Nicole Locke - Secrets Of A Highland Warrior

‘That land is not yours,’ Ailsa said.

Rory’s eyes went to Fredericks. ‘She didn’t know. What is happening here, Tanist?’

She’d like to know as well. Since Balliol’s claim, many secrets were being kept. Her father held private meetings, but so did Hamish. Her father acted as though he didn’t notice these meetings and, though she asked, she wasn’t privy to her father’s secrets. But everything about their behaviours filled her with unease. She couldn’t be the only one who observed their leaders’ movements. The ‘others’ would have seen as well.

‘You have to have some ideas,’ Frederick said. At Rory’s shrug, he added, ‘You can’t be a Lochmore and not want more,’ Frederick continued, his voice low so that if people tried to listen, they would not hear. ‘Especially, since it’s about to be handed to you.’

The King hadn’t decreed that all McCrieff land should be handed to the Lochmores, just the land against the border, so that couldn’t be what his father was hinting at. Even confused, Ailsa felt relief. Until...

Until Rory’s eyes locked with hers and she knew he understood a fraction of a moment before she did how Lochmores could gain more without a fight.

‘All you need to do is marry my daughter.’

‘No!’ Ailsa cried.

Lochmore made some sound she couldn’t determine. Her father wasn’t looking at her even though she had never raised her voice in her life. That didn’t bode well especially when he stood to address the hall. His words were formal as he declared there were important matters to be discussed. No one stood to question or protest. It appeared that everyone had assumed as much. Fuming, wondering how she couldn’t have known, Ailsa followed her father when he retired to the room in the back. She felt rather than saw Rory follow behind her.

It was a small room with several doors and she saw with some consternation there were also provisions on a table and several chairs. It was all previously laid out for comfort and for private discussions. Her father expected and planned well.

For her to marry a Lochmore.

She wanted to do more than raise her voice, she wanted to brandish her shears. Secrets. Her father had been acting odd for months. Why had she not suspected this? Or at least demanded answers to his behaviour. But how could she have guessed what questions to ask him?

She’d been telling herself he’d been worried about Hamish, about the clan’s discontent. She never could have guessed this. But she should have suspected something because her father was never worried or alarmed.

She was the one who worried. Especially when her father ordered her to hide when the enemy clan arrived instead of providing her an escort as she tended her clan. She was the one who grew alarmed the moment her father brought her and Rory into this tiny room and gave her that wistful paternal look. The one that asked for forgiveness even before she knew there was something to forgive about.

This wasn’t forgivable and she’d have words with her father. For now, she needed to make clear to the Lochmore her position in this matter. Yet when she met Rory’s gaze, the emotions roiling in the depth shocked her anew. Surprise definitely, but something else she refused to believe. His consideration.

‘Never!’ The word felt inadequate to express her rejection, so she said the simple word with as much vehemence as she felt.

She knew she shocked her father. She had always been the sensible one. After all, her mother had died when her sisters were born. By then she’d already started helping the clan healer. Everything she’d done up to this point was for others. Now, it appeared her father thought she’d automatically sacrifice herself. Not this time.

‘Ailsa, think about this.’ Her father sat in one of the chairs and used the voice she’d heard thousands of times before. That of a father to his daughter. But if he was acting like a father, he wouldn’t ask this.

‘I am thinking about this. How could I not know that our land was given away? And it appears as if I’m the only McCrieff who doesn’t know! Me, the healer, your daughter, who needs the marsh and soil. You know how important that land is!’

She planted there. Rhona, the old healer and the healer before that, planted there. There was need and tradition rooted in that dirt. It was dangerous, yes, since it was on the border, but it was the best place for certain necessary herbs.

‘He can’t have the land. They can’t have the land!’

‘A king decreed it.’ Rory crossed his arms and leaned against a wall. Her father said nothing.

She tightened her lips before she could commit treason. Pointing at Rory, but addressing her father, she said, ‘I want him gone.’

The Lochmore in question only said, ‘No.’

She waited for an explanation—none came. All the while she felt everything, betrayal being foremost. She had been kept in the dark about the King’s decree and McCrieffs’ obligations to Lochmores. She certainly hadn’t been told she had to marry.

‘No?’ Brandishing her shears, she strode over and pointed them at him. ‘Did you know of this?’

‘Ailsa! Put them away!’ Frederick called out. She ignored him.

‘What...this?’ the Lochmore replied with barely a glance at the shears.

The marriage, the welcoming feast, the King’s decree!

‘Any part of it,’ she bit out.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. ‘Yes.’

So only the female was kept in the dark even though it was her life in play. ‘Father, I ask for privacy.’

‘This matter must stay secret, so here we remain until it’s resolved,’ Frederick said, leaning further in his chair.

Ordered about like property. Her father had never treated her as such. Shame washed hotly with the betrayal. Her father deigned to bargain her off to a Lochmore. A clan that was, even now, their enemy. All her life, she’d been told to run or hide from Lochmores should she should spy them. Now she was told to marry and bear his children.

There wasn’t a redeeming factor to him. Lochmores knew nothing of McCrieff land, the way their hills sloped or how the sun hit the trees. He wasn’t amused by the erratic guttering of the worn paths that wound around the back of the castle or dismayed by the leaking corner in the chapel’s roof.

Even if he wasn’t a Lochmore, he was a man she had never met. His age could have been anything. His countenance, his strength and personality could have been the vilest of all. But her father, who never gambled, never guessed on the weather, risked her happiness and that of their clan that Rory Lochmore would be suitable for her.

‘Is this what you will decide with my sisters as well? Just sell them off to the best alliance?’

‘Sisters?’ Rory interjected.

Ailsa huffed. ‘Two of them and too young for your plotting, Lochmore.’

‘Ailsa!’ her father reprimanded. ‘Think it through.’

‘I have and I want no part of this!’

Ailsa strode to the door where the noises flooded in. It appeared by their absence that conversation began. She could storm from here. Nothing would resolve and everyone would know. Let them. Her friend had been murdered by Lochmores. How could her father ask this of her?

Her hand was almost on the latch, when her father banged his hand against the table. It made her jump. It made her turn.

The pounding of a fist was a demanding sound and one she would have ignored, but she couldn’t ignore the look in his eyes. Her father’s eyes pleaded with her. Her father never pleaded.

Did he plead with his daughter who had lost her precious friend? If so, her answer would remain no. A political alliance? Countries were built and torn down. She was a healer, what did she care for alliances except that they often stopped—