doesna marry her?”
“My Lord, if I may,” Lachlan interjected. “Give me the morrow to speak wi’ the lass. Perhaps I can bring her round to the idea.”
“Aye. I’d be grateful if ye’d try.” Lord Kildrummond smiled sadly. “I only want her safe. I only want to ken that my Lilian’s lass is looked after once I’m gone.”
Lachlan noticed the hurt and betrayal that crossed Lady Glinis’ face. It was only there for a second, and in another flicker it was gone, smoothed out after years of practice.
He had never felt more sorry for the lady in his life.
Six
NO SOONER HAD the weak light of the winter morning spread across the snow-covered land than there was a furious thumping at the door of the MacCormack family’s hut.
“Can ye believe it?” Moira demanded as soon as a bleary-eyed Niall opened the door. “He’s only gone and said I must marry.”
“Good morning to ye, too,” he yawned.
Moira threw him a frustrated look and began pacing the narrow doorstep. Niall knew well enough not to interrupt her when she was angry. Instead, he folded his spindly arms over his chest, leaned against the doorframe, and prepared to wait out her tirade.
“He’s decided—ye’ll never believe this—he’s decided that no Douglas will inherit the earldom of Kildrummond. He’s leaving it instead to a Strathcairn. Lachlan Ramsay is his name, and he’s a landless viscount. But the man willna have Kildrummond unless he marries me. I mean, honestly Niall, who does that man think he is, giving my hand away like that to a perfect stranger?”
“Who does that man think he is? He’s the Earl of Kildrummond, and yer father. If one of those conditions doesna give him the right to give yer hand to whomever he chooses, then the other certainly does.”
“Ah, but how do we ken for certain he’s my father?” Moira pointed accusingly, as if it were Niall that were guilty of a crime. “The only reason we think that is because my mother said so. But how do we ken she’s told the truth?”
He shot her a pointed look. “Careful, Moira. That be yer mother ye’re talking about. I’ll no’ have ye speaking ill of the dead, especially no’ of Mistress Lilian.”
Chastened, Moira lowered her glare to her feet, scrutinizing them as she trod back and forth over the same, narrow strip. “Ye ken I didna mean that. No’ truly.”
“ I do. Now will ye come inside? Ye’ll wear a pit into the ground if ye keep up that pacing, and I’ll be the one my mam’ll expect to bail out the water every time it rains.”
“This is serious, Niall. I willna be forced to marry. I’ll flee before that happens. Ye dinna think I will?” she challenged when he raised his brows.
“ On the contrary, I’m sure ye will. But then ye’ll expect me to come wi’ ye, and then we’ll have to be married, and I’d rather no’, if it’s all the same to ye.”
Moira stared at him, her mouth agape. “I wouldna—” she stuttered before she saw his teasing grin. Defeated, her shoulders slumped. “Niall, what will I do?”
“Ye’ll come in out of the cold, for a start. A man could freeze to death while he waits for ye to finish yer ranting.” He stepped back, and when Moira crossed the threshold he closed the door after her.
Compared to Moira’s lowly dwelling, Niall’s family home was far more comfortable. Being the best and most sought after brewer in the village, Master MacCormack provided an admirable level of prosperity to his wife and children. Their main dwelling was sectioned into three distinct parts. The family area where they ate, cooked, slept and lived was situated at a distance from the stalls where they kept their modest collection of chattel. It was a luxury for which Moira inwardly yearned—the sounds and smells of animals sleeping could, on occasion, make for a long night.
The third section of the MacCormack family’s dwelling was a secure room where the fermenting barrels of ale and mead were stored until they
“My Lord, if I may,” Lachlan interjected. “Give me the morrow to speak wi’ the lass. Perhaps I can bring her round to the idea.”
“Aye. I’d be grateful if ye’d try.” Lord Kildrummond smiled sadly. “I only want her safe. I only want to ken that my Lilian’s lass is looked after once I’m gone.”
Lachlan noticed the hurt and betrayal that crossed Lady Glinis’ face. It was only there for a second, and in another flicker it was gone, smoothed out after years of practice.
He had never felt more sorry for the lady in his life.
Six
NO SOONER HAD the weak light of the winter morning spread across the snow-covered land than there was a furious thumping at the door of the MacCormack family’s hut.
“Can ye believe it?” Moira demanded as soon as a bleary-eyed Niall opened the door. “He’s only gone and said I must marry.”
“Good morning to ye, too,” he yawned.
Moira threw him a frustrated look and began pacing the narrow doorstep. Niall knew well enough not to interrupt her when she was angry. Instead, he folded his spindly arms over his chest, leaned against the doorframe, and prepared to wait out her tirade.
“He’s decided—ye’ll never believe this—he’s decided that no Douglas will inherit the earldom of Kildrummond. He’s leaving it instead to a Strathcairn. Lachlan Ramsay is his name, and he’s a landless viscount. But the man willna have Kildrummond unless he marries me. I mean, honestly Niall, who does that man think he is, giving my hand away like that to a perfect stranger?”
“Who does that man think he is? He’s the Earl of Kildrummond, and yer father. If one of those conditions doesna give him the right to give yer hand to whomever he chooses, then the other certainly does.”
“Ah, but how do we ken for certain he’s my father?” Moira pointed accusingly, as if it were Niall that were guilty of a crime. “The only reason we think that is because my mother said so. But how do we ken she’s told the truth?”
He shot her a pointed look. “Careful, Moira. That be yer mother ye’re talking about. I’ll no’ have ye speaking ill of the dead, especially no’ of Mistress Lilian.”
Chastened, Moira lowered her glare to her feet, scrutinizing them as she trod back and forth over the same, narrow strip. “Ye ken I didna mean that. No’ truly.”
“ I do. Now will ye come inside? Ye’ll wear a pit into the ground if ye keep up that pacing, and I’ll be the one my mam’ll expect to bail out the water every time it rains.”
“This is serious, Niall. I willna be forced to marry. I’ll flee before that happens. Ye dinna think I will?” she challenged when he raised his brows.
“ On the contrary, I’m sure ye will. But then ye’ll expect me to come wi’ ye, and then we’ll have to be married, and I’d rather no’, if it’s all the same to ye.”
Moira stared at him, her mouth agape. “I wouldna—” she stuttered before she saw his teasing grin. Defeated, her shoulders slumped. “Niall, what will I do?”
“Ye’ll come in out of the cold, for a start. A man could freeze to death while he waits for ye to finish yer ranting.” He stepped back, and when Moira crossed the threshold he closed the door after her.
Compared to Moira’s lowly dwelling, Niall’s family home was far more comfortable. Being the best and most sought after brewer in the village, Master MacCormack provided an admirable level of prosperity to his wife and children. Their main dwelling was sectioned into three distinct parts. The family area where they ate, cooked, slept and lived was situated at a distance from the stalls where they kept their modest collection of chattel. It was a luxury for which Moira inwardly yearned—the sounds and smells of animals sleeping could, on occasion, make for a long night.
The third section of the MacCormack family’s dwelling was a secure room where the fermenting barrels of ale and mead were stored until they
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