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Caspian shook his head. He lowered his voice, hoping that would stress what sensitive information he was about to speak. “George was betrothed tae Agnes MacLennan,” he said. “Did ye know that?”

“Of course I did.”

“Then know that yer da expects ye tae fulfill that contract,” Caspian said, watching Jamison’s eyes widened. “The MacLennans are kin tae the MacKenzies. Yer da hopes tae end the blood feud by marrying ye tae young Agnes. The MacKenzies willna fight against their kin; they never have.”

Jamison’s mouth popped open. “I canna marry that bairn,” he said in disbelief. “I have me own bride tae marry.”

Caspian shook his head. “As the heir, ’tis yer duty tae marry Georgie’s bride,” he said. “Ye canna break the contract.”

“I dunna care about the contract!”

“It ’twill cost lives if ye dunna marry her.”

That brought Jamison to a stop. He stood like stone, staring at Caspian as if incapable of moving.

In truth, he was afraid to– afraid to breathe, afraid to move, afraid of what would happen if he did.

It wasn’t even the fact that his father expected him to marry George’s betrothed; he should have realized that.

He should have realized it before now but he was still reeling over his brother’s death and the greater implications of that event hadn’t occurred to him.

But now… dear God, now the full impact was upon him and he was having difficulty processing it all. As the Munro heir, he was expected to marry an ally. He was starting to feel sick again.

“Did me da tell ye that is what he expects from me?” he asked, his voice strained.

Caspian nodded. “He did,” he said. “’Tis yer duty tae fulfill, Jamie. I’m sorry.”

Jamison exhaled sharply, as if all of the breath had been driven out of his body.

One giant, unseen fist to the gut and he couldn’t breathe any longer.

But he tried; he forced himself to breathe– in and out.

In and out. Only then did he turn to look at Havilland, who was standing beside him with a queer expression on her face.

She was looking up at him, her eyes a bottomless pool of emotion and confusion.

Jamison didn’t even know what to say to her.

In hindsight, now he realized why Beaux and Kendrick and Caspian wanted to tell him all of this in private.

But he hadn’t listened. He thought they’d held some kind of prejudice against Havilland and it had angered him.

Now, he was feeling as distraught as he possibly could, searching for something to say to Havilland, who had heard everything. But she spoke before he could.

“Your brother is dead?” she asked.

Jamison realized his throat was tight with emotion. “Aye,” he replied. “That is why they have come, tae tell me of me brother’s death and tae inform me that I am now me da’s heir.”

Havilland continued to gaze at him, processing the situation, absorbing what she had been told. “I… I am so sorry to hear that,” she said quietly. “How did he die?”

Jamison went to grasp her hands, to hold on to her tightly, but she yanked them away, unwilling to let him touch her. He felt like vomiting again.

“I told ye I had come tae de Lohr because I killed a man,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Do ye remember?”

“I do.”

“His family killed Georgie.”

Now, a good deal was coming clear to Havilland and she began to tremble, realizing that the situation was serious, indeed.

These three men hadn’t simply come to Four Crosses to visit; they had come with a purpose.

A life-changing purpose. At this moment, Havilland could suddenly see everything slipping away, the joy she had known, the new emotions she had experienced. All of it was slipping away.

Her life, as she had hoped for it to be, was slipping away forever.

“What does that mean?” she asked, her lower lip quivering. “Are you going back to Scotland?”’

“Aye.”

“To marry your brother’s betrothed?”

He had never felt so much pain in his life, distress and grief stabbing at him from all directions. “Nay,” he said. “I willna do it. “Tis ye I… Havi, ’tis ye I adore. I shall have ye and no other.”

“But your father wants you to marry your brother’s betrothed.”

“I willna do it!”

“You will defy your father, then? For the trouble it would cause your clan, you would do that?”

“I would!”

“For me?”

“For ye.”

Havilland wasn’t sure she could believe him.

She had heard what Caspian had said, how he had stressed that Jamison had no choice.

That meant there would be no marriage between her and Jamison because, as clan chief, it would be his duty to marry to strengthen the clan.

She knew that much. She understood how marriages in this age worked.

Marriage was meant for political strengthening, not for love.

Love.

God, she loved him. But she couldn’t have him. She knew that even as she looked at him; something in his expression said that he knew it, too.

It was over.

“You heard your friend,” she said, voice quivering as she backed away from him.

“Your father hopes to end a blood feud by you marrying your brother’s betrothed.

It is your duty now. You can go back to Scotland and forget about the knight’s daughter you once thought you fancied.

I am not a fine lady, anyway. These clothes…

they do not belong to me. They do not suit me.

I will get along as I have before, as I always have before.

You needn’t worry about me, Jamison. Just… go home.”

With that, she turned on her heel and ran off, so fast that the green skirt was hiked up around her knees, blowing behind her in a rush.

Jamison took off after her but she was faster, so fast that she made it into the keep before he did.

He was calling her name, yelling after her, begging her to stop, but she wouldn’t listen.

Havilland reached her chamber and slammed the door, throwing the iron bolt so he couldn’t come in.

Then, she stumbled to a corner of the chamber and collapsed, hands over her ears, as Jamison stood at the door and banged on it, begging her to open it.

Havilland remained in her corner and wept.