Chapter Fourteen
Ben sat at the dais, breaking his fast and staring out over his clansmen eating the morning meal before him. The Laird of Grant sat beside him, the sound of his chewing louder than his heifers chewing the grass in the fields.
He took a calming breath, wanting to tell the old man to shut his mouth but did not. Hitting out at others never solved anything, and the Grants had nothing to do with the fact Kenzie Macleod had asked him to marry her and he’d cut her down with his words just as fast as he could with his sword.
Taking a sip of mead, he sighed. He’d hurt her. Out of his own fear he’d pushed her away, possibly bringing forth her own departure due to his careless, fear-driven words.
“I’ve been meaning to ask ye, Ben, if ye are interested in marrying my lass Athol. We’ve been here some weeks now, enough time for ye to get to know the girl and see her potential as ye wife.”
Ben choked on his drink and covered his surprise with a cough. “As much as I cared for Aline, I’m not looking to marry her sister. No matter how bonny the lass is, ’tis not what I want. Nor do I believe Athol would be pleased by such an event.”
Laird Grant nodded, rubbing a hand over his graying beard. “I see ye point, and yet the lass would do well under ye care. She’s bonny to be sure, but she’d also be a good mama to my wee grandson. Think on the possibility, dinna dismiss it so quickly before ye’ve had a chance to see all the positives such a union would bring both our families.”
Ben spied Kenzie walking through the great hall toward the outer door. A thick woolen cloak sat about her shoulders and partially covered her head. No maid accompanied her. He stood, determined to ensure her safety wherever she was headed.
“The Macleod lass is not for ye, Laird. She’s pretty, too, I grant ye, but she doesn’t know the way of our lands, our people. ’Tis best if ye marry the family that is closest to ye outside of ye own. That being us.”
Ben frowned. “Ye didn’t approve of my marriage to yer daughter, Aline, so I’m curious as to why ye seem so determined that I marry her sister.” Laird Grant shifted in his seat and threw a glance at his son Evan who stood by the fire.
“I know we dinna have the best of starts. I did wish for Aline to marry Laird Macleod, and yet she was happy with you. Her letters certainly seemed to show that she’d come to care for ye a great deal, and so my hatred of ye has ceased. Ye made my lass happy during the time she was here and that is enough for me.”
Had Ben not been sitting, the laird’s words would’ve knocked him on his ass. “I cared for Aline a great deal, and I always will. She’s the mother of my boy, and for that I’m forever grateful. But I’m not looking to marry again, and I do apologize for giving ye any further cause to disapprove of me, but I cannot marry Athol. No matter how much of a suitable woman she may be as my wife and mother to my boy.”
The laird clapped him on the back. “’Tis what I thought ye would say, but Athol was determined to have ye as her husband, and so it was a father’s duty to ask.” He paused. “I must ask ye why it is ye’re so determined not to marry again and give some brothers and sisters to the wee Alasdair. The lad would do well to have some siblings to love and combat with.”
Guilt roared within him that he was living and his wife no longer was, due solely to the fact he needed an heir. To think of losing Kenzie in such a way tore his soul in two. “I canna ask another to risk her life by having more of my bairns. ’Twas the ultimate sacrifice from Aline, and had she not fallen pregnant, she would be alive today.”
“Aye, she would’ve,” Aline’s father said, pulling a roll of bread apart and throwing some into his mouth. “And yet, had she survived or only now be trying for a child, she would change nothing of her course. The lass, no matter how prickly she may have been toward some, was a good girl and wished for children of her own. Ye would not have changed her outcome. ’Tis God’s will, my boy.”
Ben stood. “If ye will excuse me, Grant.” He strode from the room, the words from Aline’s father going around in his mind like a wheel. Mayhap, the old man was right and so, too, was Kenzie. Was he being too hard on himself in regard to his wife’s death? Once married, he’d actually enjoyed the state. The marriage bed was one he’d enjoyed, and during his time with Aline, he’d been faithful. Could he do it again? Could he risk allowing himself to care for another with the knowledge that he could lose her, as well?
