood mare. Would he want to check her teeth when he met her?
‘It is a mutually beneficial arrangement,’ continued the man.
‘Should marriage not be about the coming together of two souls who can get along?’
Drummond made a sound between a snort and a laugh. ‘For peasants, maybe. But this marriage is the fulfilment of a promise to an old friend, a matter of honour. I am taking Briony in marriage because her father knew he would be consumed by hisaffliction of the lungs. He did not want the lady to be alone and unprotected in this world.’
‘Nor did he want her fortune to be alone and unprotected,’ said Cullen steadily.
Drummond tutted and shook his head. ‘Why am I discussing this with you? What can you know of honour and fidelity? You clearly married that dark one because she is a beauty. I suspect it had nothing to do with her soul. And lust fades, my friend.’
‘I’m not your friend,’ said Cullen, growing weary of Drummond’s condescension. ‘Are you more worried about what Briony will think of you, or what you will think of her?’
Drummond just rolled his eyes and turned away. So, the latter. This man did not care if his bride wanted him.
‘Where has Murphy got to with my things?’ whined Donald, a short while later. ‘What is taking the blasted man so long to haul up a chest?’ He brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his impeccable jacket, an action betraying a certain nervousness about meeting his bride. Or it could be because he was just astoundingly vain for one so unblessed in looks.
