Chapter Fifteen
Madeline, resting peacefully against him, drifted to sleep. Her muscles were tired, and the bliss of their union made her eyes heavy. And then he whispered in her ear, Do nay marry him, lass…I beg ye… She knew he would never beg such a thing to her face. He probably thought she slept. Her eyes misted and she used every ounce of determination to remain still, to not reveal that she had heard, for she would start to sob and the beauty of the night would be lost.
But after five days of travel and five nights of making the most perfect love, the beauty came to an end. The outskirts of Edinburgh lay ahead of them, clusters of crofts in the countryside growing denser with Arthur’s Seat tilting beyond them. The castle loomed over it all. She had only been here once before, when her father had been incarcerated and she was brought to the king as his ward.
She took a deep breath. She wanted to flee and almost begged Teàrlach to let her. But as they stood side by side, she couldn’t force the words over her lips. She couldn’t defy the King of Scotland and undermine a betrothal he had contracted. Teàrlach looked down at her, his face impassive, yet his wrinkles of stress more pronounced. He was steeling himself for her departure. She could read his emotions as clearly as the sun shone, belying how miserable this day was with its cheery rays. She knew such looks, for she had mastered them herself. He didn’t offer her a final kiss, a final embrace. He hadn’t touched her intimately since the morning when they both had woken tangled with each other in their undergarments.
She did the same, the impassive expression surprisingly easy to conjure. Mayhap it was because the moment felt so surreal. He nodded his curt nod once, lifting her into the cart, and climbed up to take his seat. Without looking at her again, he slapped King’s rear. The beast lumbered into a walk, long ago having resigned himself to the prison of his harness.
The trip took half the day, but if felt as if time stood still. People milled about their normal lives as if her world wasn’t about to collapse. They smiled, greeted each other, worked, oblivious to the hurt in her heart. Markets thrived. Children ran to and fro in homespun wool. Laborers toiled. Crofters gardened. Oxen pulled carts of goods, and men pulled carts of milk. The din grew denser and denser as they traversed the valley and began climbing the long ascent toward the fortification on the hill.
They passed through the royal gates without issue, the guardsmen manning the barbican in their fine surcoats fringed with gold and displaying the proud red and gold lion rampant of the royal house, having expected them. Teàrlach, in his Moreville surcoat, drove King through the yards swarming with servants delivering missives, completing tasks, hauling hay, smithy’s hammering from far corners, and courtiers strolling in groups.
Every clop of King’s hooves upon the ground sent dread ringing through her heart, as if the stallion took each step toward darkness, a dismal future she couldn’t imagine, the death of something that could have been beautiful. She could feel that Teàrlach had finally looked back at her. She remained in her corner of the cart, not looking at anything, a knuckle at her lips, twisting her kerchief as her heart and her mind waged an internal battle.
But she could feel the intensity of his eyes, as if he begged her to run away with him and refuse the arrangement. She couldn’t move, couldn’t look up. She chewed her knuckle to the point that the skin split, and she twisted her kerchief and didn’t look at anyone or anything.
…
Do nay do it, Maddie… Panic threatened to overtake him as he turned to face forward. Not once did she look up at him and return his gaze. It was as if she were oblivious to him, a stark difference from the woman who had been undulating against him in the wee hours as he’d made love to her one final time, sighing his name, kneading his curls with her delicate fingers. The horse meandered to the main house. He had no idea where he was supposed to deposit her. But if he had to leave, he was going to be less than chivalrous, because he needed to put distance between them quickly. An emotional farewell wasn’t something he could well execute.
Finally, he halted King. They sat before the timbered great house. This would be as safe as any place to unhitch his horse, seek an audience with King William, and ride away hard without ever looking back. He sat on the cart for a moment, not moving, knowing his face was ashen. When he finally looked back, Madeline still held her knuckle to her lips, still twisted her kerchief.
This isn’t happening. He was in a daze. It couldn’t be. He would wake on the morrow and they would be wrapped up beneath his plaid in the trees, and he would discover this was a horrible dream. Except it wasn’t. He alighted and walked around the cart, offering his hand to help her down. She took it, but her fingers felt like ice and her other hand never left her mouth.
Lifting her down, Teàrlach stood before her. He glanced around, spying if John de Moreville was anywhere in sight, if he had even yet arrived. His gaze eventually came to her, holding her waist, biting her knuckle, twisting her kerchief. It was time to leave her. It was time to find the king, hand over the ledger, and carry his breaking heart away as fast as his mount could run.
“Maddie,” he began. Her eyes, big and watery, looked up at him. No more words came. They both knew where they stood. He began to turn around when he spun back to her. The words spilled from his lips before he could control them.
“Do nay marry him,” he supplicated, his eyes threatening water. “I…” his voice cracked. He sucked in a lungful, pushing the rest of the words out on a whisper, shaking his head. “I beg ye. I beg ye do nay marry him. Please…”
He wrenched her hand away from her waist. She lost the battle of her tears. Her other hand flattened over her mouth to hold in a sob. It nearly killed him. It was killing him. He squeezed her hand, afraid to show any affection for fear of who might be watching, for he certainly wasn’t on his guard this day and had no doubt overlooked much as he tried to staunch the blood pouring from his ripping heart.
“I…I do nay know what to do,” she said feebly.
“Come away with me,” he rattled on, gripping her fingers earnestly. “Leave this all here, and…and just ride with me. North. We’ll make a life together. I know I’m nay a laird but aye, I have a good family…and, and I work hard… I’d never fail ye. I’d always provide for ye. I’d love ye forever.” A tear pooled on his eyelid, but he blinked madly and kept it at bay, his voice becoming a desperate whisper again. “Do nay marry him, lass.”
“I have nary a choice,” she said, shaking her head, as water soaked her cheeks.
“There’s always a choice,” he argued, squeezing harder.
She bit her trembling lip to gain control. “For a man. But nay for a woman. Laird Moreville…the king… They decided for me. I had no say.”
He shook his head, frustrated. “I want ye, lass. I want ye for me own. I’d be a good husband. I swear it.”
She squeezed his hand in return and closed her eyes, pulling his fingers to her mouth and kissing them. “You would be my perfect husband,” she blurted out, muffled against his knuckles. Her whole body shook. She looked about ready to collapse but she kissed his hand again. “But defy the king? I…I can nay defy the king…I can nay…I can nay…”
He stood frozen. Rejection coursed through him in sickening surges. She threatened to break down right then. If he pushed her further, he knew she was going to fall to keening in front of the castle staff.
“Teàrlach,” she beseeched, dropping to her knees though there was nothing else to add.
He pulled his hand free from her. Of course, she had been trained to acquiesce. She had been trained her whole life to live in a shadow and do as she was expected, or else feel the wrath of it. He knew what he was asking her to do went against every lesson she had learned. But rejection burned, and when it burned, it burned a man’s pride with it, along with his good sense.
He shook his head, backing up a step, then another, and finally gave her his back. He began unhitching King, releasing the beast from his harness. He then swung his arm under the saddle in the cart and scooped it up, flinging the blanket onto his horse’s back and setting the saddle upon it. He grabbed his packs, swung them over his shoulder, and took King’s bridle.
Without turning around—he couldn’t look at her. It was over—he uttered his last words. “Good-bye, my lady. I bid you a good life.”