“But we can,” Anders said.
“Why Sutherland and no’ one of his other allies. Gunn or Sinclair or MacLeod?” Stellan frowned. “He must be nervous about Domnhall.”
“I would be if I were he,” Sutherland said. He shrugged, then studied both twins and seemed to come to a decision. “I will notify him that she’s made her way here. Since he will doubt she has remained untouched, I must agree to the betrothal. If his response is still favorable, she must return home until the wedding.”
To Anders, of course. Stellan shook his head. “Da, ye canna. She claims to have fled because she feared a clansman.” She hadn’t said what sort of assault she’d endured. Was her father trying to marry her off because she was ruined and he wanted to make sure she was wed before a bairn arrived? His frown deepened. He hadn’t gotten the sense from her of that sort of violation. She’d fought her attacker. Wounded him, she’d said. If he’d tried to do more, Stellan doubted he’d succeeded.
“If she’s betrothed to a Sutherland, do ye think her da will allow her to be harmed?”
“We canna be certain…” Stellan protested, still bent on protecting her.
“Anders, ye will go— with an escort. Stellan,” he added, holding up a hand as both he and Anders opened their mouths to object, “Ye seem to have gotten attached to the MacKay heir. Forget her. I will have other plans for ye.”
Sutherland had clearly made up his mind to propose Anders as her betrothed. He was out of other sons who could marry outside the clan. Stellan frowned. There was no other option, given her status— and his own. But as foolish as it felt, he had to try.
“Da—“
“I’ll hear nay more about this for today. I have a letter to write. Both of ye, out.” He gestured at the door.
Mariota rosefrom her bath and wrapped herself in the plush robe Nan had found for her, secure in her conviction that she’d been right to leave MacKay, and that luck, or the Celtic gods, or some forest spirit had been with her to guide her right to the Sutherland hunting party. The encounter could have gone very badly for her, she knew, if she’d run into a wild predator, or worse, one that walked on two legs. But the danger she left behind was worth the risk. And now, she was safe and well cared for by genial people, including two of the handsomest lads she’d ever had the pleasure to meet.
But for how long? She started pacing, afraid that the Sutherland would waste no time letting her father know where she was. She should have refused to give her clan name when she stumbled on the Sutherland hunting party. The sudden clench in her belly told her she hadn’t run far enough. To Inverness or Sterling, perhaps would have been better. She could still go. There she could disappear, and make a life for herself. And Valkyrie? Nay, that would not work. Perhaps she could convince the Sutherland to keep her presence a secret from MacKay and allow her to stay. If worse came to worst, she could leave her hawk behind and rest easy knowing she would be well cared for.
But if her father came for her, what could she do to protect herself? On a sigh, she stilled, reached for the shift and kirtle Nan had also provided, and dressed. She knew better. Her da would not risk a clan war on her word that she’d been threatenedand attacked. He hadn’t believed her up to now. Chances were, he was happy she was gone.
Hindsight told her she should have made more of a protest to him. She risked his ire, but she was his heir. He would have to listen to her eventually— preferably not standing over her broken and bloody body. Any of the rest of the clan who observed Alber’s behavior could support her claims, explain how she came by the bruises or worse that he inflicted on her. Yet he hadn’t believed Seamus. Nor the men who’d dragged Alber down the stairs. She’d never forget the sound of the thumps as he dropped from step to step. Witnesses had done her no good. Why hadn’t she shown her bruises to her da? Why hadn’t she asked the healer to support her? Her da respected the healer most among all the women of the clan. Mariota clenched her fists. Being the dutiful, submissive daughter had done her no good at all.
Her father also refused to accept and understand her rebellions. Things he would approve of in a son he punished her for. He blamed her instead of the man attacking her. It wasn’t fair. If she’d been born a lad, her life would have been so much better. Painful memories threatened to come to the surface, bubbling up from where she’d thought them buried long ago. She quickly put those thoughts aside.
Still, there were advantages to being a lass. Advantages that in hindsight she saw she had used little or not well. Advantages she would be smarter about in the future.
Hindsight had nothing to do with how she felt about the man who’d taken care of her when she stumbled into the Sutherland camp and continued to look out for her. Stellan Sutherland. She could scarce recall the names of the other men in his hunting party. Only him. How ironic that she would encounter one of a pair of twins. She liked both of them. Each had much to recommend him.
Perhaps she’d find some answers if she spent more time with them. Or met more of the Sutherlands— lads and lasses. Stellan might not be the only man in the clan who could make her heart beat faster. Perhaps he was just the one who’d shown her kindness and her traitorous heart mistook that for something entirely different.
Or perhaps not.
Stellan knewhe probably shouldn’t, but he had to know whether Mariota was comfortably settled in a chamber of her own as befitted a visiting heir to another clan. And to alleviate his concern for her. “Come with me,” he told Anders as they crossed the hall toward the steward. “So there’s no question of her having been alone with me.”
“Aye, two of us in her chamber will appearsomuch better to the wagging tongues in the keep,” Anders chided. “Are ye certain ye want to do this?”
“She’s my responsibility.” As far as Stellan was concerned, that ended the matter. Anders’ shrug indicated he understood. The steward told them where he had placed her, and Stellan led the way upstairs.
He started to knock on the door, but Anders grabbed his forearm before he could make contact. “What if she’s asleep? Ye said she was exhausted.”
Stellan studied the door, torn between his urge to see for himself that she was well, and his twin’s caution that she might be getting the rest she so clearly needed.
Rather than give up, Stellan knocked softly. If she was asleep, she wouldn’t hear it, but if she was awake?—
The door opened and Mariota stood before him. His breath seized in his chest for the moment it took him to rake his gaze over her from head to toe. She had bathed and dressed in clean clothes. Hers? Or borrowed from a Sutherland lass? Nan? No matter. Someone had braided her hair. Her mossy eyes, wide with surprise at her unexpected guests, or so he presumed, stopped him from speaking long enough for Anders to step forward.
“We came to see how ye fare,” his twin said after a sidelong glance his way. “It seems yer beauty has struck my brother dumb. In case ye canna tell us apart, I’m Anders. He’s Stellan.”
“The one who brought me here,” she said and stepped back, gesturing for them to enter.
“I dinna think we sh—” Anders began to demure when Stellan stepped forward.
“Ye look well,” Stellan told her as he took one of the two chairs by her hearth and gestured her to the other. Anders could stand. Struck dumb, his left cod.
