3
ESCAPING THE GILDED CAGE
Days had passed since her father had summoned Taryn to his study, yet she had hardly moved from her seat in the window. Time had not made it easier to grapple with the fact that she was nothing more than a pawn to be sacrificed in this game to her own parents.
While they had never been overly affectionate or warm, she had always told herself they still loved her. After the announcement of her engagement to Lord Dudley, she couldn’t see how that was true. They had betrayed her by trapping her in a marriage with a man who was sure to make her life a living hell. Her days spent locked inside the McGregor Castle would seem like paradise, she was sure.
Rain poured down the window, cooling her cheek where she had pressed her face against the glass. For once, she was grateful for the gloomy Highland weather. She felt just as thunderous and despondent as the rain falling in thick sheets.
Rather than take a stand against the Baron, rather than risk their own standing, her parents were offering Taryn up on a silver platter. They didn’t care about her happiness, so long as she made them look good.
Taryn longed for her friend. She needed someone to listen to her, to bemoan the situation with her. But as her father had ordered, Taryn had not left her rooms, let alone the Keep. Had she known that her previous excursion would be her last chance to see Laura, Taryn would have said so many other things. She would have studied her friend’s face a little closer and listened to her stories more intently.
Not to mention James. His squadron had been sent out on a mission to scout the road Taryn and her entourage would take to her awaiting husband. The thought of it all made her blanch. There would be no goodbyes, no last whispered words, nothing.
“Och, good. Ye are up already.”
Savannah, her mother’s longtime lady’s maid, pushed into her room without knocking or preamble. Taryn didn’t bother acting surprised or even indignant. Her parents had already made it more than clear that Taryn’s life was not her own. She wasn’t going to be allowed privacy, or choices. What difference did it make for a maid to barge into her room?
“Yer presence is expected in the Great Hall for breakfast. Up ye get. It is time to get ye dressed and ready for the day.”
Savannah bustled around the room, straightening the sheets on the bed and tidying things up. Slowly, Taryn pushed herself away from the window, resigned to her fate.
“I dinnae ken why ye mope around so solemnly. A betrothal is a happy time in a young lass’ life. Ye should be thrilled with this opportunity yer parents have given ye.”
As she spoke, Savannah pulled a brush through Taryn’s hair until it gleamed despite the lack of sunlight. Taryn said nothing.
“Ye are fulfilling yer duty to the clan. And an English Lord? That is some luck ye have. Yet ye insist on acting as though ye are being sent off to yer death.”
I am.
Savannah shook her head and pulled out a dress from Taryn’s wardrobe. Taryn didn’t care which one. She made no fuss as the cloth was pulled over her head and around her hips. Even when Savannah started tugging on the strings, tying them into place a little too tightly for Taryn’s comfort, Taryn stayed silent.
“All right. On with ye. And try to smile. Yer parents have given ye the world. Ye should be grateful.”
Savannah’s instructions only made Taryn scowl more.
Walking down the hall alone gave Taryn time to stop and take in the castle as if she were seeing it for the first time. The stones that made up the walls were tinged with pink and tan. The wood floors creaked under foot, but Taryn enjoyed the dark warmth of the color. Every few steps, a new painting or tapestry hung, creating a visual story of the clan’s history. The first founders, the battles they had fought in—won or lost—the families that had once lived within these walls. As she passed them, she tried to take in their faded colors and the images they bore, hoping that they were committed to memory enough that she wouldn’t forget them too quickly.
The stairs from her chambers down to the Great Hall curled around themselves, reminding her of the time she had tried to slide down the banister, only to be thwarted by her mother at the last second. It was that memory that gave her a small smile on her lips as she crossed the threshold to the Great Hall.
Arched ceilings caved towards each other, forming a pinnacle that held the round iron chandelier, filled with half-melted candles. They were all unlit, made unnecessary by the large windows that, like the corridor artwork, sat a few feet from each other, running the length of the entire room. They were taller than any ladder she had ever seen, letting light stream in from the top of the room down to the bottom. Two large hearths, tall and wide enough to hold four grown men each, sat on oppositesides of the room. In between them were long rectangular tables with enough seats for the majority of the clan to have a place. They were staged in two sections, creating a wide berth of an aisle that was used as the dance floor when the weather did not allow for such celebrations outside.
Even with all of this, there was still space at the back of the room for the Laird’s place. It was a table of finely carved oak, decorated with fresh flowers and currently covered with platters of fruits and meats and cheese. Bowls of porridge and mugs of ale had been placed in front of every tall back seat reserved for the Laird’s honored guests and family members.
Taryn hated the sight of it. As the Laird’s only heir, she was expected to take nearly every meal at this table, forcing her to parade herself down the aisle in front of the entire clan if she wanted to eat. A lifetime of experience had not made her grown accustomed to the stares she would get from men, women, and children alike as she walked past them.
Forcing one foot in front of the other, Taryn was grateful that at the very least, this embarrassment would soon be over. She stopped in front of the table, dipping into a low curtsy as she let her eyes stick to the floor.
“I did nae think we would be graced with yer presence today, Taryn. I am glad to see that I was wrong.”
Her uncle’s warm words had Taryn rising from the bow as she met his gaze. She nodded slowly, hoping the smile she offered would look real enough.
“I am always happy to dine at yer table, M’Laird,” she lied smoothly.
Satisfied with her response, Taryn was waved on, and she moved quickly to take her seat. Noticeably absent from the table were both of her parents, but Taryn preferred it this way.
“Can I offer ye any fruit this morning?”
