Tierney repeated the words she’d been certain he’d said by mistake. “Marry me, Rosamond.”

“I beg your pardon?” Rosamond tried to keep her face void of emotion, but the incredulity rising through her was too hard to keep from appearing blatantly on her visage. By the narrowing of Tierney’s eyes, the loosening of his grasp on her hands, she was almost certain it showed on her face.

Marry him? What an absurd notion, and what could possibly have made him think such was a solution to their current situation?

“Lady Rosamond.” Just when she thought he’d let her go, he held on.

Still, she wanted to snatch her hand back, if only to regain her senses, but then he brushed his thumb over her knuckles and she was momentarily caught up in that feeling. Saints, but how was it possible with a simple brush of his finger on her skin that she was so easily able to forget the preposterous suggestion he’d just made?

Nay, not a suggestion—a demand.

She shivered, and bit her lip. There was an energy running through her that made her want to leap from her chair if only to expend the spark.

The ship rocked gently, swaying their bodies back and forth and for a moment she felt like laughing. Cackling madly and letting herself be carted off to wherever it was they took people who’d lost a grip on their sanity.

“Marry me.” He said it again. No pretense or even a hint of it being a question. His eyes implored hers, and determination was evident in the set of his jaw.

No matter. Rosamond wasn’t going to capitulate, simply because he said so. Straightening her shoulders and jutting her chin forward with her own dose of determination, she said, “Nay.” She swallowed hard against the tightening knot in her throat, forging ahead before she lost her nerve. “While I appreciate your offer, I cannot.”

Tierney barely blinked, his dark eyes locked on hers, and that steady determination remained. “Aye, ye can.”

What could he possibly be thinking? Rosamond narrowed her eyes, baiting him. “I am ruined. You cannot want a ruined wife. Or a wife associated with your enemies. Though my mother was Scottish, a MacArthur, my father is English and I was raised in the English court. I would be viewed as a King Edward supporter, and in turn, so might you.”

The muscle in the side of his jaw ticked. “A MacArthur?”

“Aye.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Trust me when I say that will run greatly in your favor, lass. Also, let me be clear, ye’re not ruined. Not because of what your sister did, and not because I kissed ye. None of that matters. I would have ye.”

She chewed her lower lip, contemplating this. He would risk so much, simply to marry her? “You’re not simply asking to marry me because you feel obligated?” Asking such a question was bold indeed, but she couldn’t not ask. She had to know. She did not want to be tied to someone who didn’t want her for herself.

Tierney frowned in confusion. “Obligated?”

“For having taken me from the cave. The cruel, horrid prison my father put me in. For having saved me just now from an English captain sent to make certain I stayed in there, or the pirates who threatened to overtake us? Perhaps it is simply that your blood runs hot from so much danger and you feel the need to be close to someone, and I am the nearest woman.”

Tierney’s scowl darkened with each of her subsequent words, until she feared she’d said too much. But he might as well know her for who she was: outspoken, independent, and apt to argue.

“Lady Rosamond, I never do anything simply because my blood is running hot, as ye say. I have had much time in the last ten years to contemplate my future, and even if I had not come across ye, I would have wanted a wife every bit as full of fire and brimstone.”

She gasped, unsure if she should be offended or not. She thought she ought to, or at least it would be expected, nay? “Fire and brimstone! You might as well say I was bred in the bowels of Purgatory.”

“The way ye fight me I’m beginning to think ’tis a possibility,” he murmured.

Rosamond yanked her hand away, stood and paced the room. If she’d spoken to her father, or any other man, the way she spoke to Tierney, he would have left her in the cave. Lord, but this was so confusing! Why could she not have her sister here to help her through this confounding time? He wanted to marry her. And not because he felt obligated, but because he enjoyed her fiery spirit. Oh, it made no sense. Most men wanted a woman meek and quiet and willing to bend to his will. Tierney knew he would be gaining quite the opposite. “While I am most grateful you would see me protected, I cannot simply marry you. That would be unwise. I have only just now gained my freedom, as have you. I would not want to thrust it away without thinking.”

