Erik admitted to himself that Rose was exactly right about what he wanted. Someone to soften the laird’s fearsome reputation with his own people that he’d inherited from the brutal Donas. And, to be fair, his own temperament, which, when provoked, could run hot. And if Erik was right about the lass he’d had in mind for more than a year, Fiona would do exactly that, and more.
“Nay, this canna be!”Fiona Rose glared at her friend Mary, the eldest daughter of the Rose laird. “Surely yer da wouldna do this to me. A Ross!” Her knees went weak and she dropped onto her bed.
“Ye have been betrothed to a MacBean lad ye’ve never met since ye were three years old,” Mary reminded her. “And it hasna fashed ye like this news. What is the difference?”
“For one thing, I dinna remember meeting Erik Ross. If ’tis true we met, why did he no’ make enough of an impression onme to stand out from all the many other Highlanders in and out of Inverness? They are all so huge and look so fierce, they scare me, and one of those is who has come for me? For another, ye ken I object to an arranged marriage, even with the MacBean. Since they’ve never pushed for a wedding, ’tis easy to forget that a betrothal exists. And now, how can I no’ be suspicious of a man who claims to have pined for me for months when I dinna remember him?” She waved away the question. “It doesna matter. I'm also curious. But nervous, too. I may have met him in Inverness, as he claims. Or he may have another lass in mind and this is all a terrible mistake.”
Mary sat beside her and offered a comforting pat on her back. “Ye dinna ken it yet, but yer marriage will prevent a clan war that could burn down every clan around the Moray Firth.”
How could someone like her prevent that? Lairds went to war, not lasses. Why would Mary put such a weighty thing on her shoulders? It nearly bowed her over. “But what will it do to me?” She shuddered, thinking about the bridge at Inverness burning, and the smoke she, Lia, and Hamish had fled a week ago. Could she escape Rose and return to her house there? Then she wouldn’t have to marry at all. Especially since one option, MacBean, had never bothered to seek her out, and the other, Ross, she didn’t recall, though he claimed to have met her.
“The Ross chief has a fearsome reputation.”
“No’ this one,” Mary assured her. “The old chief is dead. Erik is, by all accounts, a very different man and a good leader. Surely ye have heard the tale of the stolen Munro lasses’ encounters with him while the old chief still lived.”
Fiona shook her head. She had heard a wee bit, and it was too much to believe. Three Munro lasses had been taken against their wills and held at Ross, two of them married unwilling to Ross men. Erik Ross had saved the third Munro lass from thatfate long enough for her to be rescued by a Brodie. Now, who would saveherfrom being forced to marry him?
The Ross clan was known for its warlike nature. Worse, Domhnall of the Isles and the Earl of Mar disputed ownership of the Earldom of Ross territory. Laird Rose was sending her into the middle of the most volatile region in the Highlands. She stood, wringing her hands. “I canna do it. I’ll…” She turned her head, surveying the room she’d called home for the past week. If Inverness had also burned, everything she had left to her was here. “I was happy in Inverness, living quietly with Arabella, and Arabella was unwed. I should return there and live as Arabella did.”
“Arabella was an elderly widow. Ye are no’. Likely ye wouldna escape the attention of the men of the town once they find out how yer circumstances have changed. Ye wouldna be safe there on yer own.”
“I was safe for three years as I cared for her.”
“Under her protection—and Rose’s. Would ye still enjoy the latter if ye refuse yer laird’s orders to wed the Ross chief? Think how much stronger ye would be as the lady of a clan rather than an unwed lass on yer own.”
“Stronger? Or controlled by a husband? Life in Inverness, risky or nay, seems better.”
“Ye are no’ ten years old,” Mary chided. “So think on this: Where would ye go that my da couldna find ye and pack ye off to yer betrothed? Inverness will no’ be far enough.”
Fiona squeezed her eyes shut around the tears that filled them, her heart pounded, and her fingers shook until she crossed her arms and tucked her hands next to her ribs. “France. Or south, across the Borders.”
“Aye,” Mary said on a wry chuckle. “There’s nay warfare underway in either of those places. Ye’ll be perfectly safe, and ye a lass alone.”
Fiona dropped onto the bed again, beside her. “I have nay choice, have I?”
“Nay more than any other lass, but I hope, with time, ye will come to care for Erik Ross. I think he already cares for ye, or he wouldna have agreed to settle several feuds by wedding with ye. The arrangements are being made. He wants ye to wife. Ye and nay other. That is good, aye? Surely he will be good to ye. And if he isna, ye have only to write to me, and Rose will do what it can to help ye.”
“By bringing me home?”
“What Rose can, Fiona. Dinna borrow trouble. All will be well.”
Why did he want her? Fiona couldn’t help the question ringing in her mind, but she bit her lip to hold it back. Instead, she asked, “When does this happen? This marriage of mine?”
This time, Mary stood. She walked to the door and opened it, then stood by it for a moment. “He’s met with my da,” she said quietly. “But he wants to meet with ye before anything is finalized. If ye agree, ye’ll be wed before the day is out.”
Fiona’s belly clenched and she feared she’d lose the midday meal she’d finished a few hours ago. “What! So soon?”
“He sent a missive that went astray a ten-day ago. Da never received it, but this meeting convinced Da to give the match a chance.”
“What about MacBean?” she asked, not that they seemed to care about the betrothal with her. Even mentioning it felt like throwing pebbles in the path of a rushing tide. Futile.
“Other arrangements will be made with them. Ye will wed Erik Ross before supper.”
She covered her face with her hands. “And bed him soon after.” The words escaped her lips in a plaintive cry that mortified her. “This canna be happening.”
“I’m sorry, Fiona, but it must. Da sent me to tell ye, hoping ye would take it better coming from me than from yer laird. I’ll send a maid to help ye dress.” With that, she stepped outside and closed the door.
Fiona stared at the plain oak for a moment, willing Mary to pop back in and tell her this was only a jest. But the portal remained stubbornly closed. She fell back onto the bed, rolled onto her side and curled around her knees. This couldn’t be happening.
