TAD SAW THE change come over Erea’s face and tensed.
He had not planned on saying anything about his impending handfasting. Truthfully, the future had been the last thing on his mind. He was not sure exactly why he had told her.
“You’re promised to another?”
“Aye, my father organized it while I was away hunting.”
He watched the color drain from her cheeks as she rose to her feet and took a few rapid steps back from him, setting down her cup of wine on the table with a thump. All the softness went out of her. Her eyes glittered. A nerve ticked in her jaw. Wordlessly, she knelt down and retrieved her fallen skirt from the rushes. She then began to dress, her fingers fumbling with haste.
Tad watched, confused. He was not sure why she was even angry. Silence stretched out before he spoke, softly, as if soothing a nervous pony. “I’m a chieftain’s son, Erea. I have responsibilities. Surely you realize that?”
Erea’s head snapped up, her gaze murderous. “Of course I do.” She bit the words out. “I have no quarry with that. However, you came here today, knowing you were promised to another. Didn't you think to tell me first … before we lay together?”
Tad huffed out a breath. “I didn't plan this. I just rode here knowing I wanted to see you.”
Her soft mouth twisted. “Liar. Ma always said men were full of falsehoods. I thought her bitter … that she exaggerated. I didn't want to believe her. But she was right, and you're the worst of them. You turn up here with your melting looks and your honeyed words, and then are surprised by what happens next.” She put her hands on her hips, regarding him with a hard stare. “I wish I’d never lain with you.”
Tad stiffened. “You don't mean that.”
“Aye, I do.”
Tad snorted. “You're just angry at the moment … but you'll calm down soon enough.”
Erea’s nostrils flared. “Get out.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Get off those furs, put on your clothes, and leave now.”
“But it's the middle of the night.”
“What do I care?”
Tad pushed himself off the furs. “Erea … listen.”
She made a slicing motion with her hand, silencing him. “Not another word. I’m no fool. I see now how things are. You received word from your father about your impending handfasting and thought that, before you were shackled to a wife, you’d have some pleasure. But you miscalculated Tadhg mac Fortrenn. I'm not your plaything. I lay with you because I cared, because I thought you came back to be with me.”
“But I—”
“Enough!” Her shout fell like a hammer as tears now ran down her face. “Leave!”
Tad rose from the furs, collected his breaches, and pulled them on. Then he gathered the rest of his clothes and dressed. All the while, he kept his gaze upon Erea.
She watched, arms folded across her chest. Her face was stony, her cheeks wet with tears. However, the look on her face brooked no argument. She looked like she would lunge for the nearest knife and gut him with it if he uttered another word.
Conflicting emotions warred within Tad as he dressed. Shock at the strength of her reaction. Hurt that she so readily saw the worst in him. Anger that she would not be reasoned with—that she would not listen to him.
His father and uncle had warned him of fiery women. His own mother would never have spoken to Fortrenn in such a manner. He would have knocked her across the room if she had. However, Tad had no intention of raising a hand to Erea. He had never hit a woman, and never would. Erea was beautiful and fierce in her outrage. A sickly feeling rose within him. He did not want to be turfed out into the night; he wanted to stay with her.
Tad pulled on his boots and made his way toward the door, picking up his fur mantle as he went. Erea said nothing, only watching him with a cold gaze.
Tad opened the door and gelid air breathed in. He turned, catching Erea’s gaze for a long moment. He wished he knew the words to put things right, but they eluded him. Truthfully, he was having trouble understanding her behavior. She had completely overreacted.
He stepped outside, closing the door firmly behind him.
Erea crumpled to the ground, the grief that she had been holding in finally tearing free. Anger was so much easier to deal with. It had burned bright and fierce when faced with such male arrogance; it had protected her from pain.
Yet as soon as Tad left, her shield slipped.
Erea placed a hand over her mouth, in an attempt to stifle the sobs that clawed up from her chest. She had not lied to Tad. She had not lain with him on a whim; she had given herself to him body and soul.
Yet for him it had merely been an urge—the act of a man who was about to have his freedom curtailed and wanted to enjoy himself.
Erea squeezed her eyes shut. Tears scalded her cheeks, and her body convulsed as grief swamped her.
No wonder her mother had carried scars with her for so many years.
No wonder Olwen had hated men.
I loathe him.
I loathe him.
I loathe him.
She repeated the sentence over and over again, hoping she would convince herself of its truth. And yet it just made her feel worse. She was only lying to herself. The truth was she had fallen in love with Tad while he had stayed with her during the snow storm. This moment had been inevitable.
Hiccoughing, Erea picked herself up off the rushes and staggered over to the furs, throwing herself down upon them.
That was a mistake, for the furs were still warm from their bodies. She could still smell him.
