Page 29 of Marry the Highland Villain
Conall frowned. “Yer letter left with my messenger within a candlemark of yer writin’ it. I’m a man of my word, Brigid. Ye can trust me to do as I’ve promised.”
“Ye might have sent the letter,” she replied, her voice trembling. “But how will my sisters believe it? Or think that I have written it of my own will? We were raised to be suspicious of such things, lest we become hostages—first for our father, then for each other. And the last my sisters saw of me, I was bein’ taken away at swordpoint—and under a false promise at that. Whywould any of my sisters heed a letter tellin’ them I’m to be wed, let alone undertake the journey here when they cannae be sure of the truth of it?”
She turned to look at him, her eyes bright with emotion. “Tell me truly—as Laird MacKane or as Conall Barr—would ye heed such a letter, or trust it, under such circumstances? Because I ken I wouldnae.”
Conall reluctantly considered this.
Would he believe such a letter? He had accepted the letter declaring Devon a hostage and reacted to it. But he’d acted too carelessly, and without thought, certain that force would see his brother safe. If he considered it in that light, the answer was clear.
“Nay,” he said honestly. “Nay, I wouldnae. I would have to consider the matter carefully. I’d be likely to write to verify the truth, unless I had nay choice but to believe it.”
“And that is most likely what my sisters will do. They will send letters of their own, seekin’ to verify the truth. And I will answer, and then they may come. But they arenae likely to make the journey within seven days, particularly if they must hire a cart and horses to bring their belongings and mine to this castle.”
He didn’t want to admit it, but Conall had to agree that Brigid was right. Three days of the seven days had already passed. And, of course, the daughters of such a notorious man as Magnus Blackwood would need to be cautious. Even if they were to bepersuaded that the letter Brigid had sent was the truth, the odds of them making it here in time for the wedding were low.
He couldn’t bring himself to change his mind so quickly, but, after hearing her argument, Conall thought he might be able to compromise.
“I cannae promise aught,” he said quietly. “But if yer sisters still havenae arrived the night afore the wedding, and we’ve had nay word from them, ye may ask me again.”
“Ye—”
“I’ll nae promise,” he interrupted. “But I’ll nae refuse ye outright, in that case.”
Brigid’s relief lit up her face in a way that warmed Conall’s heart. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased, making him feel lighter than he had in years.
“Thank ye, Conall,” she said simply.
“Ye are welcome.” He gestured to the quiet hall. “For now, mayhap we can get ye that milk. And, if ye’d like, I can show ye around the castle.”
He offered her his arm, and she took it, a smile still lighting up her face.
“I would like that,” she said, falling into step beside him.
Together, they made their way to the kitchen—a long, narrow room where a large, scrubbed wooden table took up most of the space and the low chatter of servants filled the air, even though supper was long since over.
Conall was surprised to see one of the scullery maids look up with a smile as they entered the room, Brigid’s arm still looped through his. The smile, however, faltered slightly at the sight of him, then rightened itself as Brigid released his arm and stepped forward.
“My Lady,” the girl said, bobbing a curtsey in their direction. “Ye’re lookin’ for yer usual, I expect?”
“Please, Martha.”
Brigid’s smile was warm and kind, and it was clear from the way the maid returned it that this had already become a familiar interaction between the two.
She even kens the lass’s name. Which is more than can be said for me.
The girl had seemed to relax while addressing Brigid, but she visibly stiffened again when Conall caught her eye.
“And ye, My Laird?” she asked nervously. “Is there aught I can get ye?”
“I dinnae need aught,” Conall replied, waving her off. “I’m simply accompanyin’ my betrothed. I’ll be waitin’ in the hall when ye are ready.”
He left the kitchens before he could change his mind, aware that his presence there was making everyone uncomfortable—himself included. The brief interaction had unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Why do I suddenly care what a scullery maid thinks of me? Or any of the servants?
Conall had always been a gruff man, stern and resolute like his father before him. It was necessary if he were to command the respect of everyone in the castle, if he were to keep them all safe. He had always known his servants feared him and were wary of his quick temper, but that was necessary too—or so he’d always told himself.
Loyalty and wariness were how the clan stayed safe, and he’d never cared if achieving that end made people think him fierce, or even difficult.