Tierney sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me then, my lady, what were ye going to do in Scotland?”

She ran her fingers through her tangled hair and nervously started to braid the ends together. “I would have found an abbey, I should think. I would send for my sister and her babe so we could live out our days together in Scotland.”

“Ye dinna wish for children of your own?”

She huffed a breath, imagining herself cuddling a child who looked so much like herself and then the traitorous mind that she had, imagined chasing a wee lad who looked so much like Tierney. Was that what he was promising her? A future with a family of her own?

“I do. But I am not willing…” She bit her lip, for to say more could offend him, and what little she knew of him, he was only an honorable man.

He stiffened. Reading into her thoughts. She ceased her pacing and flicked her gaze over him, the frenzied braids falling apart.

Tierney was fierce and brave. He was kind and goodhearted. Honorable and full of power and heart. What other traits would have him rowing a skiff from his ship to the cave, and then climbing up bare handed? What other kind of man would still save her after she brandished a burning log at him? None she was aware of. And when the English had pulled alongside and demanded he show what precious cargo he’d taken from the cave, why had he not simply shoved her across the gangway or tossed her in the water, thinking her too much trouble?

“Is that why you saved me? Because you want a wife?”

Tierney scoffed. “Lass, I’ve been imprisoned by the English for ten long years. Before that, I struggled in a prison of my father’s own making, warring between what was right for my country and my own honor. Do ye honestly think I would shackle myself to someone or something I didna want after only just getting free? Ye were housed in a cave for a day or two at most. Ye know nothing of prison, not like what I’ve seen.”

His words were spoken with such passion and anger that they resonated deep in her chest, making her belly thrum and her throat constrict.

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I should not have compared my brief captivity to yours…”

Tierney sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Aye, ye should have. For ye’ve suffered long before then, from what ye told me. And I’d not have ye feel anything ye experienced is less important, for we have each suffered in our own way. Besides, I like when ye question me, even if it rankles.”

She smiled softly, and eased her way closer. “Then tell me why, Tierney, why imprison yourself to me for life?”

“There are many reasons.” He stood, reached inside the sporran at his hips and pulled something shiny free. “’Tis a luckenbooth. The Brooch of Lorne.” He approached her, pinning it to the shoulder of her gown, his fingers brushing her collarbone, sending a shiver coursing through her. “Consider this my promise to wed ye. I will honor and protect ye, and treat ye with respect. If ye wish, ours can be a marriage of convenience, but ’twill also be a joining of two souls thrust aside by our fathers.”

Rosamond watched his long, masculine fingers fasten the silver brooch, uncertain how she felt about it being a marriage of convenience. She ran her finger over the central ruby stone. Eight turrets surrounded it, each topped with a freshwater pearl, as though they were the guardians protecting the stone. The edges were filigreed and the turrets carved with Celtic symbols. ’Twas beautiful. And too substantial a gift to give her.

“I have witnessed many foul English, your father one of them, lass.” His gaze on hers was serious.

“My father?” She wrinkled her brow.

He drew in a heady breath. “He was my jailor.”

All the air left her lungs, her limbs suddenly heavy. This was no marriage proposal, but an act of retribution. Anger whipped through her. Did he think she’d be so easily duped? She reached to rip the brooch from her gown, but his hand stayed hers.

“Trust me, lass, I am not proposing marriage out of revenge. I couldna do such to ye. Ye have my word, which right now, along with this brooch, is all I have left.”

“How did they not take the brooch from ye in the Tower?” Knowing the greed of her father, he would have relished a prize like this.

“They would have, but I left it in safekeeping before I was taken from my sickbed at Dunstaffnage.” He told her the story of how he’d saved his king and was subsequently named a traitor. “When Samuel came to get me, once we were aboard, he presented it to me along with the men of my ship, so I would know they were aligned with me.”

Suddenly dizzy, she sat down on the bed, feeling foolish for all the irritation she’d felt over the course of this discussion. “I’m so sorry… I had no idea.”

