Mary looked impossibly forlorn. There was something so hopeless in her gaze, it touched a part of Flora still tender from her mother’s death. She knew such sadness. Knew what it was like to feel lost. Had she been the cause of this poor girl’s grief?
She moved across the room and knelt beside her.
“Mary,” Flora said gently, not wanting to startle her. “What is it, child? What is wrong?”
Mary flinched. She turned, her eyes red and stark. “I’m not a child.”
Realizing that she’d unwittingly hit on a tender subject, Flora hastened to correct the error. “Of course you’re not. Forgive me. But what has happened to make you so sad? Is it your brother?”
Mary nodded, and Flora felt a sharp stab of guilt. Itwasher fault. “I’m sorry, I never should have involved you. Everything will be fine, you’ll see. I’ll tell him it was all my fault.”
Mary looked at her, obviously confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Why, the swords, of course.” Flora blushed. “I assume your brother was angry with you for my wee jest with the fulmar oil. But, truly, I do not think he is mad any longer.”
Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. Mary shook her head. “I wish it were the swords—” She sank her face into her hands. “If only it were the swords.”
Flora was at a loss to see Mary like this. She didn’t know what to do, having had little practical experience with sisters. She hesitated only a moment before gathering the poor weeping girl in her arms. Stroking her silky head, Flora whispered soothing words until her shoulders no longer shook and the tears had at last run dry.
When Mary had calmed down enough to speak, Flora said, “Tell me what he has said to make you so upset.”
She watched as Mary struggled with the words, trying not to dissolve into tears again. “It’s Allan.”
Flora cursed, realizing at once what had happened. Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one to notice Mary’s tender feelings for her brother’s captain. “Let me guess. Your brother has discouraged your feelings for his captain.”
Mary’s face crumpled. “It’s worse than that. He’s forbidden Allan from speaking with me in private. Making it clear that he would not permit a match between us.”
“But why? Allan is the captain of his castle, one of his guardsmen, and a chieftain in his own right.”
Mary lowered her gaze. “My brother has other plans for me.”
Bigger plans. Flora wondered what he intended. A match between Mary and Allan, although not a good one, was not a bad one, either. From the look of this place, she’d wager that the girl didn’t have much of a tocher. “Well, surely he will take your feelings into account. Perhaps he can be persuaded to change his mind?”
Mary shook her head. “You don’t know my brother. He’s determined. Once he’s made a decision, nothing could turn him from his course. He’s been like that since he was a lad. He’ll never change his mind.”
Flora could barely contain the sudden eruption of anger. This was precisely the situation she’d fought against her whole life. “Are you saying he would force you into a marriage you do not want?” She didn’t want to believe that the man she’d unwittingly grown to admire could be so callous.
He’s a Highlander.
“It’s not like that. He’s only doing what he thinks is best for the clan. He wouldn’t need to force me. I could not refuse him my duty. I just wish—” Her voice hitched, and a solitary tear slid down her cheek. “I just wish circumstances could be different.”
Flora couldn’t believe Mary would defend him. Of course, this sweet, good-natured child would do his bidding. Her “duty,” as she called it. Mary would never think to defy her brother. But Flora would. In a heartbeat. She’d seen the alternative. Doing your “duty” for a woman all too often meant a future of suffering and sadness. If Mary had a chance at happiness, she needed to take it.
“Could your brother John help?”
With her arm still slung around Mary’s shoulder, Flora could feel her stiffen. “No.” She gazed at Flora with something akin to guilt in her eyes. “You’ve been so kind.”
“It’s not your fault your brother abducted me.”
“Don’t blame him too harshly. Lachlan had no choice.”
Flora’s expression hardened. “There is always a choice.” She took Mary’s hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “Do not despair, Mary. I will speak to him. I’m sure I can knock some sense into him.”
Her words were prophetic, but not in the manner she intended. Instead, it was she who was knocked senseless.
After making sure that Mary had eaten some food, Flora set about fulfilling her promise. She knew from the time of day that the laird would be seeing to his men’s battle skills on the practice yard. She’d seen the swirl of dust and heard the clatter of swords often enough in the past week but had purposely stayed clear of the half-naked men wielding their weapons of death—perhaps subconsciously trying to avoid a visual affirmation of her mother’s warnings.
They’re primitive, brutal men who are happy only when they are at war.
