Page 51 of The Laird’s Dangerous Prize (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #1)
“Ach, Lord above!” Agnes murmured, furious at her father for arranging such a dreadful match for her.
As far as she was concerned, it served him right if he had to suffer the embarrassment of telling MacDonnell to his face that his offer of marriage had been rejected.
“I’m glad I’ll nae have tae marry him,” she added.
“Ach, but it brings us many problems,” Duncan said.
“What d’ye mean by that? I suppose ye’d like tae see me wed tae MacDonnell as well, is that it?” she demanded, somewhat hurt as well as offended by her brother’s attitude.
“Ach, Jaysus! Of course, I wouldnae, ye wee fool. But d’ye nae ken what sort of man MacDonnell is?”
“Aye, a cruel brute.”
“Exactly. He’s unlikely tae take the refusal well. He likes tae get what he wants, and if he’s thwarted, he’ll likely resort tae makin’ war against us in revenge.”
“Ye mean he could start a feud with Faither?” Agnes asked with a mixture of fear and guilt as the true horror of the situation she had wrought started to dawn on her.
Was she going to be indirectly responsible for starting a war where her clansfolk and even her family members could die? It felt overwhelming.
“Aye, ’tis a big risk,” Duncan replied as they reached the castle’s entrance hall, where Duncan halted them by the main door.
“But what will Faither say tae him?” Agnes asked anxiously.
Duncan let go of her hand. “Wait,” he instructed, opening the door slightly and looking outside for signs of the visitor. “He’s nae here yet. Come on, hurry.” Grabbing Agnes hand again, he pulled her outside and down the steps into the torchlit courtyard.
“He’s gonnae tell him that ye’re ill and at death’s door,” he explained as they walked rapidly towards the waiting carriage, which stood a few yards in front of them.
The breath of the horses billowed out like clouds of white smoke into the freezing air, and Saoirse stood by the door, hugging herself and stamping her feet against the cold, waiting for Agnes.
“Why is he gonnae tell him that?” a mystified Agnes asked as Duncan hurried her on, scanning the area for hints of the visitor.
“What else can he say? Ye’ve nae left him a lot of choice. He can hardly tell him the truth.” They stopped next to Saoirse. Any misunderstanding between the siblings fell away as Duncan kissed Agnes’ cheek, and the pair embraced each other warmly.
“I’ll miss ye, Braither,” she said truthfully, hating the tremor in her voice. She needed to appear strong.
“Dinnae worry, Sister. France is yer best option now. Ye’ll be safe there, and I’ll be over tae visit ye as soon as I can.”
“Aye, thank ye, Duncan. Take care of yersel’ until then,” she told him, determinedly holding back her tears.
He opened the carriage door and handed her up the steps, then helped Saoirse in after her. While she and Agnes settled in their seats, he poked his head inside and said quickly, “Goodbye fer now. Have a safe journey, all of ye. I’ll see ye soon, Maither, when ye return.”
“Aye, Son,” Lady MacDonald replied despondently from her seat opposite the two young women.
Duncan closed the door and banged on the side of the vehicle to signal to the driver to be off.
The carriage moved rapidly out through the castle gates and down the twisting road.
They were heading north to the port of Aberdeen where, in three days’ time, they would board a ship bound for mainland France.
In the darkness of the carriage, Agnes looked across at her mother.
Even at fifty, Lady Fiona MacDonald was still considered to be a beautiful woman.
On this cold night, her petite frame was swathed in furs.
Her soft, once golden-brown hair, now slightly faded with age, was hidden beneath an elegant fur hat.
Her delicate, almost girlish features peeped out from within the nest of fur like the face of a perfect little doll.
But it was her expression of deep sadness and disappointment that struck at Agnes like a knife, because she knew she was the cause of it.
She thought it a mercy that the dim light in the carriage prevented her from looking into the blue grey of mother’s eyes and feeling even worse about the pain she knew she was inflicting upon her.
It was far, far more agonizing to hurt her mother than face the harsh, cold anger of her father.
However, despite all this, Agnes was too proud to abase herself, to cry and beg for forgiveness from either of her parents.
No, she was determined to hold her head high, be strong, to show she was not ashamed of what she had done.
So, when she finally spoke to her mother as the carriage bowled swiftly down the well-used and therefore relatively even road, her tone was unwavering and forthright.
“Maither, is it right that ye and Faither are seriously plannin’ tae tell Laird MacDonnell that I’m at death’s door with some sort of sickness?”
Her mother looked at her sharply. “Well, what else d’ye imagine we could say?
The truth? That ye’re ruined and can never be a nobleman’s wife?
Tellin’ him yer life is in danger from some sort of illness is the only thing we can say that might, I say might, nae offend him and start a war.
The clan is nae strong enough tae fight him.
That was why we needed the marriage alliance with him in the first place.
Which ye’ve now wrecked by yer irresponsible actions. ”
Agnes was once more taken aback by the harshness of her tone, which was so unusual for her.
But her mother had not finished it seemed and went on in the same manner.
“I mean, with the situation as it is, ’tis nae as though ye can wed another man powerful enough tae take MacDonnell on, is it?
If we put it about that ye’ve died, then we’d risk gossip gettin’ out that it isnae true, which if MacDonnell gets wind of, will also likely mean war.
“And it would mean ye couldnae return tae Scotland without putting yersel’ and all of us at great risk. Ye’ve backed us intae a corner, Daughter. This is the only way.” She subsided angrily into her furs like a disgruntled chicken with badly ruffled feathers.
Agnes knew it was all true, every word. Yet despite the danger posed by MacDonnell and her feelings of guilt over the situation—or perhaps defensiveness because of it—something in her rebelled against the web of lies her parents were spinning around her, which they expected her to simply accept.
Would the truth, though embarrassing to them, have been so bad to admit?
Was this farce she was being forced to play out to prevent Laird MacDonnell from making war on their clan? Or was it to save face?
Acting on impulse, she met her mother’s angry gaze defiantly. Pulling aside her cloak, she shifted in her seat until her back was turned to Saoirse and said to the maid, “Saoirse, will ye unlace this bloody corset, fer God’s sake? I think me maither’s tryin’ tae kill me. I cannae breathe.”
Saoirse looked hesitantly from one to the other of them. But finally, being the faithful friend and helper she was to her young mistress, or perhaps figuring that since she and Agnes would soon be in France, there was little Lady MacDonald could do to punish her, she did as she was asked.
Her mother shook her head. “Ye ken, Agnes, I hardly recognize ye. Where’s that calm and dutiful daughter of old, eh?
Ye were always sensible, even as a child, stayin’ out of trouble, respectful and obedient tae me and yer faither.
But now look at ye. A reckless woman with nay regard fer either her own good or that of others, a woman who’s made a huge mistake that’s gonnae ruin her life and maybe start a war. ”
Provoked by her mother’s accusation, Agnes placed her hand ostentatiously on her belly and said, “Ye can call me what ye like, Maither, but I’ll nae allow ye or anyone tae call me bairn a mistake.”
Her mother snorted in derision. “Ach, ye’re so proud of yersel’, are ye nae? But ye’re a foolish child if ye believe ye can keep the faither’s name a secret forever.”
“I’ll nae be tellin’ ye nor anyone if I dinnae choose tae. I’ll keep it a secret if I havetae take it tae me grave!” Agnes snapped back, her nerves at breaking point with the recent news and heartily sick of having been grilled on the subject of the father’s identity by both her parents for hours.
And ye can bet that fer as long as I live, I’ll nae be tellin’ Faither who the faither of me bairn is!