Erea rolled over onto her back and glared up at the newly patched rafters above her head. “Bastard!” She yelled, hoping it would make her feel better, would ease the pain of betrayal.
But it did not.
Tad found his mother sitting with the other women, preparing holly wreaths for Mid-Winter Fire, when he returned to Dun Grianan. His father was out on an overnight hunting trip with his men, and there were few folk about inside the fort; something Tad was grateful for.
He did not want to see his father right now.
A black mood plagued him as he strode into the broch and headed for the chieftain’s table, where a row of empty cups and a jug of wine sat waiting, ready for the noon meal.
Tad helped himself to a cup of wine, draining it in a few long gulps, before pouring himself another. Then, carrying it, he strode across to where Colene sat finishing a wreath, her expression serene.
Irritation surged through Tad. His whole life, his mother had been little more than a pretty shadow. She offered no opinion, rarely showed emotion, and spoke only when spoken to.
Fortrenn liked Colene that way; he had praised her for it often enough. Yet her passivity had always gotten on Tad’s nerves. Other women at Dun Grianan had a spine—why could his mother not show one? There had been plenty of times over the years when Fortrenn had plainly been wrong, when Colene should have spoken out against him. But she never had.
“Tad,” Colene greeted him with a soft smile. “Back from hunting so soon?”
“Aye,” Tad replied, his gaze shifting to the women surrounding her. They all watched him eagerly, perhaps picking up on his mood. Of course they all knew about his impending marriage to Isla. They had all witnessed his humiliation.
Tad scowled at them, and some of the women dropped their gazes. One or two of them continued to stare boldly though, not put off by his frown.
Turning his attention back to Colene, Tad met her steady, grey-eyed gaze. “Mother … will you take a brief walk with me on the walls.” He cast a dark look at the other women, who now wore wolfish expressions. “Alone.”
His mother arched her finely drawn eyebrows before giving a slow nod. “Of course. Let me get my cloak.”
A short while later two figures climbed the stone steps onto the high wall surrounding the broch of Dun Grianan: one tall, bearded, and broad-shouldered with wild brown hair; the other small and slight, huddled under a heavy fur mantle.
Tad walked alongside his mother, his gaze taking in the wide expanse around them. The waters of Loch Mealt were still and dark this morning, and the sky was pale, almost pink in hue.
“A snow sky,” Colene murmured. “Another blizzard is on its way—just in time for Mid-Winter Fire.”
Tad grunted. He cared little for the weather right now. He could not have cared less if it had started raining toads. A moment later, he sensed his mother’s gaze upon him and turned to meet her eye.
Her smooth brow was furrowed slightly, her eyes clouded. “Something troubles you, Tadhg,” she observed. “What is it?”
Tad frowned. “You know what the issue is … this impending marriage. I don’t want it.”
Colene let out a long slow breath. “You sound like a child.”
Her reprimand, said with a gentle voice, was like a slap across the face. “So I’m to accept this match then?” he growled back.
She gave him a pained look. “It’s the way of chiefs. Do you think your father and I chose each other?”
Tad had never given his parents’ meeting much thought. He had assumed they had both wed willingly. “So you didn’t want to wed my father?”
Colene sighed. “I was in love with another … but that didn’t matter to our fathers. I was to wed the elder son, not the younger.”
Tad stared at her, realization dawning. “Bevan … you were in love with him?”
His mother favored him with a soft smile. “Don’t look so aghast. It was a long time ago. It almost seems like another life.”
“Did father know?”
“Maybe … if he did, he never said anything. Bevan wed a year after I did, and everything was forgotten.”
Tad watched his mother carefully. Outside in the watery winter sunlight, he could see the signs of age upon her, the fine lines in her milky skin. But it was more than that; he saw the disappointment on her lovely face, the melancholy in those grey eyes. Something deep inside his chest twisted; it was as if he had never looked at his mother properly before. Never seen her as an individual in her own right.
“You’ve never been happy with father, have you?” he asked softly.
Her smile turned taut. “Does it matter?”
“Aye, it does.”
“I told you … not all of us can choose whom we wed. We just have to make peace with it.”
Tad clenched his jaw. “That’s not what I want.”
Silence fell between them then. A breeze gusted in off the loch and tugged at their cloaks. The rumble of men’s voices in the stable yard below reached them, followed by the far-off bleat of a goat.
Colene broke the silence. “There’s more to your ill-mood than that.”
Tad, who had been staring out into the distance, turned to face her. “What do you mean?”
“I may not speak much, but I’m a great observer. You haven’t been yourself since you returned after the snow. You met someone out there didn’t you?”
Tad stared at her. He had not spoken of Erea to anyone. How did she know?
“Don’t worry,” his mother said, her mouth quirking. “No one else pays enough attention to you to note the change … but a mother senses these things.” She paused then, her gaze searching. “Who is she?”