Page 3 of The Burden of a Scottish Chieftain
Once they were alone, she didn’t wait long. “Lennox MacVey, you need to settle this. Find him and put an end to this. You do realize the person who stole Rowan away could be the man you met so long ago. In fact, the more I think on it, the more I’m convinced it must be the same man. You need to set your mind to remembering everything.”
“Mother, that was years ago. What makes you think it would be him?”
“Because it’s the same time of the year. Late summer. It happens every year, or have you not noticed? A few older bairns go missing and no one knows where. You need to tell someone. And figure it out. You are an intelligent man, Lennox, yet you allow this event to control your life. It has for years. Do not try to deny it.”
He paused, then admitted, “You are not wrong. I’ve had more nightmares than ever about that man. In fact, I searched for him not long ago, only to learn he’s on the move, though I’m not sure where.”
“Why did you not tell me this before?”
“Because I was unsuccessful in my search. I don’t know where he is.”
“At least you have tried. Now you must go deeper. This pain will not leave you. Trust me that as you grow older, it will only haunt you more.” She then used her perfect spin to lead herself back to the kitchens. “I’m going to the goatherd.”
Good.
He hated it whenever he had to tell his mother she was right. Which was probably why he never did, but she was right.
It was time to find out who liked to terrorize the people on the Isle of Mull every summer.
Chapter Two
Meg
Meg Beaton hid behind the door in her bedchamber, her ear to the rough wood surface. Ever since her sister Tamsin had been sent off to marry someone on the Isle of Ulva, Meg had hated her life. She worked all day, her nails sometimes bleeding from washing clothes and pulling garden weeds. Then her father would come home at night and check her work, decide if she deserved to be punished or not. Too often, he felt she deserved a slap or a paddle from the board, whatever struck him at the moment.
A small knife stuck in her belly whenever a vision of her sister Tamsin popped into her head. At this point, Meg should be used to her being gone, but she was not. Without her sister to hold her hand when she cried or to listen to her fears in the dead of night, she had become a shell of her former self.
Alone and unloved.
Ever since their mother died when Meg was seven, life had become miserable simply because their father was miserable. If she had any idea how to find her dear sister, she’d run away, but her father had threatened her, saying he’d call the sheriff to lock her up if she ever tried to escape. She didn’t think her life could be any worse.
She had the oddest feeling that it was about to turn worse because her father had a visitor, something she hadn’t seen since Tamsin left.
The worst part? It was a man. An older man.
Her heart pounded so in her chest that it interfered with her ability to hear the conversation in the main room.
“How long will it take you to have her ready, Henry?”
“My lord, I can have her ready to travel with you on the morrow. She’s young, so I must prepare her for this event.” Meg’s father cleared his throat twice.
What event? Meg thought hard but couldn’t recall any mention of a change in their usual daily chores.
“I’ve been searching for a suitable young bride for a while, so do not disappoint me. I need her with child within two moons. I want at least three heirs. I’ll allow her one female, so perhaps four. It would behoove me to think of her duties, and a daughter could assist her. I would prefer my wife to only spend her time taking care of my needs. You understand, of course.”
Wife?
The pounding of her heart became a thunderstorm in an instant.
Wife?
Meg flopped onto her bed before her knees buckled. Had she heard him right? A baron wished to take her as a bride?
She hurried back to the door, opening it a bit to peek out at the man. If he was handsome and kind and loving, perhaps her life was about to improve immensely.
He was none of those things.
The baron stood half a head taller than her father, his hair gray and balding, with a thick neck. As she was unable to see his eyes directly, she had to pray they would be kind. His nose resembled a bird’s beak, and his belly protruded enough that his hands could rest there comfortably, though he had a habit of swinging them oddly when he spoke, as though the motion gave his words a semblance of importance.
