Page 16 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
They took their seats at the table, talking over the situation as they ate.
“Ye said the Laird MacNeacail is seeking a suitable husband fer the lass?”
“Aye. ‘Tis unfortunate she’s been compromised the way she has been by the behavior of the man she was tae wed.”
Duncan pondered this for a few moments, as he tore a bannock apart and slowly consumed it. “So, am I correct in deducing that – unlike ye, who has nay wish tae wed again – the Lady Tyra wishes tae be wed wi’out delay tae regain her lost reputation.”
Ewan snorted. “And, I daresay, the Laird MacDonald has nay wish tae see her married tae another.”
“Meanwhile, the honorable council elders of Clan Mackenzie are pressing ye hard tae remarry. They wish tae avoid the possibility of ye leaving them without an heir and yer feckless younger braither becoming laird.”
“Something like that, mayhap.” Ewan gave a hearty laugh. “I ken they hold fast tae the notion that a man is nae fully a man unless he has a wife and weans. It is what they wish… nay, demand of me. They are none too happy tae have a single man as their laird.”
“So, dear braither,” Duncan twirled his knife on the plate. “I can see both yer problem and that of the lass, could dovetail in such a way as tae resolve tae benefit both of ye.”
“And what, pray tell, are ye thinking?”
“Why, it’s obvious.” He laid a hand on Ewan’s shoulder. “Ye marry the lass yerself.”
Ewan spluttered, almost losing the last of his mouthful. He swallowed and coughed, holding a napkin to his mouth. “What in the names of all the saints are ye havering about, Duncan?” He glared at his brother. “I’ve nay wish tae marry. Ye ken that is so.”
“Think on it, braither. Ye’d save her braither, the Laird MacNeacail from the arduous task of finding a suitor, the elders will release ye so ye can draw breath again without their endless carping, and the lass marries intae a powerful clan that will rehabilitate her reputation and stop tongues from wagging.”
Ewan found himself nodding. Duncan, for once, was making sense. Everything he said rang true.
“I’m liking yer conclusions.”
Duncan tilted his head and pierced Ewan with his dark brown gaze. “I’m mindful that the lass is a rare beauty, milaird, and one I find quite delicious. It would scarcely be a hardship tae have such a lovely lass at yer side.”
What Ewan had not mentioned – and what he could hardly bring himself to acknowledge – was the sudden lurch in his belly at the prospect of taking Lady Tyra as his wife and the way his thoughts were suddenly filled with nothing but her soft curves, the light shining in her green-gold eyes, the delicate scent of her yellow hair, the touch of her soft hand and the lightning that had ripped through him when he met her gaze.
Now, the thought of wedding her was curling into the front of his mind like a pipe dream promising pleasures he’d denied himself forever.
But that was impossible. Ridiculous. He had vowed he would never permit himself to take on the responsibility of a wife andrisk her pregnancy and the terrible fate that had befallen his first wife, Marjorie, and their tiny wean.
But marriage without love or intimacy, simply fer the reasons Duncan was spelling out? That seemed possible.
“Truth is, if I marry the lady, we’ll ally ourselves wi’ the MacNeacails, gaining greater access tae the seas and the trade around all the southern and western isles. Our territory would advance greatly, as would our wealth.”
Ewan raised his empty tankard, the idea of proposing a marriage to Tyra beginning to take root.
Even fortified by another ale, Ewan found his courage failing as he took the staircase leading to the guest chamber. It was all very well, seated in his study with Duncan, to discuss a possible marriage between himself and Lady Tyra MacNeacail, yet once the reality struck home, he was seized with misgivings.
While he’d found himself admiring the lady’s beauty and had found her to be both witty and equipped with a fine sense of the ridiculous, he had no idea what she might think of him. Mayhap she’d scorn him as a barbarian or a brute, wanting nothing to do with him.
He’d heard Harris MacDonald was elegant, with fine-manners and clothing. In comparison, in his own Highland garb, the lady most likely saw him as a ruffian, uncouth and unrefined.
He shivered, pulling his cloak around him and turned, making for the stairs leading to the west tower. From there he could survey the three sea lochs that were guarded by the castle. This was where he always found solace when he was faced with vexing decisions and sought to clear his head.
Ascending the steep staircase he stepped into the tower, nodding to the guard who jumped to attention as he appeared.
He paced the walkway, gazing into the darkness, bracing against the bite of the cold wind.
The dissonance that was addling his thoughts slowly cleared. He’d vowed never to marry again, yet he was besieged by his Council to find a suitable bride. He was painfully aware that regardless of his own personal regrets and the guilt that scorched him, he had a duty to his clan to marry, to form another allegiance, to provide an heir. While he had no intention of the latter, he understood the importance of building his clan’s network of allies.
Finally, he steadied his thoughts with a cold appraisal of the facts. The Mackenzies were already a powerful clan and an allegiance would be of benefit to Lady Tyra’s clan also. Her brother would approve. Besides, what lass would not wish to be the lady of such an estate and of the great castle at its heart?
Now armed with certainty, he filled his lungs with the sharp, crisp air. He made his way down the stairs and along the passages until he found himself hesitating outside the guest chamber.
