Uneasily, Lilias approached the two elder women she’d been introduced to weeks ago, feeling the weight of the laird’s eyes on her back. They stood by the hearth, likely trying to warm the chill from their bones created by the drafty great hall. Though it was spring, it had snowed only weeks before and, the weather promised to be chilly for a few more months.

She’d not been able to catch her breath since she’d arrived, and didn’t expect she would ever again.

But right now, she sought the only people in the room who might offer her comfort, as her brother had once again been whisked away. Lady Fenella smiled at her warmly, but there was something in Lady Elle’s eyes that spoke emotional volumes. Almost an apology.

Her heart lurched, pounding behind her ribs, and she felt the familiar sting of tears at the back of her eyes. She blinked them away, working hard to keep her lip from trembling. Sucking in a breath, Lilias curtsied, but they quickly told her to stand.

“How was your journey?” Lady Elle asked.

“Without issue,” Lilias said absently, for the first time glancing around the great hall, at the tapestries depicting battles and legends, the candelabras with wax dripping down their iron holds. There were fresh rushes on the floor, and the scent of herbs seemed to permeate the air. There were little touches here and there that gave it a warmer feeling than most great halls. The warmth of the fire sank into her, calming the chill in her bones only slightly.

“We’re glad ye came,” Lady Fenella said.

Lilias resisted the urge to reply haughtily that she’d not been given a choice, but instead she inclined her head and gave a small polite smile. It simply wouldn’t do to be rude to these women. They’d only been doing their duty. Just as she was. And they were kind, she knew that. After they’d left Castle Cameron, her mother had not been able to stop talking about them for days. In fact, her health seemed to have improved for the barest hint of a moment.

Of a sudden, Lady Elle reached for her, gripped her hand and tugged her closer. “We were verra sorry to hear about your mother’s passing. I wish I’d known her better.”

A familiar tightening in Lilias’s throat seized, and she forced herself to swallow back the tears she’d gotten control of only moments before. Doing so in the hall with all these people watching would only draw attention and not the kind she wanted. With a stiff upper lip, she looked into the fire.

“She is no longer in pain,” Lilias managed. “But she will be missed much by many.”

The two women nodded sympathetically. “Would ye care to take a walk around the garden?” Lady Elle asked.

Lilias didn’t want to walk, but again, she was given little choice in the matter. Lady Elle wrapped Lilias’s hand around her arm, called for their mantles and practically dragged her outside.

When she’d arrived at Dunstaffnage, the sun had been covered with clouds. Now, it shone through, warming her skin. The wind had died down, too. Was this another sign from her mother? That things would be all right? They walked around the garden with the sounds of the sea not far off.

With the sun on their faces and the scents of the herbs from the garden filling their noses, Lady Elle broke the silence. “I lost my mother when I was about your age. Most unexpectedly.”

Lilias’s eyes widened at the sudden confession. She’d not expected Lady Elle to be so personal. She struck her as much like her own mother, very stoic and one to keep her feelings hidden.

Perhaps she had gotten the wrong impression of Lady Elle. “How did ye manage?”

“I had people that needed me. People I needed to protect. Just like ye. Your marriage is going to save a lot of people. And though ye dinna want it, there are so many that will be grateful to ye for the honor of having done your duty.”

Och, more talk of duty. Lilias didn’t want to hear about what she had to do. She wanted to know how to cope, how to grieve, how to move on, how to survive.

“I only wish ye could have been my daughter,” Elle said, a tear coming to her eye as she squeezed Lilias’s hand. “Well, my granddaughter. By marriage.”

Lilias’s heart leapt into her throat. What? Lady Elle wasn’t making sense. Granddaughter-by-marriage. That meant she was thinking of Dirk as Lilias’s husband. And just that very hint of a thought sent Lilias’s entire body careening. She wavered on her feet, but hoped the older woman hadn’t noticed as she pretended to bend down to swipe an imaginary blade of grass from her skirts. “I dinna know what to say.”

“Ye needn’t say anything. ’Tis just the ramblings of an old woman. I should have liked that verra much. And I do hope that whomever the woman is that birthed Olafsson will appreciate ye as much as I would have.”

Lilias was speechless. In fact, she felt like a fish out of water, her mouth popping open and closed, confused. She narrowed her eyes. “Thank ye.” But her words came out more a question. Then she did ask, “Did ye succeed? In saving your people?”

