Chapter Three
Laila was in her chambers, pacing anxiously as she kept watch out of her window. The lights in the yard dwindled in the darkness beneath her, and the rain had lessened but still trickled down. The raindrops streaked down the glass before her, and the sound of pattering filled the small stone room.
She was full of dread and anxiety, her stomach twisting around time and time again as she moved from one window to the other, fidgeting with her hands and wringing them together. Her eyes were red from the tears she had shed, but she was resolved not to continue crying. She was stronger than that, and she would show the world as much.
She found herself in a very difficult position. Laila knew that one day she would be married. Often, she had entertained ideas of running off to France or Italy, somewhere she could be her own woman, but still, the reality of marriage had always been present. She did not even resent the general idea. There was something quietly appealing about a man to call her husband, about a hall to call her own, even about children.
But Lord Hamilton? He was the most despicable of them all, horribly ugly and near sixty years old, with a torturous temper to match. Everyone knew the stories of his victims, of the commonfolk he hung for trivial offenses—such as being too poor to pay their rents—of his insatiable appetite for women and his general drunkenness. She had heard it said that the King would have arrested him long ago if Hamilton didn’t hold so many purse strings, and thus his behavior was tolerated. He was scum, she rightly thought, and she would not be marrying him.
Yet, what else was there? If those were her father’s wishes, then she had no hope of finding a more suitable and more palatable match. His consent was required before any priest of the realm would conduct a ceremony, and what suitor would dare to cross the powerful Lord Hamilton? Not that she had any. Living in the far Northern reaches of the Kingdom, it had been some time since she had been graced with any such visitors.
After running from the hall, she had fled to the stables, where she and her brothers had argued about the matter. Laila clicked her tongue in frustration as she recalled the conversation and Matthew’s stubborn attachment to tradition despite his self-proclaimed care for her.
“Laila!” Jacob had said, stumbling into the stables behind her.
“Leave me be, Jacob,” she said without turning around.
“I shall not,” Jacob insisted, stepping up behind her. “Come, we will speak with father more. We can come to some understanding.”
“There will be no reasoning with him,” Laila said, slowly turning around. “You saw how he was.”
“You mean drunk,” Matthew said, entering the stables, the rain still running off his thick hair. “There will be no changing his mind. If it is already agreed to, then Lord Hamilton will not change his mind either.”
“Then what can be done?” Jacob asked.
“Nothing,” Laila said softly, glancing back to her horse. “Such is the fate of a woman in our Kingdom. In our world. I should like to ask God why he never had a daughter to think of.”
“Come, it will not all be forever,” Matthew said. “He is old enough as it is; he will be dead sooner than later, then you will live in peace in your own land.”
“Another widowed prisoner of a dead man’s estate,” Laila spat. “That troubles me well enough, but the interim is far worse to entertain.”
“I do not like it either,” Matthew said, “but if this is the way things are to be, then nothing can be done.”
“Something can always be done,” Jacob insisted. The younger brother, he was always brimming with a bit more youthful vigor and resistance. “We will talk to him again in the morning.”
“That will not change anything, Jacob,” Laila said, folding her arms. “As we have already said.”
“But surely there must be something—”
“Come, Jacob,” Matthew said, cutting him off. “We must be realistic.”
Laila’s horse gave an anxious snort and pawed at the earth. Laila looked deep into his fierce eyes. They had ridden many miles together and shared many afternoons in the hills. Her brothers were her brothers, but her horse was her only friend. He gave another snort and shook his mane a bit as the rain kept clattering away against the walls and roof.Something can always be done.
“Then, I shall leave,” Laila had proclaimed. She smiled just a touch as she remembered how fierce she had felt in that brief moment.
“Leave?” Jacob asked.
“What?!” Matthew balked.
“You have heard me,” she shot back, “I shall leave.”
“Where would you go?” Jacob asked.
“You cannot leave!” Matthew protested. “Jacob, you cannot encourage her!”
“Why not?” Laila hissed at her brother. “Why is it you can ride off into the country whenever you see fit, but I cannot? Why is it you will marry some young lady when the time comes, but I must marry a cruel old man?”
“This is the way of things,” Matthew stammered. “I cannot change it. Now, we will find a way to persuade Father, I assure you, but you cannot simply ride off! It would be a betrayal of our house! Of tradition!”
