But now reality buffeted her in the face, waking her from her foolish dreams and reminding her she’d never truly been the free-spirited Carenza Hew adored.From the beginning, she’d been carved into the perfect wooden effigy of the daughter of Dunlop.Beneath her velvet gown, she’d always worn the iron shackles of her station.She’d always borne the terrible weight of the clan on her shoulders.And she always would.
She sniffed back her tears and wiped the tracks from her cheeks.“I’ll need a mo—”
“O’ course.”He turned to go, then returned to lean in close.“Would ye like me to break the news to him?”
She hesitated.His offer was tempting.
Hew would not take the news well.He’d likely explode.Bellow out in anger and fury.Rage against the king’s decree.
Desperation would drive him to do something far more dangerous.He’d look for a way to gainsay the document his own laird had signed.Perhaps challenge the king himself.
Carenza couldn’t let that happen.She and Hew had never been masters of their own fate.They’d denied it for weeks now.Believed they could make their own happily ever after.
But somewhere deep inside, she’d known all along it was just a fantasy.Kings played at chess, and nobles were merely their pawns.She’d only imagined it could be otherwise.
It was cowardly not to tell Hew herself.He deserved to hear the truth from her lips.Even if that truth was but a veiled reflection of what she truly felt.
“Nay, I’ll tell him,” she decided.
She swallowed down the last of her tears and gathered her courage.This would be the most demanding performance she ever pulled off.But everything depended upon it.The fate of her clan.The fate of Rivenloch.And the good will of the king.
Her heart caught once—when she saw Hew laughing and chatting by the fire with her clansmen.He looked so natural with them, they might have been his brothers.
How cold the hearth of Dunlop would be without the Viking warrior of Rivenloch.
She clutched the rolled parchment in her hands.
He glanced at it once when she came up, but said nothing.
It took all her will to maintain a calm expression.But she knew she had to be convincing.With a nod of her head, she beckoned him to follow her.She led him to the quiet alcove at the entrance of the great hall.
“Well?”he asked, his eyes twinkling as he arched a brow at the scroll.
Her heart plunged even farther into the miserable mire.She couldn’t look him in the eyes.Not when she knew she was about to break his heart.
“We knew this day would come,” she said, twisting the scroll in her hands.“We always said our fate was not our own.Isn’t that right?”
She glanced up long enough to see a scowl furrow his brow.
“What has Malcolm done?”he growled.
She had to tame Hew’s ire before it erupted.
“He’s done what is his right to do,” she said with a detachment she didn’t feel.“He’s chosen a husband for me.”
Hew went absolutely silent.
The pulse in her ears was deafening.And her own flippant words sounded as cheap and meaningless as the jangling of a beggar’s bell in a thunderstorm.
“But I want ye to know I’ve truly enjoyed our time together,” she said.“I consider ye a cherished friend.And I will always—”
Hew snatched the scroll out of her hands.
The hammer blow to his heart had not yet landed.He was still numb.Or perhaps he had no heart left to break.
All he felt at this moment was fury as he frowned down at the document.
Bloody hell.Who did the English-loving King Malcolm think he was crossing?