Lady Elle smiled, nostalgically. “I did. I still do to this day.”

“How?”

“I never gave up. And I married the love of my life.”

Lilias had no love. And she didn’t expect to gain it with the man she was ordered to wed. He seemed to her a cruel man from the stories she’d heard whispered on the moors. A wretched conqueror. A bloated, old fool, too in love with power and land to care about a mere wife. In fact, she’d heard a rumor that on the field of battle, he’d even considered letting his son’s life be forfeit when he had a chance to save him.

But never giving up, that was something she could do.

After their walk, Lilias was shown to her guest chamber. She lay in bed, not expecting to fall asleep, but the emotional toll the day took did her in. A few hours later, she was awakened, by a kind maid who helped her to fix her hair before the feast.

When she was done, and returned to the great hall, the tables had been put back in place and the servants were bustling about setting trenchers and cups on the tables.

“My lady.” Laird MacDougall stepped in front of her, surprising her. He swept into a bow and then offered her his arm. “I should be privileged if ye would sit beside me as my guest. This feast is in your honor. A thank ye for what ye’re doing for our people.”

Lilias didn’t argue. Though she despised his duty, her own, she felt that beside the two elder women in his lives, he was her only ally. And it wouldn’t do to shun her only other ally, given she would be relying on him much over the next sennight.

He pulled out her chair for her, and then dropped into the one beside her, a boyish grin looking almost out of place on his overly stoic visage. She got the sense that he was usually more of a playful type, and she thought if they had met at the king’s court, she might have enjoyed a flirtation with him. But that only made her sad, and she found it hard to return his smile. He poured a cup of wine himself and passed it to her, then held his glass up, toasting her with another winning smile. She took a sip, too afraid to show even the slightest hint of enjoyment. Why, she wasn’t certain. She could only say it seemed a good way to protect herself. To hide. To not become close to anyone here, as she would only miss them as she did all those she’d left at Castle Cameron.

At his orders, when the tables were filled with clansmen and women, the servants presented a roasted suckling pig, vegetable pies, salmon in lemon-butter sauce, and freshly baked brown bread. The scents were decadent, and she allowed MacDougall to cut her pieces of meat and serve them onto her trencher.

Daintily she cut her meat and put the pieces in her mouth, chewing longer than needed. Though she knew the flavors and scents were good, she could barely taste anything. The bread was dust, the meat was sinew.

“Is the food to your liking?” MacDougall asked.

Lilias stared at her plate piled high. Why did it seem to grow the more she ate? “Aye.”

“Ye’ve hardly touched it.”

She shrugged, though she knew the gesture wasn’t at all ladylike. “I am tired, that is all.”

“Ye will get sleep tonight.”

Lilias raised a brow. “How can ye be so certain?”

MacDougall stilled, the piece of meat he’d speared and brought toward his mouth left hanging there in mid-air. “I have had our best guest chamber made up for ye.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The man was a brute and had no idea. “I was shown there earlier today, and while I did nap, I am curious how this chamber guarantees a good night’s sleep?”

He popped the meat in his mouth and chewed, studying her. When he finished, he took a sip of wine, his gaze still on her. “Have ye always been this argumentative?”

“I would not say I’m argumentative.”

“And yet, ye’ve just argued once more.”

Lilias pursed her lips. Then spearing a piece of salmon, she said nonchalantly, “I suppose ye’re more used to women simply agreeing. I have no objection to stating my own opinion, or questioning yours.”

MacDougall grunted. “Is that what ye call it?”

She smiled. “I call it free will.”

“Free will is for the dead.”

“The dead?” She hiked a brow in his direction.

“Aye. Even I dinna have free will. I am beholden to my king, my people.”

Lilias put her eating knife down and turned to look at him more fully. “But would ye not say ye’ve more freedom of choice than I?”

“I would agree,” he said without hesitation.

“Ah-ha!” She picked up her eating knife and pointed it at him. “Ye see? And here ye mince words and attempt to rebuke me for simply speaking.”

MacDougall frowned. “That was not my intention.”

“What was your intention, my laird?”

He grinned and poured her some more wine. “To distract ye.”

“From what?”

He waved his hand, indicating the room. “From this. I know ’tis not your choice. That when ye speak of things like free will, ye’re thinking of what will happen in the morn.”

