Evander sucked in a breath, and Ellie’s calm vanished like a candle flame in a downpour. It had been the wrong thing to say—the very worst thing that her mother could have said at that moment. Ellie tried to fight it, she really did, but the bitterness welled up once more so quickly that she feared it might take her over.
“So soon afteryelost my father as a direct result of yer own actions, ye mean,” she said. She didn’t yell, didn’t even snarl. She spoke calmly, detached. “Nay,Mother, I dinnae feel sympathy for ye. Nae anymore.”
“Ellie…” Evander pleaded.
Ellie shook her head. “This conversation is pointless. In a few days, I will leave for Clan Sinclair. I will travel with mybetrothed,” she spat, and I will find a new home. In a few weeks or months, we will be wed. Ye will attend the wedding, and ye will give me yer blessing. Nay one will suspect that ye sold ye only daughter so soon after yer husband's death. What I would like tae ken is for how much? What was the offer the ye could nae refuse tae be rid of me? What did ye gain, or was it all so that ye didnae have tae look upon me and ken I kent th’ truth about what ye did tae Da?”
“Heloise, please,” Lady MacAskill pleaded.
“Nay,” Ellie said, strong and calm. “All I ask of ye, Mother, is that ye dinnae ruin Van like ye ruined my father.”
Like ye ruined me.
Ellie let go of Evander’s hand and stood up. She looked her mother straight in the eye and said, “Give me one solid reason why I should go through with this marriage?”
“Because it is yer duty, daughter,” her mother replied.
The two women stared at each other for what felt to Ellie like an eternity. She did not want to, but she could not bear her own mother’s betrayal and broke first, looking away. She leaned over to kiss her brother on the forehead, then turned and left the room. As she made her way back to her chamber, she could not stop the flow of tears. She had been holding it in for too long. She did not cry because her mother had made the final choice for her—more that she knew that there had never been any choice in the first place.
* * *
Aidam wasn’t sure what to think about his uncle’s upcoming nuptials, and time was running out to do anything about it. Didn’t anyone else see how ludicrous this whole thing was? Didn’t anyone else care?
Ellie’s mother did not, Aidam knew. Aidam wasn’t exactly sure why, but since the death of Laird MacAskill, Ellie seemed to hate her mother; the tension between the two women was palpable. Yet, Ellie was still going to honor her mother’s decision and marry his uncle. It didn’t make any sense. Ellie was a lot of things, but helpless compliance was not part of her charms. It was one of the things he admired about her.
Aidam thought that kissing Ellie might have changed something. He desired her, yes, but his goal had been more about helping her realize how foolish she was acting in this engagement. And shehadresponded to him. So why would she still insist on the charade that she was the one who made the choice? Why was it that she was still so sure she could go ahead with it?
It wasn’t that Aidam didn’t love or respect his uncle. He did. The man had raised him as a son. But the idea of him being married to Heloise caused Aidam’s stomach to turn. He couldn’t put his finger on the exact reason he was so against it—but it waswrong.
Ellie wouldn’t talk to him. She wouldn’t even be in the sameroomas Aidam. He had to speak with his uncle. They were leaving in a few days, and Aidam had to stop it. He found the old man sitting in the dining room of the great hall.
“Uncle, do ye hae a moment tae speak with me?”
“Speak yer mind, lad,” Laird Sinclair said calmly. Aidam had spent time trying to work out how to approach the topic, and he still wasn’t sure that he’d found the right way. His uncle was a hard man to read, sometimes jovial and kind but could turn into a monster with a roll of the die. If Aidam approached the topic of the betrothal the wrong way, he could lose any hope of breaking through his uncle’s fierce façade. He took his time to parse his words carefully.
“My Laird—” he began before pausing.
“Spit it out, lad, we hae nay the whole day.”
It looked like he had to speak now whether he wanted to or not. “My Laird,” he said again. “I wanted to talk to ye about…well…may I be blunt?” Might as well attack the issue head-on.
“I wish ye would be,” Sinclair replied with a nod. “I feel like I’ve been awaiting yer frankness for several hours now.”
Aidam grimaced. “I dinnae understand yer betrothal, my Laird,” he said, pausing, examining his uncle’s face for a reaction, but he got none. Laird Sinclair continued to politely examine him as if waiting for something of import. Aidam pressed on. “I cannae wrap my head around why ye’d want to be married to a young lass, like Lady Heloise. She’s bonny, true. But what dae ye have in common? She has nae experience in running a keep, especially nae one as large as Sinclair. She’s nae experience in other matters—” He stopped, remembering their shared kiss. No experience in the bedroom did nothing to detract from her charms, yet, his uncle had no idea, or did he. Anger roiled in his stomach at the thought of his uncle with Heloise. He clenched his fists. It was best not to go on.
“Ye call me ‘My Laird.’ When did ye start referring to me as such? What happened to Uncle Lachlan?”
Aidam blinked. Had the man not listened to his concerns? Why would he be focused on a formality Aidam hadn’t even noticed he was using, rather than the issue of Heloise? Yet, Aidam couldn’t ignore the way he referred to his uncle had changed. Why was that?
It’s since this engagement business started. If I address him as uncle, then his marriage will make her Aunt Heloise—ludicrous.
“I…” How could he express that thought to the older man? It would make no sense.
Laird Sinclair shook his head. “Never mind. Tell me, nephew, why are ye so bothered by me engagement? Are ye nae happy that yer uncle is about to end his long period of loneliness at last?”
“Of course I dinnae want ye to be alone, Uncle,” Aidam replied. “Yet, I dinnae fathom yer choice. Lady Heloise is younger even than I am. She is barely out of short skirts and not much older than Jemina. How can ye view her as a proper companion?”
Laird Sinclair shrugged. “Why nae? Older men and younger women are wed all the time. I ken ye’re me heir just now, Aidam, but every man wants a son. God above kens that Jemina resents me for the poor father I’ve been. Perhaps taking a young wife will bless me with a boy bairn and give me another chance at all that.”
