“I’m not messing with her,” Ailean lied.
As the words left his mouth, an unfamiliar jolt of self-recrimination twisted in his chest. He rarely lied so baldly to his father. To meet the gaze of a man he respected deeply and be so dishonest sat poorly with him. Still, irritation rose and crushed the guilt.
Rae was speaking to him as if he were still trying to grow his first whiskers. Sometimes Ailean thought his father forgot he’d spent years fighting for king and country, that he’d returned a hero. Here on Mull, within these walls, that seemed to count for little.
“It was just a few dances and some harmless flirting,” Ailean said, letting his annoyance show.
“That’s where it ends.”
Ailean’s eyebrow cocked. “Excuse me?”
“Ye heard me, son. Ye leave that lass alone from now on. Let her get on with the work she was hired to do … and focus on building yer own future.”
Heat ignited in Ailean’s belly, irritation sliding into anger. His father was wading into matters that weren’t his to command, yet Rae pressed on regardless.
“Ye have four-and-twenty summers. It’s time ye started thinking ahead. Ye’ve shown no interest in finding a wife.” His father paused then. “And so, I have made some inquiries for ye.”
The heat flared. “What?”
“That’s right. Duncan MacDougall on the Isle of Lismore has a lovely daughter. Sorcha. I met her last year while discussing trade. Relations between our clans have been strained … and I want to repair things. A marriage between ye two would help secure lasting peace.”
Ailean said nothing. He was too busy struggling to leash his temper.
His father had no right to broker his future without so much as a word.
Rae watched him closely now, waiting for a challenge, for proof that his son wasn’t up to one day stepping into his boots. Stubbornness rose in Ailean, and he refused to give him the satisfaction.
“We’ve been invited to Castle Coeffin,” the laird went on. “Ye and Sorcha will meet. And if she pleases ye—and she’s willing—we’ll arrange a betrothal.”
Ailean’s pulse quickened.
A year ago, he’d felt smug watching his friend Craeg struggle under sudden responsibility. Now, he understood. It was his turn. The walls were closing in. He couldn’t breathe.
When he finally spoke, his voice was clipped and cold. “So, ye’ve planned my future without consulting me?”
“Left to yer own devices, ye’d never settle,” Rae replied. “Ye care little for consequences. A wife will do ye good.”
“But I’m not ready.”
Rae cursed softly, raking a hand through his hair. “None of us ever are. I was barely sixteen when I was handed Dounarwyse … seventeen when I wed yer mother.”
Christ—not this again.How many times had he heard this tale over the years? Sometimes his father battered him with it.
“I know all this,” Ailean snapped. “Ye’ve sacrificed much. But ye’ll rule for years yet. What’s the rush?”
Rae’s disappointment was palpable. “When I go, I want Dounarwyse’s future secure.”
“And it will be.” Ailean rose to his feet, ignoring Piper nudging him. “Ye can’t control everything, Da. Sometimes we must choose our own paths.”
“If I let ye be, ye’d burn yer life to ash,” His father shot back. “And it wouldn’t just be ye who paid for it.”
The silence stretched. A battle of wills.
Finally, the laird spoke one more. “We sail for Castle Coeffin at the end of June. And until then” —his voice hardened— “ye keep away from Fiona Mackinnon.”
“I am sorely vexed that I missed Bealtunn.”
Arabella sat by the window, cross-faced, as she untangled a basket of emerald yarn.
