Two days later, after dealing with more demands and displays of arrogance than she’d ever faced in her life, Mary stood in the kirk and watched her father wed a lass his youngest daughter’s age. He seemed distracted rather than pleased. Less the eager bridegroom and more…what? Was he having second thoughts? She couldn’t tell, but if he was, she wished him well of them. It was much too late for cold feet when he stood before the priest with his young bride by his side, her Grant guards lining the kirk’s walls and posted at the door. Mary’s hackles had risen at the way the guards positioned themselves. Keeping trouble out or the Rose clan members in?

Since they hadn’t been invited, she’d written Annie and Catherine to tell them of the wedding, but was glad they weren’t here. Da was still annoyed at Catherine’s and Kenneth’s handfasting, and Annie’s second pregnancy made travel uncomfortable for her. Mary expected they’d be scandalized by the bride’s age and worried by the entente between their father and the bride’s mother.

What the Grant guards might do to her father—and her—if Lady Grant was of a mind to take Rose for her son concerned Mary more. Her father’s certainty that there was nothing amiss only served to make her more anxious. The wedding could be an elaborate ruse—but an effective one.

Cameron Sutherland stood by her side, which gave her more comfort than the presence of one man should, despite the long looks he got from some of the clan who’d yet to meet him. Their companions from the supper he’d attended made up for the rest. Edan and Cailean had greeted him on the way in, and Annag all but swooned at his feet when he bowed over her hand.

Mary didn’t care what anyone else might be thinking at seeing him standing beside her. Surely his situation was common knowledge by now. Where else would he be, but standing with her at her father’s wedding?

She’d tried to talk him out of attending, but her father had insisted on having him witness the ceremony, suddenly a convenient representative of the powerful Sutherland clan rather than an inconvenient invalid. Cameron felt he had no choice but to comply. “Besides,” he’d told her when she brought her father’s request to him, “my father would want a Sutherland recognized in an official capacity. If he were here, he’d surely attend. So must I.”

At the kirk, Cameron pointed out the array of Rose guards. “Inviting me,” he told her softly, with only a trace of irony in his voice, “and including his men in numbers to match the Grant guards, tells me yer father may no’ be as certain of the Grants as he professed to ye. Ye can take comfort. He is being cautious.”

Mary hoped he was right. She also hoped Cameron could remain on his feet through the entire thing. Fortunately, her father had instructed the priest to keep the ceremony short. Da wasn’t a particularly religious man, and he often said he didn’t see the sense of allowing a priest to drone on and on, the only one enjoying the sound of his voice. Mary had smiled at that, but hidden her expression behind her hand. The priest had been displeased, but clearly took the laird’s orders to heart. He presided over the shortest kirk ceremony of any sort that Mary could recall. She held her breath once the vows were said and the wedding recorded in the kirk’s bible over her father’s and Seona’s signatures. If Lady Grant planned anything, this would be her first opportunity.

But Cameron must have seen Mary pale and realized what she was thinking. He shook his head. “Dinna fash. There are too many Rose warriors present for Grant to cause trouble here.”

Soon enough, they were back in the great hall, everyone seated at long tables except the Grant guards, who took up positions near the doorways along the wall. Mary tried to ignore them and made sure to seat Cameron near the hearth. She didn’t want him to get chilled, in case his health was still at all compromised. She stayed by him, at the opposite end of the long table filling the center of the hall, well away from the wedding party. Her father didn’t object, but she didn’t think he would. He was too busy laughing with the bride’s mother while the bride sat on his other side, ignored.

During the wedding supper, there was no lack of ribald jests directed at the laird. Mary cringed at each tasteless comment and the rowdy laughter that followed. Seona’s face went from pale to red and back again, depending on whether she heard—and understood, Mary supposed—the comments directed at her and the jests directed at her new bridegroom. Mary felt sorry for Seona and frustrated by the entire display. Once tables in the middle of the room were pushed aside and dancing started, Mary muttered, “I wish I could leave.”

Cameron took her hand under the table. “’Tis naught any bridal couple hasna gone through,” he reminded her.

Mary gestured toward them, still seated at the high table, watching the festivities. “Look at Seona and tell me this isna worse.”

“Aye, well, ’twill be over soon,” Cameron replied with a yawn.

