Page 51
“Ye have, Lady Ainsley. How can I be of service?”
Her decision made, she said, “I dinnae know if this is precisely a legal question.”
“Most are, of sorts.”
It was impossible not to be enamored with this man. Ainsley understood why Tor’s family adored him so. “Very well, then. How shall I ask it precisely?”
“I’ve found if ye simply begin speaking, the words will come, my lady.” McGreghere finished his oat cake and then, seeming to enjoy himself, he sat back, ale in hand.
Begin speaking. Aye, it would be easy enough to do. “I . . .” Ainsley realized she had to begin well before Berwick. “I found myself, through circumstances courtesy of my clan’s feud with the MacRobs, married to a man I didnae know. One who didnae wish to marry me. And so, we formed a plan. To find our clansmen, once thought dead, and appeal to Bishop Timlin for a dispensation of our marriage.”
She stopped. McGreghere gestured for her to continue. “If ’tis surprise from me ye seek, I can assure ye, my lady, ye will have to make a much more shocking claim.” He leaned forward. “Once a client came to me asking if I would draw a contract making his marriage to his bed legal. And therefore, the two could never be parted.”
Ainsley laughed so hard ale came through her nose. “His . . . bed?”
“Indeed. Do go on.”
Ainsley was partial to her own bed, but even so . . .
“Our plan,” she said, once able to regain herself, “was then to take said knowledge of our clansmen, along with the dispensation, to the king. To beg for him no’ only to annul a marriage we didnae want, but also to declare an end to these weddings. With Ian and Marta alive, surely it would mean the end to our clan’s feud. My brother and Catlin MacRob’s marriage, along with the knowledge Ian didnae kill Marta, as once was thought, and indeed, that they are a couple, would be enough to ensure it. The end of the feud.”
She paused.
“’Tis all?”
“Nay,” she admitted. “There is but one more part to the story.”
“As I expected.” McGreghere took a sip of ale.
“I’d no’ seen Tor as he was this morn. Angry, though I dinnae know why for certain. We fought, and the reason now seems silly. But in the end, he left, to see the bishop. I believe Tor still wishes to annul this marriage.”
“And ye do no’?”
“Nay, I dinnae.”
“Because ye have fallen in love with yer husband?”
The truth was plain enough in the emptiness she’d felt all morning. “I have,” she admitted, as if it were a grave sin.
“But Tor does no’ yet know it?”
Ainsley shook her head. “I dinnae wish for him to remain with me if ’tis no’ what he wishes.”
McGreghere’s lips turned down for the first time since he’d sat. He agreed with her, then. That Tor wished to be parted from her. She’d known it to be true when he left to see the bishop.
“As I said, Lady Ainsley,” McGreghere began, “I’ve known the MacRob family for many years.”
She took a deep sip of ale. In the morn, Ainsley had but one mug. Now, it seemed, that mug was empty. She looked for the serving maid but did not see her.
“Ye have,” she agreed after realizing McGreghere waited for her to respond.
“Tor is . . . more complicated than he seems. For many years, he followed Royce and Adair everywhere. Emulating one, and then the other. Uncertain of his role in the clan, as happens with a third son at times. And then, his brother was killed.”
“He spoke of him to me,” Ainsley admitted.
“I’m certain he did. Tor loved Adair, perhaps more than he loved anyone in the world. They were like brothers, but also friends. When he died, when Tor was thrust into a role he never expected . . .”
“Nor believes that he deserves,” she added.
