Mary met his gaze. “She barely speaks. She’s timid, and her mother can direct her to do her bidding with a look. She stumbles around, looking lost and confused one moment, imperious the next. She can be rude and arrogant. I dinna see what made Da choose a lass like that.”
“I do. He wants a son, and wants as little disruption to the rest of his life as possible. If she’s no’ assertive, she’ll no’ be demanding things like his daughters have always done, nor trying to change Rose—or him.”
“Ye may have the right of it. But how can she run a keep such as this?” she asked, stepping out of his arms and waving a hand.
Cameron let his hands drop to his side and managed not to clench his fists.
“If the servants willna obey her, Da will chew her up and spit her out.” Mary paced to the door, then back again. “I fear she will make him very unhappy. If she ever manages to give him an heir, ’twill be a miracle.”
He settled a hip against the wall next to the window while she walked out her worries. “Then let’s hope for a miracle, aye? One that includes yer freedom.” He hated the idea of Mary being trapped here for years more, raising her father’s son and doing the work his wife should be doing. He wanted more for Mary than that.
“Ach, Cameron, dinna make me wish for so much. I dare no’ think that far ahead. I must get through the next fortnight—and whatever comes after—before I can hope for anything like a life of my own. On my own terms.” She turned back toward the door. “A male heir,ready to take control of the clan, will be years in the making.”
“I ken that.” Somehow, he’d managed not to growl those words.
“So, ye must focus on getting yer strength back, no’ on me.”
“I can do both, ye ken.”
Mary paused with her gaze averted. “Nay, ye canna. All too soon, ye will be gone, back to Sutherland.”
He sighed, hating the misery in her voice. This discussion was straying into the dangerous territory of promises expected that he was not free to make. He needed to find a way to help her, but first, to distract her. “Ye ken Domnhall will seek to expand his influence on Ross, and likely beyond. If something happens to yer da any time soon, Rose will be vulnerable to Grant or any other clan with designs on yer territory for Albany or their own purposes.” Such as using it as a stronghold to begin taking over other clans’ territories along the south shore of the Moray Firth. Such boldness would fit with information Cameron had learned in St. Andrews about Albany’s plans for Ross. “Perhaps yer da would be wise to name Kenneth Brodie as his heir, rather than ye.”
Mary’s gaze snapped up. “What? Ye ken he’ll no’ do that. He’s too angry about Catherine right now. And it gains him nothing, since he already has an alliance with Brodie.”
Cameron stood. “But if ye were no’ his heir, would ye no’ feel less confined? Less obligated to solve every problem in clan Rose?”
“I dinna!” She crossed her arms over her chest.
Cameron expected her to start tapping her foot at anymoment. At least she no longer looked so world-weary. Her anger was an improvement over the defeated slump of her shoulders. “I’ve spent a lot of time staring out the window,” Cameron told her, nodding toward it, determined to keep pushing her. “I’ve seen ye again and again, directing the servants, resolving disputes, even rushing toward the stable to help with a foaling in the middle of the night. Yer da takes great liberties with a lass he’s determined to unseat as heir.”
“I do those things on my own. He doesna tell me to.”
“He doesna have to. Ye have a strong responsible streak in ye, for a lass.”
“For a lass! Cameron Sutherland, I didna come in here to be insulted.”
“Then think, Mary, and dinna give up on yer future before ye even have a chance to claim it.”
Mary couldn’t believeCameron would sooner see Kenneth and Catherine in charge at Rose than her. Instead, she hoped he’d irritated her on purpose, no doubt trying to give her an outlet for her anger and dismay at her father.
Or to distract her from how he cared for her.
She studied him, surprised by how much better he looked after she’d spent a week away from him. He looked different. Stronger, with more color in his skin and more fire in his eyes.
Cameron would make a her good husband. Her father should be thrilled to ally with Sutherland, one of the most powerful clans in the Highlands. But to him,Cameron was only a wounded and ill man in her charge.
They were friends—and perhaps more—but he was not her betrothed, even though having his arms around her made her blood heat and her insides melt. What would his nearness do to her when he was fully healed and well? “’Tis no’ my place to claim my future, as ye say. ’Tis my father’s to decide it.”
“Ye dinna believe that.”
“I do.” She pursed her lips.
“Dinna lie to me, lass, no’ after all ye have told me. If ye believed that, yer sisters wouldna be wed and happy. ’Tis yer turn. Ye must help herself now.”
Mary shook her head. Cameron was right, as much as she hated to admit it. To him, or to herself. “I dinna ken how,” she murmured. “They had help.”
“From ye, aye.”