Just then, Lady Grant approached Seona and bade her stand. “’Tis time to prepare ye,” she announced to her daughter in a strong, clear voice that carried above the musical instruments and across the room. Hoots, clapping, and laugher answered her.

Seona paled, but rose at her mother’s bidding. The women left the hall, followed by their maids and the Grant guards.

Mary breathed a sigh of relief as the Grant guards left the hall. She had feared a few would stay and take part in the drinking, leading inevitably to trouble.

Since she had no experience to offer, she had left putting the bride to bed to the Grant women. But seeing them go brought a tear to her eye. If her time ever came, who would see her to bed? Her mother died many years ago. Her sisters, married and living at Brodie, might be with her, but she might be alone.

Cameron leaned toward her, concern written in the crease between his brows. “What’s amiss?”

She shook her head. “Naught, really.” She wiped away the tear and faced him. She’d be stuck here as host even after da followed his new wife to bed. “Should ye go upstairs? I can get away for a few minutes to help ye get settled for the night.” She shouldn’t really leave, even for a short time, but she didn’t want him to run into trouble. There were too many drunk lads in the keep. She feared Cameron could not yet to defend himself in a fight. With only the wee blade in her skirt pocket, she could do little to defend him, but her presence should dissuade any Rose from harassing him. Even without such a confrontation, she worried Cameron would get overtired.

He shook his head, refusing. “I’ll stay with ye.” He nodded at some of the louder lads halfway down the table. “That lot could cause trouble, and yer da is no’ of a mind to do anything about it.”

She appreciated his gesture. He was right—her father was too drunk and too busy with his cronies to care what happened in the hall. Likely Da assumed she didn’t need protection since, for the most part, she ran the keep. Still, Cameron’s presence kept the other men at bay. Even when not at his best, he intimidated by being big, well-muscled and looking capable of mayhem.

His presence failed, however, to keep the Rose lasses at bay. Several came by to meet him. They had no lack of questions about his convalescence, his role at Sutherland, and his relationship with Mary.

One particularly bold lass asked the question Mary had been dreading. “Ye have spent so much time together, surely there might soon be another wedding at Rose…?”

“Alia!” Mary objected. “Ye are being rude.”

“I only ask what many are thinking,” the lass replied with a smirk for Mary and a smile for Cameron that could not be mistaken for anything other than an invitation. “If no’, perhaps ye would like to spend time with me. I’m certain I could make ye feel better.”

“Thank ye, nay,” Cameron told her. “Mary and the healer are treating me well enough."

“And that is quite enough,” Mary said, standing and putting some teeth in her tone. “I’ll thank ye to go on about yer business.”

Alia huffed and strode away.

Cameron grinned at her back. “The lass kens what she wants. Does she always go after it so openly?”

A moment later, Mary saw her tittering behind her hand with Annag, their gazes fastened on Cameron. What were the two of them up to? Mary frowned. “I apologize for her behavior. Likely she’s had too much to drink.”

Had her invitation piqued Cameron’s interest enough for him to take her up on it?

“Well, she’s safe from me, Mary, my love.” He turned to her. “And so is Annag, and any other Rose lass. I like the one I’m with.”

So he had noticed the two staring at him. Mary let out a breath, suddenly feeling lighter than she had all evening. She’d never taken his pet name for her seriously, but she appreciated that Cameron chose to stay with her, and to use it while other hungry gazes devoured him. Though he could act the frivolous youngest son, teasing her and flirting with her, tonight the term frivolous didn’t seem to fit him. His continued presence by her side gave her hope.

* * *

A fortnight after the wedding, Mary rose early as was her habit. She went down to the kitchen to break her fast, taking some sorely-needed time to herself. Cook and her staff knew to leave Mary be unless she asked them for something. Today, she sat in a corner, lost in her own thoughts. She still worried for her father. Though marriage should have made him mellow, he remained testy and quick to anger, and his headaches continued. The healer remained puzzled, with no solution to offer. And then there was Seona—but she refused to dwell on that lass while she ate.

The bright spot in her day was the time she spent with Cameron. To build his strength, he sparred with the other Rose warriors every morning. She enjoyed the glimpses she got as she moved around the keep doing her chores. Every afternoon, she walked with him, determined to do her part to help him regain his stamina. Her clan was accustomed to seeing them together, and people often stopped to greet him and exchange a few words. Cameron seemed to enjoy meeting everyone—his mood improved with each person who spoke to him, which pleased her.

