Page 131 of Laird of Flint
“Then what’s wrong?” she asked.
“The king has made ye a match.”
A flutter of excitement made her heart flip over. Somehow Hew had managed it. He’d talked his laird and the king into approving their marriage.
“But that’s welcome news,” she gushed, clasping her father’s hand even as he averted his solemn gaze. “Isn’t it?”
Why wasn’t he happy for her? Could it be he was feeling sorry for himself? Did he think she was abandoning him?
“Och, Da,” she chided him, giving his beard a fond tug. “I promise I’ll visit. ’Tisn’t so far, and I’ll have to come to Dunlop to see Hamish and all the—”
He clasped her hand to hush her, pulling it away from his face. She’d never seen him so grim, not since he’d said farewell to her mother.
“Ye should read the missive.” He pulled a scroll from within his plaid. The red seal was already broken, but Carenza could see it had the royal insignia.
With trembling fingers, she took the vellum from him.
At first glance, it seemed an ordinary marriage writ. The beginning paragraph extolled Lady Carenza’s virtues as a wife. Then followed detailed language about property ownership, coin exchange, the dowry price, and the line of inheritance. As she scoured the document, her eye caught on the names of the two parties involved, the Laird of Dunlop and the Laird of Rivenloch. All seemed in order.
But when she got halfway through the text, she saw a name that didn’t belong there.
Gellir.
Gellir of Rivenloch.
She shook her head and reread the passage.
Sir Gellir of Rivenloch, the bridegroom.
Nay. That wasn’t right. It was supposed to be Hew. Sir Hew of Rivenloch. She didn’t even know Gellir. There must be some mistake.
She read on. But every mention of the bridegroom said Gellir. Hew’s name appeared nowhere on the document.
Though she felt an uneasy queasiness in her gut, she couldn’t help but assume it was a mistake. Someone had gotten the cousins’ names mixed up. That was all.
She scrolled down to the bottom of the page. Laird Deirdre of Rivenloch’s signature was affixed to the document. Surely she knew the difference between her son and her nephew. She wouldn’t have accidentally promised the wrong woman to the heir of Rivenloch.
Her heart slowly sank to the bottom of her chest and remained there, as if heavy iron anchored it to the shadowy depths. When she lifted her gaze to her father, for an instant she saw her own bleak hopelessness reflected in his eyes.
But then the cold, hard truth fell over his face like a steel visor.
A laird couldn’t be governed by empathy. A laird’s power depended upon loyalty—his clan’s to him and his to the crown. When it came to strategic alliances, the king knew best. And no amount of begging or negotiating or conniving would change that.
So as painful as it must have been for him to break her heart, her father straightened with pride, praising the king’s wisdom and congratulating Carenza on her successful match.
Carenza felt numb.
By all measures but one, itwasa successful match. Gellir was not only from a long line of warriors. He was the tournament champion of all Scotland. Instead of settling for the son of one of the Warrior Maids of Rivenloch, Carenza was wedding the son of Laird Deirdre herself. And when the Rivenloch clan chose a new laird, the responsibility would almost certainly fall to Gellir, making Carenza both the Lady of Rivenloch and the Lady of Dunlop. Their children would control the combined forces of Lowland and Highland warriors, securing the border for generations to come.
But that one measure—the measure of love—was all that mattered to Carenza. Her throat ached with betrayal, and her chest throbbed with heartbreak. Her eyes welled with hot tears, blurring her vision as she stared wordlessly up at her father.
He scowled once. Briefly. But she could read his expression.
He wanted her to understand this betrothal was a gift. An honor. A reward granted by the king.
To consider it anything less was disgraceful.
To accept it with anything other than gratitude was unseemly.
