It was going to rain. Perfect. Meg Mackinnon pulled the woolarisaidh,the full-length plaid she’d wrapped around her for protection from the elements, more firmly around her head and once again cursed the necessity for this journey. They’d only just begun, and already she was dreading long days on horseback, navigating the treacherous tracks of the drovers. Even had her father been able to arrange one, a carriage would have been useless along these paths. The “road” from the Isle of Skye to Edinburgh was barely wide enough to ride two abreast. The cart that carried their belongings had proved to be enough of a burden on this rugged terrain.
Meg had at least a week of discomfort left before her. It would take them that long to reach Edinburgh, where she must begin in earnest her search for a husband.
She felt the familiar flutter of anxiety when she thought of all that was ahead of her. Her father had entrusted her to find the right man for her clan; she would not let him down. But the responsibility inherent in her decision weighed heavily on her. The pressure at times could be stifling. A wry smile touched the edges of her mouth. Perhaps a week of travel wasn’t long enough.
Yet part of her couldn’t wait until it was all over. It would be a relief to have the decision made and behind her. Of course, then she would bemarried.And that brought a whole new bundle of anxieties.
Meg sighed deeply, knowing she couldn’t have put off the trip to court any longer. Her father’s recent illness had made that very clear. Without her help, her brother’s place as chief would be challenged. The corbies had begun to circle the minute her father had taken to bed with a mysterious wasting ailment. Her once hale and hearty father, the powerful Chief of Mackinnon, had lost nearly two stone and was still too weak to travel.
Meg glanced over at her mother riding beside her and felt a pang of guilt for dragging her so far from home. It was difficult enough for Meg to leave her father and brother; she couldn’t imagine how her mother must feel.
“I’m sorry, Mother.”
Rosalind Mackinnon met her daughter’s gaze with puzzlement. “Whatever for, child?”
“For taking you away from Father at a time like this.” Meg bit her lip, feeling the need to explain. “I just couldn’t bring myself to accept—”
“Nonsense.” Her mother cut her off, a rare frown marring her beautiful face. “Your father is much better. A trip to court is exactly what I need. You know how I love all the latest fashions, the latest hairstyles,”—she smiled conspiratorially—“and all the latest gossip.”
Meg returned the smile. She knew her mother was only trying to make her feel better, though she did love going to court. Meg, on the other hand, hated it. She never fit in the way her mother did. Partially, it was her own fault. She did not share her mother’s enjoyment of frippery and gossip and was not very good at pretending otherwise. But this time, she swore she would try. For her mother’s sake, if not for her own.
“Besides, I’ll not have you marry a man you do not love,” her mother finished, anticipating the apology Meg had been about to make.
Meg shook her head. Rosalind Mackinnon was a hopeless romantic. But love was not the reason Meg had refused the offer of marriage from her father’s chieftain. The offer that, had she accepted it, would have dispensed with the need for this trip.
But Meg’s choice of a husband was dictated by unusual circumstances, and Thomas Mackinnon was not the right man for her. He was an able warrior, yes, but a hotheaded one. A man who reached for his sword first and thought later. Meg sought a strong warrior, but a controlled one. Equally important, she needed a clever negotiator to appease a king with growing authority over his recalcitrant Highland subjects. Tensions between the two ran high. The time of unfettered authority by the chiefs was waning. She must find a husband who could help lead her clan into the future.
But lack of political acumen was not the only reason she’d refused Thomas. She also sensed too much ambition in him. Ambition that would put her brother’s position as the next chief in jeopardy.
Above all, she needed a fiercely loyal man. A man she could trust.
Love was not part of the bargain. Meg was a realist. She admired the deep affection between her parents, perhaps even envied it, but recognized that such was not for her. Her duty was clear. Finding the right man for her clan came first. And second.
“I don’t expect to be as fortunate in marriage as you, Mother,” Meg said. “What you and Father have is rare.”
“And wonderful,” Rosalind finished. “Which is why I want it for you. Though just because I love your father does not mean I always agree with him. In this, he asks too much of you,” she said with a stubborn set to her pointed chin. As Meg had never heard her mother speak against her father, it took a moment to register what she was saying. Her mother shook her head. “You already spend far too much time with your nose in the books.”
“I enjoy my duties, Mother,” Meg said patiently.
But her mother continued on as if she hadn’t heard. Scrunching up her tiny nose, she shivered dramatically. “All those numbers. It makes my head swim just thinking about it.”
Meg covered her smile. Now that sounded more like her mother. She never could understand Meg’s fascination with mathematics or scholarly pursuits in general. Meg derived great pleasure from working with numbers. There was something satisfying in knowing there was only one right solution. And learning had always come easily for her. Unlike it was for her brother, she thought with a sharp pinch in her chest.
“And now he expects you to sacrifice your future happiness,” her mother lamented, as if a daughter marrying for the good of the clan were anything out of the ordinary. When, in fact, Meg choosing her own husband—albeit one who met certain criteria—was the oddity.
“Truly, Mother, it is no sacrifice. Father asks nothing of me that I don’t want myself. When I find the right man to stand beside Ian, he will be the right man for me.”
“If only it were that easy. But you cannot force your heart to follow your head.”
Maybe not, but she could try.
As if she knew what Meg was thinking, Rosalind said dismissively, “Don’t worry. Just leave it to me.”
Warning bells clanged. “Mother…you promised not to interfere.”
Her mother stared straight ahead with a far too innocent look on her face. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Margaret Mackinnon.”
Meg’s eyes narrowed; she was not fooled one bit. “You know exactly—”