Mary finished her simple repast with a smile on her lips that faded as headed upstairs. She needed Seona to accompany her if the lass was ever going to learn her duties—no matter what time of day they occurred. Yet she had become reluctant to wake her step-mother too early. The lass was always irritable in the mornings and refused food until midday. Breaking her fast before she fetched Seona was the best compromise she could manage.

Until the wedding party arrived at Rose, Mary had conceived of a faint hope Seona, despite the awkwardness of their ages and respective positions, would become a friend. Mary missed her sisters and longed for close female company—company Seona seemed loathe to provide, even when they were together. Mary expected developing anything akin to friendship would be difficult, if not impossible.

She had quickly become convinced her new stepmother was not only painfully shy, she was not terribly bright, and when cornered, reacted with her mother’s arrogance. Mary did her best to school her, but was not optimistic the lass would ever comprehend the variety of things that needed to be done to manage a keep this size. Nor did she seem to care about how to address the servants and Rose warriors to ensure her orders were carried out without angering them.

Though Mary had been glad when Lady Grant took most of her retinue and left the day after the wedding, in hindsight, if she’d been willing to help with her daughter, Mary would have welcomed her assistance. On the other hand, unless she’d left the lass in the care of some hapless nursemaid, she’d had the care and training of Seona from birth, and had ill-prepared her for life as a laird’s wife. Mary shook her head. There was no getting around it. She needed to have a stern talk with her new stepmother. One that inspired the lass to take on her duties, and that did not anger her father.

As Mary approached Seona’s chamber, she saw the remaining Grant guard who worried her the most. After the wedding day, once she had gotten a good look at him, she realized he was the man who’d stormed out of the Grant great hall when Lady Grant and her father announced his betrothal to Seona. Mary nodded to him as she approached, not comfortable addressing him. She feared what might come out of her mouth. Had Seona chosen him for her guard, or had her mother? Why on earth had Lady Grant left him behind with the lamb-headed lass? Worse, the guards had taken up station outside the chamber Seona had chosen for her own private use, rotating duty during the day—and night. Seona’s favorite usually had the night shift. Questions about whether he spent his nights outside her door or inside her chamber filled Mary’s mind. About how long he and Seona had been lovers. All things she had no right—and no solid reason—to ask him. Standing guard outside Seona’s door was innocent enough on the face of it. But his proximity to the lass worried Mary after the way he’d reacted to the betrothal announcement.

She decided to wait to rouse Seona until another guard stood at her door. This one inclined his dark head as Mary passed, but did not speak. As she continued down the hall, she couldn’t help wondering how recently he had been inside that chamber with Seona. Mary gave herself a shake, little more than a shudder, trying to drive out the notion. She prayed they had not done what she feared. Seona’s wedding vows were barely uttered. It was much too soon for her to take a lover, or to resume a dalliance with one. Or at least Mary hoped so, for her father’s sake. He counted on the woman giving him a son.

Mary paused at the corner and glanced back. The man had not moved from his position by the door. His gaze was on the wall opposite, but shifted to Mary for a fraction of a second, long enough to give her chills and get her moving again, out of his line of sight.

It mattered to her that any son Seona bore was her father’s and not this guardsman’s. Yet there was no sense borrowing trouble. For the moment, the man seemed content to watch over her. Surely, at some point, Seona would become convinced she would not be harmed at Rose. Or her husband would finally insist she send her mother’s men home to Grant. With that thought, Mary put all Grants out of her mind and went on about her business.

Later in the day, she was doing needlework with some of the Rose lasses and a sullen Seona in the ladies’ solar when word came that a courier arrived from Sutherland. He had four men in escort, and asked for Cameron Sutherland. Mary’s heart sank. There could be only one purpose for the visit. Her time with Cameron might end today. She set aside her stitching and went down to the great hall where the men waited.

Cameron was already speaking to the courier while the other four stood aside, near the hearth, their gazes roving around the room as they warmed themselves from their travel. Cameron’s frown told Mary how the conversation had gone. He gestured for the courier to join his fellows by the fire, then sought Mary out and confirmed her fears.

“I am being called home. These men will escort me and ensure my safe arrival. Can ye offer them hospitality for the night? We will leave on the morrow.”