“I know.” Scrubbing his hands over his face, he reached for the jug of wine and poured them each another cup. “My clan, as long as I am laird, will no longer be traitors to our country. We will support the Bruce as King of Scotland. The first step toward rebellion will be marrying the daughter of the English bastard who wanted her dead. The same English blackguard who arrested me, tormented me and kept me from my people for the past decade. Outwardly, ’twill look to the English like a direct insult. But ye and I both know the truth—we run from the same nightmare.” He tapped her nose. “If ye agree, we must wed before we arrive at Dunstaffnage.”

Rosamond took a deep breath, letting everything he’d just told her sink in. A nightmare indeed. Her heart constricted. This man offered her protection and marriage… they truly were on the same side. “Why marry before we arrive?”

“Ye’re a MacArthur, lass. And as it happens, the MacArthurs were given the stewardship of my castle and lands. We will arrive together, a powerful union. My clan has been at odds with the Bruce since just before I was imprisoned. And many now remain with the MacArthurs in service of the king. This brooch,” he tapped it, “was taken from the Bruce that day.” He told her the story of how John “Red Comyn” had been murdered on the altar at Greyfriars and how his father had felt in order to avenge his wife’s family, who were the Comyns, he would need to join forces with them. “At Dalrigh, after I saved the Bruce’s life, he gave me this brooch as payment for having done so. When I was arrested, I gave it to my cousin, Gunnar, for safekeeping. He is at Dunstaffnage now, and will know I mean to return honorably to my country. Ye will wear it proudly and we shall show the MacDougalls, the MacArthurs, as well as King Robert himself, that we pledge our fealty to Scotland.”

He spoke as though the deed were done, the vows exchanged and she no longer bore the name Rosamond de Warenne, but Rosamond MacDougall, Lady MacDougall. The thought made her shiver with anticipation. She certainly wouldn’t mind being his, but the very idea that he would assume so much before she said aye needed to be addressed.

“I said I wanted to leave England and my father. But I did not say I would swear allegiance to the Bruce.”

Tierney looked shocked she’d said it, and in truth, she did believe Robert the Bruce was the rightful ruler of Scotland. She abhorred Edward II and his lackeys—including her father, but, she wouldn’t be ruled by her husband. ’Twas best if he knew that now.

“I want to make my own decisions, Tierney.”

He drew in a deep breath and then swallowed a healthy gulp of his wine. “Truth be told, I’d not thought of that. I dinna seek to rule ye, Rosamond, but I must have a wife who is aligned with me and with my king. I wanted that to be ye.” His gaze slid over her body. “But if ye canna swear it to me, then we are at an impasse.”

Rosamond fingered the brooch. “Well, I am also a MacArthur. And given who and what my father is, I think there is more Scots in me than English. ’Haps ’tis time I embraced that. But, first, I must know, if I were to marry you, what would become of my sister and her babe?” she asked.

“We will bring her to Dunstaffnage if that is your wish.” Tierney said it without hesitation.

It took Rosamond a moment to recover from his lack of hesitation and how readily he was willing to accept her sister and her bastard child into his home. “’Tis what I wish.”

“Consider it done. What say ye, lass?”

Panic welled in her chest. As much as she wanted this, wanted him, wanted her sister safe… How could she in good conscience bind him to her when he’d only just been released from a decade of suffering? She was the first woman he’d seen, kissed. He didn’t love her. ’Twas only lust and a thirst for vengeance. And if it were true that her father was his jailer, de Warenne wouldn’t stop until he’d seen Tierney dead for deigning to marry her. She couldn’t be the cause of his demise. She cared for him. Wanted him to thrive. She couldn’t let him marry her, without having seen what else was out there, as much as that very thought made her belly swell with jealousy. She unpinned the brooch from her gown with shaky fingers. “I am honored that you would have considered me for a wife. I would have considered you a worthy husband. And I think I could have been happy with you. But the truth remains, I cannot marry you.”