True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse (16 page)

The company gasped at this revelation.

“Coinneach understood in that moment that Rowena and his mother had both been right. They had tried to warn him, but he had been snared by the spell of Florine’s voice. His wife was Fae, a Fae who could take the form of a white wolf, a Fae who had snared him by being able to hear his thoughts. His son was half Fae, if the babe was his son at all, and who knew what would be the child’s legacy from his mother.”

Annelise felt a sudden surety that she would not like the end of this tale.

“In fury and fear, Coinneach cast the babe at Florine, then locked the door of her chamber against her. He stuffed cloth into his ears even as she began to call after him, knowing that he had to shield himself from her voice. He forced all of his men from the tower and freed Rowena from the prison. Florine sang, even as the pyre was built around the tower, and her song halted the efforts of many a man. Those men stood as if struck to stone, powerless to destroy her or to aid in her destruction. In the end, it was Coinneach who set the tower of his own hall alight, Coinneach with cloth in his ears who could ignore her spell, Coinneach who ensured that the deceitful Fae was burned to cinders.”

Annelise gasped in horror at Coinneach’s choice. What about his son?

“Coinneach turned from the sight of his ruined home to see Rowena, tears of joy on her cheeks, Rowena who had served him faithfully from the first. She fell to her knees before him in gratitude that he had done right by his holding, and the people cheered that Florine’s spell over their laird was broken.”

Nay! Annelise could not believe this travesty of a tale. Florine had been given no chance to defend herself or to explain her choice. It was unjust.

But Andrew continued the tale with a kind of glee and Orson nodded approval beside her. She saw that Isabella gripped Murdoch’s hand and recalled Murdoch’s captivity by the Elphine Queen. Perhaps they, too, thought poorly of the Fae, but Annelise wished to defend Florine.

Andrew continued, his tone filled with satisfaction. “Coinneach was humbled by his error and its price, and knew he had to make all come aright. When the fire had spent itself and the tower was no more, Coinneach strode into the ashes. He found the body of a white wolf where his wife’s bed should have been. He cut out the heart of the wolf and had it roasted for his meal. He had fulfilled the tradition, and he would never be deceived again. Of his son, there was no sign, and Rowena said the boy must have been claimed by the Fae. The weather changed after the fire, all returning to normal, and Coinneach was convinced that the portal to the realm of the Fae was closed.”

“So all could be well,” Orson mused. “Order was restored.”

“Coinneach took Rowena for his wife, for her counsel had been true, and together, they saw the holding prosper. She bore a son to him, a son so fine and strong that all knew he would be a fine heir to his father.” Andrew held his cup high. “And so it must be that they are happy still, that the crops prosper and the weather is fair, that the Fae are banished and the wolves hunt elsewhere, for I have not heard otherwise.”

The company lifted their cups with a roar of approval, saluting Andrew for his tale. The knight bowed, his pleasure clear, then the steward filled his cup to brimming.

“So we hear of the value of a sound marital choice,” Orson said smoothly beside Annelise, and she realized he had been watching her closely. “For the fortunes of his holding changed when Coinneach wed a woman who was not of his own kind.”

Annelise dared to speak her mind. “It says little good that he would condemn his wife without granting her a chance to explain herself.”

Orson laughed. “Such a deceitful woman would have simply lied.”

“But he granted her no chance! What if she loved him in truth? What if his son could have been saved?” Orson’s smile faded even as Annelise straightened. “I think it no good mark of his character that he was so quick to cast aside his wedding vows.”

“Does the boy’s disappearance not indicate Coinneach was right about his nature?”

“He could have been saved. His mother could have ensured his escape, whether she was Fae or not. A mother will risk much for her children, as I understand it.”

Orson’s lip curled. “Could you call such a creature a mother?”

“I do.” Annelise spoke with a decisiveness that was unusual for her. “I also call her Coinneach’s lawful wife, and I am appalled that any man would find credit in such a decision.”