Lilias suddenly felt like there was a thick rock in her belly. How had he so accurately seen through her when she’d tried so hard to keep her expression blank and her opinions on topics that did not touch her future? “Aye,” she said softly.

MacDougall studied her, then let out a sigh. “I hope that a good meal and nice chamber can help to soften what must happen. That is all I meant.”

“Soften?” She narrowed her eyes at him, the desire to argue some more intensified. Aye, she wanted, nay, needed, a good fight. “I hate to be the bearer of ominous tidings, my laird, but no amount of gestures will soften what I’m to do.”

His lips pressed together firmly, and she had the impression she’d offended him somehow, but refused to care. How could he be offended when she was the one being paraded off to an uncertain, and most likely, unhappy, future?

“With all due respect, while I am off in the wilds of nowhere with my warlord husband, ye will return home to all ye know and love.”

MacDougall sat back in his chair and from the flash of anger in his eyes, she thought he might just shove back far enough to topple the chair from the dais. “Dinna make me out to be a monster, my lady. I fought hard for my people, for ye. Blood was shed, and when Olafsson told me he’d not stop until he’d conquered us all, I made a deal. A treaty to protect people ye love, people I love.”

“To give me away.”

“To give any bride of worth away. Aye. Ye’re it.”

She sniffed, because she didn’t want to think about what he’d said about spilling blood. “Pardon me if I am not in the least bit comforted by your chivalry.”

He sat forward quickly enough to disturb the air, sending it to swirl around her. Pain etched into the corners of his eyes. “Ye, see, lass, that is the thing. I canna worry over your comfort. Not when I had to barter ye in marriage to save the whole of our people.”

She swallowed, understanding the position he was in even if she didn’t want to. “I know.”

He started, as though he had expected her to say much more, as though he had on the tip of his tongue the harsh words he wanted to use to keep her quiet. But she’d agreed, and she seemed to have rendered him speechless by doing so.

“I’m not a spoiled lass,” she murmured. “I have not sat in my luxurious chamber and wiled away my time, dreaming of the day I would be whisked off to fairyland. I am educated. I have worked hard for my people, to see that my clan prospers. I have known heartache and hardship. And now I suffer once more. I dinna complain to ye, or state my opinion because I want ye to comfort me, or because I want your pity. I do so, because that is who I am. I am outspoken. I dinna sit back silently.” She spoke so quickly, she was out of breath.

“Believe me,” he said, a grin curling his lips, and genuine amusement in his eyes. “I’ve noticed.” His smile was curiously, and confusingly, infectious. “Not that it is much consolation to ye, my lady, but if there had been any other way around this, I would have taken that path.”

Lilias nodded, swallowing hard. “I believe ye.” And she did.

Looking across the room, and up toward the balcony, he signaled for the musicians there to play a song.

“Even if ye have to pretend to smile and enjoy it, will ye honor me with a dance?”

She shook her head. “Nay. For I will be plenty on display in my new home. ’Haps, on this occasion, ye will honor me?”

Again, that startled look as though no one had ever asked him to dance before. Then that same, infectious grin that made her belly do a leap. “My men and I will do the sword dance for ye.”

Lilias grinned, surprised that he’d actually agreed, and with seeming pleasure. She watched as he shouted for the men to join him in shoving tables aside, and then placing their swords on the ground, crisscrossing one another. They danced, whooping and hollering as they did so. She clapped along with the others, mesmerized by the way he was able to gracefully dance with a body so large and full of steel.

She let go of the worried thoughts that had taken hostage of her mind, and for a few fleeting moments, just enjoyed herself. Let the music take hold, swaying her body. She laughed with the other women, and pointed at the lads who danced and made merry. This was what life should be like. Happiness. Joy. Celebration.

As the laird kicked and leapt over the swords, he spun to look at her and now it was her turn to be momentarily startled. There was a sparkle in his eyes, and a mischievousness about the corners of his mouth.

Dirk MacDougall was a handsome man. And there seemed to be more to him than what he presented to the world. He was not just a harsh ruler. A leader. There was some heart there, some fun, too. Why did he choose to reveal this side of himself to her?

Just as quickly as her smile had come, it left. Who was she to observe these things about him? Who was she to forget why she was here? Who was she to pretend that this was a feast in celebration of anything other than the truth?

Dirk MacDougall was a messenger only, and she the package.