“I have agreed to yer marriage to Chief MacRae,” her mother dared to tell her. “As of today ye will be considered his promised bride—”
Ismay shook her head slowly. She felt as if she might break open, and if she did, they might find a girl who had been too damaged to accept anyone into her life, save for her beloved father.
“Lady,” she uttered, doing all she could to keep her teeth from chattering, “I beg ye—”
Marjorie turned to the chief. “She will be willing soon enough. I promise.”
“Willing or no’, she will be mine,” the chief promised, reminding Ismay of a snake slithering closer.
“I willna.” She shook her head again. “I would rather join a convent than wed any man.”
“Dear Ismay, ye are a fiery lass, like a fine red, an unbroken mare.”
He lifted his hand and wound his index finger around a russet curl tumbling down her shoulder. “Ye are indeed intoxicating and lovely. Yer hair, like flames, makes me quite eager to have ye alone.”
Ismay felt her face go red as she glanced at her mother. She felt ashamed and bare before her.
“But,” he continued, dragging Ismay’s attention back to him as he ripped a dagger from his belt, “the use of yer feminine wiles will no’ be tolerated.” He stepped behind her and pulled her hair into his fist. Ismay tried to move away, but he yanked back and began sawing at her hair with the dagger. Ismay didn’t want to admit to herself what he was doing. She tried to stop him, reaching behind her and slapping at him. She fought him while the sound of a blade cutting through herhair scorched into her memory. When he finished, she suddenly became free. She spun around, feeling for her hair at the same time. Most of it was gone. Her heart thrashed within her. Her belly tightened until she was tempted to double over. He’d cut it off to just above her shoulders! Her natural cloak was gone. She wanted to weep. But she wouldn’t. She looked down at her locks spilled across the floor.
He’d shamed her for everyone to see. She would never forgive him.
“I willna marry ye,” she vowed on a slow hiss.
She expected another consequence of her words. There was none. He smiled slightly. “Aye, ye will.”
Her worried gaze fell to her mother, and to Andrew the butler. No one interceded for her. What if this beast hauled her away to his home tonight and held her captive until he forced her to marry him? No one would help her. So, she had to help herself, as she had when she was a child.
Almost instinctively she looked around the hall at the windows, the doors, any way to escape. Her eyes caught a glimpse of her russet locks on the floor. She felt an unwanted tear slip down her cheek and swiped it away with the back of her hand. Never would she marry him. She would rather give up her life. What was there left for her anyway since her father was gone?
But while she lived, she would plan. In fact, her mind was already strategizing. She barely heard Marjorie and the chief planning her life. What did it matter what they said? She wasn’t going to obey them.
She would leave tonight when everyone was asleep. She would go south along Loch Ness and board a ferry to Kiliwhimin. She heard there was a church there. She would become a sister of whatever order there was.
“Our priest has already been made aware of the nuptials,” Marjorie announced heartlessly. “This morning I informed ourdressmakers to create something spectacular for the bride.”
Ismay said nothing. Concealing her contempt for her father’s wife for planning everything so quickly and without her knowledge or agreement. Ismay knew that if she continued to refuse them, they would no doubt have her watched. Running away would be more difficult. She said nothing, nor did she eat. No one seemed to notice.
“I am happy to see that ye have accepted yer fate,” the chief said to her. “’Twill make it easier to spend time with ye today.”
No! Ismay briefly considered running for the window and leaping out. She could hit the ground running. The chief appeared to be at least twenty years older than her. How was his running? Would he catch her?
“What choice do I have but to accept it?” she asked quietly without looking up.
The chief grinned beneath his thin mustache and beard. “Precisely. Now, since ye are no’ eating, let’s take a stroll. I hear yer mother’s gardens are like nae other. Or…perhaps ’twas yer hand that groomed such a variety of flora?”
Ismay shook her head slightly and lifted her gaze to his. “Nae, Chief. Everything I touch dies.”
His smile faded a bit but there was no possible way that he knew who and what she was.
“Fear no’, my dear Ismay, I willna allow anything to die in yer care.”
Ismay breathed. What did he mean? Her belly flipped, making her feel ill. He was a cruel man so she didn’t believe he meant anything that benefited her.
She would climb out her window tonight and be a memory by morning. She had to fight to stop herself from revealing her slightest smile.
“Chief,” Marjorie said, resting her hand on the chief’s arm. “When did ye want to take her?”
Ismay closed her eyes as a knife pierced her heart. They didn’t have a good relationship but her words still hurt. Her mother couldn’t wait to be rid of her.