Ben spied Kenzie at the well, talking to three young children. Whatever she was telling the small boys, they were enthralled with her tale. What was it that she was telling them? He walked over to her and wrapped his arms about her waist, pulling her hard against his chest.
The three boy’s eyes widened at the sight of their laird showing such affection in public, and they scuttled off, laughing.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked him, her voice hard and distant. The opposite of her pliant, warm body against his own.
“I love ye, Kenzie, lass, and I want to be yours. Always.”
She spun about in his arms, staring up at him, the smile on her lips bringing forth his own. “Are you serious?”
“Aye,” he said, nodding. “I’m serious.”
“So, you’re not going to make me go home, if I want to stay here with you? Fight alongside you and stop anyone who dares to hurt the Laird of Ross?”
Ben took a calming breath, not wanting her anywhere near the skirmish that she’d predicted. Not that he would tell Kenzie so. “’Tis what I wish. I know we dinna have the best of starts, by God you’ve seen the very worst of me. Black Ben at his darkest, most vile, and yet, here you stand, loving me as much as I love ye, and if my fate is to die, then let it be that I die married to the beautiful, clever, vexing Kenzie Jacobs of Clan MacLeod.”
Kenzie smiled, wrapping her arms about his neck before leaning up and kissing him quickly. “So, we’re to be married soon then?”
“The priest in the local village will perform the ceremony as soon as ye are willing. I am hoping though, lass, that it will be within a day or so. I dinna want ye in a different room to my own. I want ye with me. Always.”
“You’re sounding awfully romantic Ben. Nothing like the hardened, sword-wielding warrior history has painted you as.”
He laughed. “Ye should not believe everything that ye read, lass.” And never had he hoped this was the case—especially with his impending demise. Was history wrong? Had he really died, or did they just not know what became of his clan? Either way, he was going to marry the woman before him, the one and only lass he’d ever truly loved.
“True,” she said, leaning up to kiss him again. This time a little less sweetly.
…
Over the next two days, Kenzie, with the help of her maid, made-over a gown she’d deemed suitable for a wedding dress. The priest, just as Ben had said, was prepared to marry them in haste and to make the celebration even more joyful, Kenzie had put out an invitation to all the villagers and clansmen of Castle Ross to attend.
On the morning of her wedding day, the castle kitchen staff had laid out an assortment of food on the tables within the great hall and all those in attendance would be free to eat and drink to the early hours of the next morning.
A little extravagant, and yet Ben had thought it a wonderful idea, and so the plan had been set. Kenzie had written to Gwen and Braxton, inviting them, too, but due to the short notice, she doubted they would get here quick enough.
A light knock on her door sounded, and Kenzie bade them enter. She turned to see Athol at the threshold, her face hardened with unrestrained hate.
“Come in, Athol. What can I do for you?” she asked, dismissing her maid who left and shut the door behind her. Kenzie went and sat before the fire, gesturing for Athol to join her there.
Athol sat and folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve come to ask ye to leave off this marriage plan with Laird Ross.”
Kenzie had known this was coming. The lass was determined to have Ben for herself, but there was no way in hell Kenzie was letting Ben go. “I’m sorry, Athol, but that’s not possible. I love the laird and want him to be my husband, and he wishes for me to be his wife. Nothing will change that.”
“I am Aline’s sister, and would suit the role of mother and wife much more than you. The boy is my blood.”
“Alasdair, you mean. He does have a name.”
Athol narrowed her eyes. “Ye are not suitable nor of high birth. Ye bring nothing to this marriage other than your ability to lay on your back and act the tramp.”
Kenzie smiled, not willing to let this woman know how her words hurt her soul. She would not stoop to the woman’s level, no matter how much she may wish to. “You don’t know me. I fail to see how it’s my fault the laird prefers me over you. Everyone has a choice and his has been made. While I’m sorry you’re hurt by that choice, it is something you’ll have to live with. Now,” she said, standing, “I have a wedding to attend and you have a door to walk through. Good day to you, Athol.”
“You’ll regret this,” Aline’s sister said, spitting the words like little arrows.
Kenzie watched her leave. No, she would never regret marrying Ben, when one married her soulmate, regret was an emotion that could never raise its ugly head.