LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter Five

      Frederick strode to the door leading to the Hall and opened it. Rory held back and looked at the woman who would soon be his wife. Her face was as implacable as her father’s. She, too, was a warrior in her own right.

      He didn’t touch her, nor did he speak, but when she walked quietly up to him he approved. When they left this room, they would be side by side. The image of them both as one entity would be solidified, the words that needed pronouncement almost redundant.

      Their entrance quieted the Hall. All his men were hale, hearty, Paiden’s keen alertness showing though he lounged as if he was relaxed in his own home. He was up to something as usual.

      Then Frederick was saying the words with the necessary reverence and Rory ensured his own gaze locked on to as many clansmen as possible in the cramped quarters. There was surprise by his own clansmen and by McCrieffs. There was also hostility and defiance, which meant Frederick had kept this secret not only from his daughter, but also from his own clansmen. The underlying sense of wrongness again clamoured inside Rory. It was one matter to surprise the Lochmores with an arranged marriage, but such an alliance would have, under normal circumstances, been discussed from every angle with the elders of a clan. Why would Frederick keep it secret from them?

      A trap, but he obtained the prize. He and Ailsa’s marriage had been announced to all and could not be undone. If he had to sleep with one eye open and keep a guard at his door, if he had to threaten every clansman from now until his death, he would ensure the future he wanted. Because now that hope he’d been trying to contain expanded inside him. He’d made this deal on his own, without his family’s approval. Without his father’s approval. He would argue that he did it for the clan, to secure the land. He knew the truth—he did it for himself.

      When Frederick shoved his hand into the pouch around his waist and cupped dirt in his palm, Rory, without hesitation, accepted the transfer of it to his hand. The dirt was not mere dirt, but McCrieff soil.

      More formalities would have to be done, more announcements and ceremonies. So many more customs to uphold, but this Tanist had the foresight to gather dirt to make the legal gesture of transferring McCrieff land to Lochmore. By accepting the dried clods, the transfer of land was complete and binding.

      Wily warrior. Frederick had expected Rory to agree to his offer and had gathered the soil before the meeting. But what man wouldn’t agree to it? He almost hadn’t. He still shouldn’t. Frederick had planned for his daughter to marry the Lochmore Chief’s son, but Rory alone knew that Lochmore’s blood did not flow in his veins and that should have been enough to stop him from marrying now.

      Servants were bustling in with freshly filled flagons. Paiden swiped a flagon and a new goblet off the tray to extravagantly pour the contents of a deep rich wine.

      His eyes held Rory’s, a mixture of all their years of friendship. There was no confusion or surprise in Paiden’s eyes. There was true admiration because Paiden understood the struggle Rory had to prove his worth to his father and to his clan. He’d been there all the years, had seen his disappointment and regrets.

      He’d been by his side today and didn’t flinch when Rory entered the courtyard. Paiden knew why Rory did it. The question would come later if his father and clan would approve the match. And Paiden, with a smirk just under the surface as he gave his congratulations, appeared to already relish the upcoming battles.

      The rest of the men he’d brought today were divided in loyalty to him and his father, but Paiden would watch his back in the days and weeks to come.

      So when Paiden finished his speech and gulped deep from his goblet, Rory raised his cup as well. But this moment wasn’t only about Paiden or his clan, it was about the two people still standing by his side and Rory turned to his soon-to-be wife and her father. Frederick was still gazing at the crowd. Ailsa’s gaze, however, was on him.

      Steady. Sure. There was hesitancy, but no fear there. In private, she’d given an impassioned speech as to why they should marry and now, after the announcement, it seemed she had not changed her mind.

      At that moment, he should have turned again to the crowd, to his clansmen, who were watching, but Ailsa’s gaze did not turn away from him and he was loath to look away.

      She seemed to be assessing him, watching him as steadily as he wanted to watch her. He could feel the pull of her in that moment, like a man aware that the sun rose and set, but unable to perceive moment by moment how the day changed from day to night.

      Her hair might have been what caught his eye, but it was the emotion in her eyes that snared him. His eyes kept to hers and he didn’t know when the assessment of each other turned from political to personal, but his body felt it. His soul felt it and he could do nothing to stop it.

      And he felt himself being lost as he lifted his cup to his lips to acknowledge Paiden’s words when her expression changed. Suddenly. Violently.

      Still trapped in the flood of heat in his body, and the tenacious fixation of his thoughts, it took him far too long to register the moment a cry rang out in the Hall and there was a heavy thud. When he swung his gaze to the tables, his own goblet was knocked from his hands.

      But

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