CHAPTER ONE
“ F ather…”
Paige Bradley stared blankly at the piece of paper in her hand without quite understanding what it said—or rather, she could understand it but could not believe it.
“Father…” Her voice was hoarse. “This cannae be right.”
“It came from the King’s pen, girl,” her father Angus said tightly. “It’s a royal decree, I cannae undo it, undermine it or revoke it. It must be done.”
“But—but—” she swallowed, her hand clenching on the page so tightly it almost ripped in two. “He wants me to wed that McKinnon brute. The same scourge who had been wagin’ war against us and killed our people.”
“I ken that,” Angus Bradley, the MacPherson laird, snapped. “If I had the power, I wouldnae want that dastardly man anywhere near us.”
“But-but…” she swallowed. “The King kens about the bad blood between us. Is there nay other solution than marriage?”
Angus shook his head, “He doesnae want ye to marry, he is orderin’ ye to marry—” his face twisted into a scowl. “—I daenae believe the Brute is happy about this either but there is nothin’ we can do.”
A suffocating weight compressed her lungs. “But Faither, he killed me cousin Elijah. Nae to mention the many others he slaughtered in the past year alone! H-how can I marry a man with such blood on his hands. I cannae, I will nae marry this man.”
“Ye will,” Angus shot out of his chair and slammed his hands down on the table, sloshing the goblet of wine and sending papers skittering to the floor.
Paige jumped, startled that her father took such a tone with her. “But Faither, I?—”
“Ye will marry him, or all our blood will be on yer hands. Ye and I will be just like yer cousin. The weddin’ is going to happen whether ye like it or nae,” her father said, while reaching for his wine.
Looking at her hands on her lap, Paige asked, “Why did they start the war at all?”
“At first, they invaded for nay reason, then I realized they wanted the mountain,” Angus said tiredly.
“That land has mines that are full of gold nae to mention it’s where the coast is and where the fishermen make their catch.
How do ye think that clan is rich, daughter-of-mine? All that coin goes to them.”
Paige should have been shocked at hearing that, but she was not. The McKinnon clan were an evil set of people, and their laird, Ruben Miller was the worst of them.
She had never laid eyes on the man before, but whispers told her the man was as ugly as sin, with only one eye and a scar down the other.
“When—” she swallowed. “When is this marriage going to happen?”
“In a few days,” Angus said, unhappily. “The laird and his people will be here by nightfall and tomorrow we’ll have the wedding ceremony.”
“Does Maither ken about this?” she asked.
“Aye, from this mornin’ and she hasnae stopped cryin’ about it,” Angus was agitated, his eyes flicking here and there.
“I need to go see her.” Paige stood and hurried from the room, leaving the crumpled paper behind.
She walked quickly to her mother’s room and found the door half open, from there she heard her mother’s soft sobs. Her mother Daisy Bradley—small, dark-haired, and painfully thin—was prone to nervous fits.
It pained Paige to see her already fretful mother crying. With too many emotions, she would fall into a conniption.
“Mama,” she said while rushing to her side. “Mama, please, daenae fret.”
Peeling the sodden cloth away from her eyes, her mother shook her head, “I dinnae want this for ye, Paige. Ye’re supposed to marry a good man, n-nae this warmonger.”
Perching on the side of the bed, Paige hugged her mother. “I ken Maither, but I daenae want ye to get ill over this. Ye ken that at times of real pressure, ye happen to take too much of it to heart and ye get ill.”
Shaking her head, Daisy said, “At times, aye, I have but it’s warranted for this. Yer life is going to change irreparably, and I daenae ken how to fix it.”
Hugging her mother tightly, she said, “Maybe we can talk to Laird McKinnon. If he does nae want this marriage either, maybe we can forge a peace without the weddin’.”
“We cannae disobey the King,” her mother sobbed. “Marriages are for alliances, Paige.”
Hugging her mother, Paige tried not to sob. Her heart was heavy and her soul felt hollow. Her future felt bleak at best and would be a terror at worst. She could not imagine what being a wife to such a man would be like and even worse, combining their clans would mean having a child with him.
She shuddered.
“Maither, I daenae want ye to worry about this,” Paige said. “If the man is any sort of gentleman, he’ll listen to what I have to say.”
Her mother’s fingers fluttered in the air, “And what if he does nae?”
“I’ll make him listen,” Paige promised herself.
Atop his powerful warhorse, Ruben gazed at the MacPherson manor house. The old bastion had seen better days, that was for sure.
The stone was drab and dirty and to the south-west, a portion of the curtain wall had crumbled to nothing. The space was filled with a mound of dirt and stone. Two goats were perched on it, their ears twitching.
