Page 3 of The Defiance of a Scottish Heart
“He promised,” Dermot insisted.
“And how many casks of the sweet amber brew had the two of you imbibed when he made said promise?” Rut shivered in the cool air, arms crossed over her chest.
Dermot grinned. “Mayhap a few.”
“Doesn’t hold when you have enough in you to keep you from mounting a horse. You were making plans you shouldn’thave been making.” Rut’s voice softened slightly. “And Taskill is not marrying Sheona. Lennox, take him back home.”
“I don’t think Sheona would agree to the match, Chief Rankin.” Taskill kept his voice level, respectful. Anything to end this nightmare. “With all due respect.”
She’d be horrified,he thought.She’d remember the boy who was her friend and wonder what happened to him. She doesn’t know I’m protecting her. She thinks I just ... stopped caring.
Better that than the truth.
“She doesn’t need to agree,” Dermot snapped. “I’ll choose her husband, and I choose you. Now get on your mount and follow me back to Rankin land. Stop arguing with me, lad.”
“Nay, Dermot.” Rut’s voice rose. “And he’s not a lad anymore! He’s five and twenty.”
“Stop giving orders on my land, Dermot.” Lennox’s tone carried the weight of authority now. “Your behavior is more than insulting.”
The argument escalated around him—his mother’s fury, Lennox’s cold authority, Dermot’s stubborn insistence. But Taskill barely heard it. His gaze kept drifting back to where Sheona had been standing.
She was gone now. Vanished.
Running, probably. From the humiliation of being bartered like livestock. From the rejection of hearing that he wasn’t interested.
I’m so sorry, Sheona. You deserve so much better than this. Better than him. Better than me.
The old man finally grumbled something about contacting King Robert and turned his horse to leave—the wrong direction, naturally. After the arguing ended, and Lennox mounting up to escort him home, the courtyard finally began to clear.
Taskill stood rooted to the spot, his mind a storm of memories he couldn’t suppress.
Sheona at ten, beating him at archery and crowing with delight.
Sheona at twelve, swimming in the loch, daring him to dive from the highest rock.
Sheona at fourteen, laughing at one of his terrible jokes until tears streamed down her face.
Sheona at fourteen, standing on the bank in her wet chemise, the afternoon sun turning her into something ethereal and dangerous and utterly forbidden.
And him, walking away. Choosing to walk away rather than risk becoming what his father was.
“Task.” Lennox’s hand landed on his shoulder, making him flinch. When had his brother returned? “You all right? Jasper is with Dermot. I’ll catch up in a bit.”
“Fine.”
“That’s shite and we both know it.” Lennox moved to stand in front of him, forcing eye contact. “Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. Dermot’s mad. You sent him home. Its’ done.”
“Is it?” Lennox’s eyes narrowed. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you just watched the one woman you’ve ever cared about get humiliated in front of the whole clan, and you’re about to snap.”
Taskill’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Brother.” Lennox’s voice gentled. “I’ve known you your whole life. You haven’t looked at another woman with real interest since you were twenty years old. You train like a demon, your smiles aren’t genuine, and you’ve built walls so high even Mother can’t scale them. And it all started the summer you stopped swimming with Sheona Rankin.”
The observation landed like a blow. Taskill forced himself to breathe. “Your point?”
“My point is that Dermot might be mad, but he’s not entirely wrong. You and Sheona—”
