Love. Love wasn’t part of the marriage equation. It was the same for Mary as it would be for him. That was the way of it. “Shethinksshe loves him,” he said. “But Mary is young. With the romantic notions of a girl.”
He started to turn away, indicating that he was finished with the conversation, but she grabbed his arm. Her tiny fingers pressed into the thin linen of his damp shirt. The soft, imploring touch sent waves of heat rippling through him. She was ardent in her beliefs, and he wrestled with the strange urge to please her, though in this, he knew he could not.
“I think you are wrong,” she said flatly. “Mary truly cares for him. You must have seen how she looks at him.” He had, which was why he’d put a stop to it. “Talk to her. Not as a chief, but as her brother.”
She was talking nonsense. “I’m both. But it is the chief who must make the decision for the clan.”
“But she needs a brother. I know you care for your sisters, but you act more like their father than their brother.” A wry smile twisted her lips. “It’s something I’m familiar with. Take the time now to get to know them, before you come to regret it.”
She was wrong. He was very close to his sisters. Not as close as they once were, perhaps, but not by his choice. “I’ve nothing to regret.”
“Not yet. Don’t force her into an unhappy marriage,” she implored, her eyes soft and pleading. “I’ve seen what it can do.”
“My sister isn’t your mother, Flora.”
“Are you so sure? My mother was once a biddable girl who did her duty, and look what it got her—four husbands with varying degrees of cruelty and a lifetime of unhappiness.” He could hear the bitterness and pain in her voice. Dropping her hand, she looked away from him, as if trying to hide the tumult of emotion. But it didn’t work. He could see the toll her mother’s death had taken in the stiff carriage of her shoulders. Here, on the windswept beach, with the harsh sea crashing behind her and the tower keep standing guard like a lone sentinel across a desolate land, she looked unbearably alone. Her refined beauty was a stark contrast to the rugged landscape of the Highlands. A delicate white rose among the hearty Highland heather. A sharp pang pricked his chest.She didn’t belong here.
Would this harsh life destroy her, too?No,he tried to convince himself. Flora was strong.
“What was she like?” he asked quietly.
Flora reached down to pick up a flat stone and tossed it across the water, just as the wave pulled back flat from the shore. She managed two skips before it sank sharply into the retreating water. It was something his sisters might do. And hinted of a carefree girl not unaccustomed to the sea. A remnant of her past from Dunvegan, perhaps?
“Sweet,” she said finally. “Gentle. Loving. But always shadowed by sadness.” She paused to look at him. “She was all I had.” The look of misery on her face hit him hard. She glanced back to the water. “When I was young, I used to spend hours devising ways of making her laugh. Little plays, dances, funny costumes. Anything to make her smile.” A wistful look transcended her face. Her skin was flawless. Not a single freckle to mar the ivory perfection. He remembered how soft it was under his fingertips.
Unaware of his scrutiny, she continued. “I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world when she smiled. And when she laughed, I would hear echoes of the happy girl she’d been before she was locked away. My mother was like a caged bird who’d forgotten how to sing. She was beautiful and delicate, a gentle creature who was tossed into a world that was utterly foreign to her.”
“You mean the Highlands?”
Flora nodded. “Yes, but it was more than that. Her husbands were much older and harsh, forbidding men constantly waging war, who didn’t know what to do with a young girl accustomed to gentler pursuits. Her father and brothers should have known better. But she trusted blindly. Trusted that doing her duty was the right thing. But it wasn’t. Not for her. She was never allowed to make decisions for herself. She resented her every move being controlled, and resented the domineering men she was married to. Eventually they broke her.”
He could understand why Janet Campbell had wanted a different life for her daughter. But not all men were like her husbands.
“I know something of the men she was married to.” The stories of Hector’s father were legendary. He was a revered chief, but unquestionably a brutal one. Much like his son.
“You probably know more than I do,” she said wryly. “My father was her last husband, and I don’t remember him much—except that he seemed ancient and remote. My mother never talked in specifics about the men she was married to, but they left a lasting impression on me. I saw what they did to her. So you see what a forced marriage can bring? Do you really want your sister consigned to such a fate?”
“Of course not. Nor do I think she will be. Not all arranged marriages end up the way of your mother’s. My parents were happy enough. And unlike your mother, my sister was raised in the Highlands, this is her home. Besides, the man I have chosen for her is a good man. But I will not force her. If she does not wish to marry him, there are others.”
“But shelovesAllan.” Her expression turned fierce. “If I loved a man, nothing could force me to marry someone else.”
Her words chilled him to the bone. The thought of her so passionate about another man made his insides twist. Even though he knew there was nothing to worry about. Nothing would stand in the way of their marriage.
He met her gaze. “I’ve made my decision.”
“And your decisions are always right?”
“They are the only ones that matter,” he snapped, not liking the scorn he heard in her voice. That was what he did. As chief, he made decisions that had broad ramifications for hundreds of people. He had to be decisive and confident. A leader. A man whom men would willingly die for. He damn well better trust himself to be right.
And Flora would have to learn that as well. She seemed to have no understanding of duty and responsibility—or of how difficult it could be to make the hard decisions. Her impulsive decision to take her marriage into her own hands and elope was proof enough of that.
She took a step closer to him. The wind whipped through her hair, sending silky tendrils streaming in wild abandon across her face. “Is there nothing that will change your mind?” she asked.
The world shifted. Day suddenly turned to night. Her innocent plea played tricks on his mind, on the desires of his body, taunting his tightly wrought control. Lust fired his blood. The subtle floral scent of her rose up to trap him in its hypnotic embrace. He couldn’t move. Every instinct clamored to gather her in his arms and take what she offered. It was there between them, crackling with erotic promise.
He knew how good it would be.
God, he was tempted. He wanted to kiss her so badly, it hurt. His fists clenched at his sides as her lips parted. Soft and achingly sweet. Beckoning. Only inches away. His body drummed with need. The urge was so strong, he could almost taste her.
