Page 9 of The Defiance of a Scottish Heart
He’s not interested.
He’s not interested.
“Taskill.” The name came out as barely a whisper. Her throat had closed around it.
“Aye, he’s your betrothed, and it’s time to announce it,” her father said, finally stopping his struggle. “Douglas and I agreed on it long ago.”
The room tilted. Sheona’s vision blurred at the edges. She heard more arguing—Sloan’s voice raised, Lennox’s cold fury—but the words meant nothing.
Taskill.
The only man she’d ever loved.
The man who’d rejected her five years ago without explanation.
The man who wouldn’t even look at her today while her father tried to force him into marrying her.
He’s not interested.
She had to admit that once her father had left, perhaps Taskill would rethink the betrothal. They’d known each other forever. But his brother spoke the words that he knew in his heart.
She shoved away from the wall and ran. Stumbled through the door, down the corridor, her vision swimming with tears she refused to let fall. She needed air. Needed to be anywhere but here, with everyone’s pity following her like a stench.
Her feet carried her to the parapets—the highest point, where the wind was strongest and the sea stretched out forever. Where she could breathe.
She burst through the door and stopped short.
Her dear sister Marta sat on a stool, her newborn daughter nestled against her shoulder, patting the bairn’s tiny back in a gentle rhythm.
“Marta?” Sheona’s voice cracked. “What are you doing here?”
Her sister looked up, her brown eyes warm despite the exhaustion written in every line of her face. “Trying to get her to sleep. I think she likes to listen to the water lapping against the shore. Rowan is with his father, so I thought I would try this spot. It’s peaceful here.” Then her gaze sharpened, taking in Sheona’s face. “What’s wrong?”
The kindness in her voice shattered what little control Sheona had left. She burst into tears—ugly, gasping sobs that she’d been holding back for what felt like years.
“Da,” she managed between gulps of air. “He’s having a fit. He went to Clan MacVey and told Lennox he was going to announce the betrothal that his father agreed to.”
Marta’s eyes went wide. “What betrothal, Sheona?”
“Da claims Douglas MacVey promised that Taskill would marry me.” The words tasted bitter. “Can you believe it?”
“Oh, Sheona.” Marta’s expression melted into sympathy. “Sit down, love. I’m sure Lennox told him nay. Da is getting up in his years—”
“I know, but he’s so mean now.” The words came out small, childlike. Because that’s what she felt like—a small child who’d lost her father and didn’t know how to get him back. “He was going to hit me. Marta, he raised his hand to me. Sloan and Lennox stopped him, but he would have—”
“What?” Marta’s voice went hard. “He tried to strike you?”
Sheona nodded, hugging herself against the cold. Or maybe against the memory of her father’s rage-twisted face. “I don’t understand what’s happening. It’s like he’s not himself anymore. Not since Mama...”
The door banged open. Their father stormed out, saw them, and opened his mouth to bellow—
“Don’t you dare wake this sleeping bairn, Da,” Marta hissed, somehow managing to sound like a protective wildcat while barely raising her voice. “Or I’ll wake you up tonight to walk her. Do you hear me? Take your loud mouth away from here.”
Their father actually retreated, hands raised in surrender. “Calm down, Marta.”
“I will not calm down. How dare you pull this now?” She stood, cradling the baby protectively, and thrust the sleeping bundle into Sheona’s arms. “You’ll follow me back inside. If Mama were still here, she’d never allow this to happen.”
To Sheona’s amazement, their father did what Marta said. Meek as a lamb, he followed her sister back into the keep.