“Ach, nay.” Mary’s chest filled with ice. She reached a hand out, but pulled it back, mindful of where they were, in full view of everyone in the hall. Her belly twisted at the news and at the restraint she must exercise. She wanted to throw herself into Cameron’s arms. “That’s so soon,” she managed to utter, somehow putting all of her dismay into those three words.

“Ye need no’ worry. I am fully recovered and those Sutherlands are all braw warriors. I will be well.”

Mary hung her head, devastated. He thought she still worried about his health, not that she didn’t want him to leave. “Why now? Why send those men now?”

“Ye canna guess?”

“Aye, I can.” Anger flared, hot and biting, from her belly to her throat, displacing the cold that had settled there at Cameron’s news. “Da must have sent yer father another letter.”

“Aye, he did. Claiming I have recovered well enough to travel, and fearing for yer virtue if I remain any longer. He left Sutherland nay choice but to send these men after me.”

Mary huffed. Sadly, her virtue was just fine. After that memorable bath, other than holding her when she needed it—his way of repaying her care with his own—Cameron had remained a gentleman. They’d never even kissed. “Can ye no’ send them away and stay?”

“Ye ken I canna. I am no’ eager to leave ye…yet.”

His slip made Mary’s eyes widen, and her pulse leapt in her throat.

“But yer da is right. I am well enough—or nearly so—to travel.” He pursed his lips and glanced toward the waiting men. “I must do as Sutherland bids.”

She crossed her arms. They felt weighted with lead. “And I must do as my father bids and continue to school his new bride. We both have our duty.” She sighed and turned away from Cameron to look at his escort. “This is an awful day.”

* * *

The next morning, Cameron arose early and made ready to travel. Despite his reluctance to leave Mary, the courier’s arrival was well timed. He needed to get to Sutherland before the information he gleaned in St. Andrews was overtaken by events. He could also fill his father in on what he’d learned from Domnhall’s men while riding scout for Iain Brodie on the way back to Rose. The healer had examined him again last night and pronounced the rest of his recuperation up to him. It didn’t matter where he did it.

Mary’s pain yesterday had been plain for him and everyone else to see. If he’d told her in private he had to leave, he could only guess what would have happened next. She had reached for him, but she’d quickly withdrawn her hand. Would she have stepped willingly into his arms, or done as she did in the great hall and turned away? The difference between Mary when they were private and Mary in public could not be more stark than she’d demonstrated in that wrenching moment.

When he joined the other Sutherlands in the bailey, Mary was already there, waiting. She gave him a brave smile, but he could see her fighting back tears.

“Are ye truly able to travel? I dinna wish to find out ye have fallen ill again because ye left too soon.”

Her concern about his health seemed the safest ground to stand on at the moment. “Dinna fash, lass. I will be fine.” He traced her cheek, trying to memorize the softness of her skin, the dewy pink of her lips, every feature, every expression he’d ever seen her wear. She’d cared for him in his illness, and come to have feelings for him. He had them for her, too, more than he ever believed he could. More than he knew how to handle, or tell her.

She’d been so kind to him, he didn’t want to see her hurt, and definitely didn’t want to be the one hurting her. The courier had confirmed James Rose kept Sutherland informed of his progress. Rose always intended for him to leave—without Mary. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t eventually return. But since he didn’t know what his father would have him do once he got home, he might never get the chance. This was a good time to leave, before Mary got more attached and he broke her heart. And his.

Not that their feelings mattered at this moment. As she’d said, they had their duty. And his called him north. The others had mounted up, and so he must, too. Though he wanted to tease out one last smile to remember, teasing words failed him. Instead, he simply told her, “Dinna forget me, Mary.”

“How could I?” She reached for his hand and this time she didn’t hesitate.

He took hers and kissed her knuckles, imagining the heat of the skin under his mouth came from her lips. He wanted much more than to kiss her hand, but in the bailey, in front of all these people, hers and his, more was not possible. Now he was leaving, more might never be possible—and would be cruel. He released her hand, turned away and threw himself onto his horse, wincing at the unexpected pain in his side. Without looking back, he flicked his reins. His side hurt less than the shards of glass filling his chest. He heard the other Sutherlands’ mounts fall into line after his, but he didn’t turn his head to see them as he passed through the Rose keep’s gate. He might catch a glimpse of the pain on Mary’s face, and that would surely stop his heart.