“Burning is the old way of ensuring a taint does not spread to others.”

“I do not believe a man of merit condemns any creature without a fair hearing.

Orson sipped from his chalice. “Your soft heart does you credit, Lady Annelise.” He smiled, his eyes glittering as he watched her. “You will make a lord or laird a fine wife.”

“I hope so, sir. It would not be my intent to reward a man’s pledge to defend me by becoming a poor or faithless wife.” Annelise took a breath. “Just as I would expect any man who took my hand in his to give me fair hearing if accusations were made against me.”

Their gazes locked and held for a moment, one in which Annelise knew she might have said too much. “I should tolerate no secrets in my lady wife,” Orson said flatly. “And
no
defiance of my will.”

Annelise again glimpsed a resolve in him, one that made her shiver. “Then you had best seek a meek maiden to take your hand,” she said, before she could stop herself.

“Indeed I shall.” Orson sipped from his chalice again. He appeared to be most satisfied with himself, though Annelise could not be certain why. She had been certain he would have no affection for a woman who challenged his views, but he seemed to dismiss her perspective as irrelevant.

This was no good sign, to her thinking.

To Annelise’s further dismay, Orson addressed their host. “My lord Murdoch, might I demand a moment of your time?”

Annelise might have wished that Murdoch would decline, but he did not.

The two men left the board, their manners solemn. Annelise watched them leave and feared what Orson wished to say. Isabella moved closer to talk to her, but Annelise could barely concentrate on her sister’s comments.

When Orson returned to hall long moments later, his mood clearly exultant, Annelise’s heart sank to the floor. It was long moments before Murdoch appeared, and when he did, his grim countenance gave her no encouragement.

When the laird of Seton Manor summoned her with a glance, Annelise rose immediately. She had to know the truth of it.

*

After his discussion with Orson Douglas, Murdoch paced the length of the small chamber that held his records and seals. He doubted he had ever been granted a more delicate task than the one before him, save perhaps for the winning of his lady’s hand in marriage. He wished that he might have been a better diplomat than he knew himself to be.

But he knew what he was and what he had to do. He beckoned to Annelise, who seemed to be awaiting his summons. The small chamber he kept for his own was located behind the hall, not so close to the gates, and its portal was heavily reinforced. On the kitchen side of it was the larder, locked securely with its spices and stores. Only those who lived within Seton Manor knew of the trapdoor in the floor and the large room beneath it. There, every soul in the keep could take refuge during an assault or a fire.

In the room itself, there was a brazier lit, for it had no window and tended to be chilly. Murdoch gestured Annelise to a chair beside the brazier, certain she would be cold, but she stood resolutely before him, her hands clenched together.

“Tell me the worst of it,” she demanded.

Murdoch saw no reason to pretend the truth was other than it was. “Orson Douglas has asked for your hand in marriage.”

Annelise lifted her chin, showing a determination new to Murdoch. “I do not like him.”

Murdoch was intrigued by the difference in the younger woman’s manner. Isabella had warned him that Annelise could be stubborn, yet this was his first glimpse of that side of her nature. What had instigated the change? He feared it might have been the hunter and his kiss, a prospect that did not bode well for the pledge he had made to Alexander. “Yet he likes you,” he said, keeping his voice calm.

Annelise was dismissive of this. “He does not know me.”

“He likes the appearance of you, then, and the status of your family.” Murdoch tried to sound persuasive, though he guessed this battle was lost. “That is sufficient for many to consider a match.”

“He cannot like me,” Annelise insisted. “We have just disagreed about the ending of Andrew’s tale.” She propped her hands on her hips and Murdoch had to admit that her liveliness only made her more attractive. Though Orson might not care for any dissent, he might well be beguiled by the new fire in her eyes.

