Page 23 of The Scottish Bride
“Very well. I am directed to strengthen this castle—and marry the widow.”
“Marry?” Her stomach knotted. The dog growled, bumped against her.
“I have the king’s writ and seal upon it.” He waved the rolled document still in his hand, ribbons fluttering from its glossy wax seal.
“Show me.” He unrolled it quickly and closed it again, but she glimpsed her name, his, and the king’s signature. A messy document, she saw, with blots and words crossed out or scraped away. “That looks written in haste.”
“In times of war, decisions are made quickly.”
“And if I refuse the order?”
“You cannot. As a widow, the king is your guardian and protector.”
“I am Scottish. We do not recognize Edward as king.”
“Is that a clever argument—or an admission of treason?” He took her arm again. Oonagh ruffed at him, but Tamsin soothed her with her free hand.
“Not treason. Truth.”
“Marriage will benefit you. Your property is in my keeping now. You will stay in your home. Any woman wants that. But this must be done quickly.” He waved the parchment.
“Banns take weeks,” she protested. The blood pounded in her brain.Married by All Souls, lost… bound…She did not want that to become true.
“An exception has been made because Edward believes John Witton’s widow is old and will not last long. He seemed to enjoy yoking me to a crone.” He grinned. “I did not tell him that widow is young and lovely, with more to offer than property.” His fingers caressed her upper arm and grazed down the side of her breast. She angled away. The dog growled again.
“Hush, Oonagh.” She wanted to order the dog to pounce instead. Oonagh was a gentle creature, but on hind legs she stood taller than most men, and her powerful jaws could take down a wolf.
Heeding the dog’s warning, Malise let go. “I will have Dalrinnie. And you. Trust that. I care for you, my dear. I always have, ever since you were Witton’s young bride.”
He said it so gently that Tamsin wanted to believe him—but she knew he could turn this way or that as it suited him. And just now, she was uncertain, fearful. After all, this offer was just another form of imprisonment.
Yet this marriage would allow her to stay at Dalrinnie, where she had a home apart from the garrison, had run a household, had found peace to work on her manuscript pages—the jumble of writings, poems, prophecies, and scraps of thought that old Thomas had entrusted to her, which she was slowly, carefully, copying over in neat pages. Because of her work, she was almost tempted to relent and stay. The alternative was a convent, and though she could write there, the rest of that life was not genuinely to her liking.
Malise sensed her moment of faltering, for he pushed the dog aside to take Tamsin’s waist and pull her toward him. Oonagh tried to nudge between them as Tamsin pushed against his hard chest. He pulled her so close that she felt his need for her, a heavy pulse between them. Oonagh barked, gruff and low.
“Call off that hound before I have it killed for disobedience.”
That ended any thought of relenting. “Leave my dog be,” she snapped. “Oonagh, sit, girl! And sir, get your hands off me. You frighten me. Repulse me. And I will not marry you,” she said, quiet and fierce.
“You do have a sharp tongue. Sir John once said his wee Scottish bride looked like a saint and was as biddable as a little demon. He was right.”
“He said that?” Unaccountably, she felt hurt.
“But I like a spirited woman. You will not bore me.” Malise glanced down at her breasts, pressed against him in the forced embrace. “We will get on well. You will have a virile husband who can put sons in your womb. The old man never did that for you.”
She pushed in his arms. “No local priest would perform a marriage that I refuse.”
“Then I will find one who will, and we will do this tomorrow.”
“Let go!” Beside her, Oonagh made a threatening sound at the base of her throat. He let go suddenly. Tamsin stepped back, the dog buttressing her again.
“Listen well,” Malise said. “I wonder what your kinsman, that old soothsayer, would tell you now. Will your brother survive? Are your sisters safe? Who will you marry? Sir John spoke of your kinsman. He said you are very like him. Prophecies, he said. Visions. Interesting.”
Tamsin masked her surprise and a trickle of fear. “I do not know what you mean.”
“Rhymer’s daughter. That is what John said your family calls you. Is there a reason for that, other than kinship?”
She stood silent, heart pounding.