“T’is a sorry lookin’ place, isn’t it?” Galan Howe, Ruben’s man-at-arms, nodded to the castle ahead of them.
Ruben’s answer was a disconsolate grunt.
“Have ye ever seen yer wife-to-be?” Galan asked.
“Nay.” Ruben’s deep voice rumbled out. He snapped the reins, making the horse walk down the incline. “It matters nae if I have seen her before. Her looks mean nothin’ to me. What does matter is for her to stay out of me affairs and out of me way after this sham wedding is done.”
“Her looks would matter to me if I were forced to marry and make a bairn with her,” Galan said as they headed to the road leading to the house. “Have ye met the laird before, at least?”
“I’ve seen him once,” Ruben replied. “When I was younger, he and Faither had a meetin’ but I had nae stayed for introductions. I was due to report for a battle that day. The northern raiders were on our borders again.”
“Ah, I remember,” Galan replied. “The raiders had nay chance that day, nay with ye as executioner in that battle.”
The guards at the gate stopped them but upon getting their identities were let through. Already dressed in his clan’s colors and kilt, Ruben was ready to go to the kirk and get this handfasting done with. He had more important things to do with his day.
At the steps, a male servant greeted them and Ruben could feel Galan’s eyes on the side of his neck. He knew what his friend was thinking.
The laird is nae meetin’ us, that is a bad sign already.
“His lairdship would like ye to meet him in his meetin’ room,” the servant bowed. “This way please.”
“Before we go,” Ruben stopped the man. “Where is lady Paige?”
“She is preparin’ for the weddin’, me laird,” the footman replied.
Turning to a young woman behind them, he said, “Take Maisie to them, then take us to the meetin’ room. She is to be me wife-to-be’s new maid.”
The footman bowed. “Aye, Laird McKinnon.”
As the two went off, Ruben looked around the drab hall; two battered shields were hung on the walls, a brass chandelier hung over their heads and a thin carpet was underfoot.
“Did ye say this lairdship had some wealth?” Galan sniffed.
“They were rich some years ago,” Ruben said.
“But when we had to take the land back, they lost the gold mines. And then there is the fact that he is a cruel, greedy man. Too greedy for good men to follow. The taxes they pay go to maintain him instead of the lairdship and they are leavin’ him, it seems.”
“Ah, I see, like rats leavin’ a sinkin’ ship,” Galan snorted.
The young man returned to them and bowed, “This way, Laird McKinnon.”
They were led to a room that was as plain as the foyer but had a long, rectangular table that took up half the room and behind it was a throne-like chair.
Two men and two guards were inside. The oldest man had on rough fair robes held together with a simple rope belt while the other man wore clothes stitched with gold thread and premium velvet. Jewels were sewn into the collar and fur topped his boots.
This man is wearin’ jewels while his people scrabble for bread.
Ruben had no positive feelings for this man and from the tempered glare the laird returned, the emotion was mutual.
“Greetings MacPherson,” Ruben said firmly. “I hope the arrangements are finished and we can get this weddin’ underway.”
“Laird McKinnon,” MacPherson said stiffly. “Aye, almost everythin’ is prepared but we have to do things by standard. We need to publish the banns and get the license before we proceed.”
. “Here are the papers,” Ruben said, pulling out a rolled sheaf from his tunic, splaying them out upon the table. “The King waived the time for publishin’ the banns and here is the license, signed by the archbishop himself. All is in order so we can proceed.”
The priest took the papers, his little rheumy eyes darting back and forth between Ruben and MacPherson.
MacPherson’s face bloated with fury—just as Ruben expected. He knew the man would try to delay the proceeding somehow. Who knew if the man wanted to secret the girl away and double-cross Ruben by framing him for her murder?
MacPherson thought he was cunning at least, but he was not the sharpest arrow in the quiver. The man had been outmaneuvered many a time by the other lairds around him. In truth, MacPherson had been a bit of a laughingstock among the other lairds for his dim wit.
“All seems to be in order, me laird,” the friar said. “We may proceed.”
Angus’ mouth twisted with displeasure and fury before he forced a pleasant smile on his face to replace it. He reached for a bottle of wine and goblets. “How about we toast to this occasion?”
Ruben shared a look with his second. Did MacPherson think he was a fool? Why would he drink with a man who he knew actively hated him?
“Nay,” he said to Angus then turned to the priest. “We need to have the ceremony now. Find the girl and let us start. I have other affairs to attend to.”
As he spoke, he reminded himself that this marriage was a means to an end, and that he must never forget that. It was an alliance, not a love match, and when this was all done, he’d put her away into a house somewhere and move on with his life.
Nothin’ good will come from this and nothing will. She is still a scion of the enemy and that is all she will be treated as…the enemy.