Murdoch exhaled. “He admitted as much to me, for I noticed your exchange. He believes that in time, your views will become reconciled to his own.” He did not add Orson’s reasoning that a woman was tamed by a good bedding, for he doubted it would do much to improve Annelise’s view of the knight.

In truth, the comment had done little to earn Murdoch’s favor, either.

Annelise’s eyes flashed. “Tell me that you did not accept an offer from him!”

“Nay, but I heard one and pledged to consider it.” Murdoch watched Annelise pace the width of the room, her agitation clear. She was a maiden awakened. Where once she had been so mild and quiet that any man could overlook her, now she drew the eye. The hunter might have made it easier for Murdoch to find a husband for his wife’s sister.

Assuming that she would accept any man other than the hunter.

“Alexander pledged that we three could wed for love,” Annelise said when she halted before him again. “He said we could
choose
. Isabella chose. She chose you.”

“Indeed.” Murdoch let his voice drop low. “But think of his name.”

“Douglas.” Annelise nearly spit it.

“Indeed. And think of their holdings.” Murdoch held Annelise’s gaze even as her lips tightened in defiance. “The lands of the Douglas family nearly surround Kinfairlie to the south and that family certainly controls any passage in that direction. The Earl of March himself is a Douglas.”

She folded her arms across her chest and sighed. “And Alexander is always caught in the balance of ensuring the earl’s satisfaction while not ceding too much. I remember that.” She turned a hot look upon Murdoch. “I know they are a powerful family. That does not mean I can or will love him.”

“But Orson is here. He traveled this distance in search of you and has stated his desire to wed you.”

“If he were the King of Sicily, I would not care how far he had come to seek my hand,” she retorted.

“Annelise!” Murdoch hissed. “I similarly do not care how far he came. Listen to me.
Why
he came is clear. Who dispatched him in pursuit of you is not.”

Annelise stared at him, and he was glad to have made his concern clear. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You think Alexander sent him?”

“I do not know. It is possible that the Douglas family have Alexander and Kinfairlie at disadvantage. Alexander may be stalling for time. He may have hoped you would find Orson appealing and that matters would be simply resolved. I cannot be certain until I hear from Alexander himself.”

“I will not wed Orson.”

“Because you have chosen the hunter.”

“And what if I have? Alexander granted me the right to choose. He must keep his promise!”

Murdoch winced that she did not deny his conclusion. “It is not easy for a hunter to support a wife, much less children. You must see, Annelise, that it would be most unsuitable for me to encourage any idea of this hunter courting your hand…”

“You had little to your name when you courted Isabella.”

“I had no intention of courting her, not at first. Indeed, it might be said that she courted me.”

Annelise smiled at the truth in that.

Murdoch touched her arm, dropping his voice low. “I know what you desire, Annelise, though I fear such a choice would not make you happy in the end.” He raised a finger when Annelise would have argued. “All I ask is that you wait until we know more of what hangs in the balance. Speak with Orson. Allow him to court you.”

“He will not win my heart!”

“But he does not need to know that he has already failed,” Murdoch said in an urgent whisper. “Not until we are certain of how matters stand at Kinfairlie.”

“You ask me to lie.”

“I ask you to not yet speak the truth of your heart.” Indeed, Murdoch hoped that Annelise’s choice might change. She was young and in the absence of the hunter, she might find Orson more appealing.

“And what of Garrett? I will not forget him.”

Murdoch frowned. “The question, Annelise, is whether he will forget you, or whether he will accept the challenge to prove himself worthy of your affections.” She looked up at that, her gaze filled with a hope that he feared would only be shattered. “All I ask of you is patience. A fortnight perhaps, less if the courier is swift. Think of all those at Kinfairlie whose welfare may be affected by your choices.”

Annelise dropped her gaze in apparent concession.

Murdoch did not truly expect an enthusiastic agreement. He feared Annelise was becoming more outspoken and determined like her sister, which was both good and bad. Once she had been quiet and biddable, and while he thought that unnatural, he could have done without defiance in this matter.