“She was married before, and they had nae conceived. After her husband died, she wanted to discover if she was the reason she had nae had children, so the medicine woman who examined her told her that her womb would remain forever empty, and a seer confirmed it.”
“God’s blood,” Brice muttered. “Ye must have bairns. Ye’re laird. Ye need offspring that will one day take yer place.”
“Ye will have bairns, andyerson will be laird.”
“Ye speak nonsense. Surely ye want yer own bairns.”
“I dunnae, Brother. Now leave the subject be.” The softness that had once dwelled in him, the part of him capable of tender emotions for a woman, the part of him that had imagined having bairns with Marsaili—children who would look like her—had died when he’d learned she had. He wanted none of it now.
“Ye’re nae dead, Callum,” Brice said low. “Ye live, like it or nae.”
He glanced sideways and met his brother’s worried gaze. He wanted to snap a command at him to stop speaking. He could—it was his right—but he simply nodded when confronted with the evidence of Brice’s concern. “Aye, I’m well aware that I’m nae dead.”
“It just occurred to me what ye’re doing,” Brice said, making Callum groan.
“Do ye ken,” Callum grumbled, “that ever since the day ye were born, ye have been noisy? Ye came out wailing, and once that stopped, ye started jabbering, and ye have nae ceased.”
Brice grinned. “Dunnae try to sway me from my thoughts with affronts. I’ve seen ye use that deceit enough times to ken what ye are doing. Now, I thought ye were marrying Coira only because of the blame ye place on yerself for Da’s death, and certainly because we need the ally, but I see now ’tis nae so simple.”
“I dunnae care to hear yer views on why I’m doing what I am doing,” Callum growled.
“And I dunnae care that ye dunnae wish to hear it,” Brice shot back. “Ye are marrying Coira because ye ken that with her, ye will nae ever have to risk feeling for a woman again.”
“I dunnae ken any such thing, because I dunnae waste my time thinking upon trivial matters such as my feelings. I plunged our clan into war and cost Da his life when I broke my vow to wed Edina. I have a duty,” he thundered, “and I’ll see it through.”
Brice opened his mouth, but Callum shook his head. “I’d nae if I were ye,” he said, his anger now barely controlled. “Ye have said yer piece, and I let ye, but if ye say one more word, I will hit ye square on that mouth ye kinnae seem to keep shut.”
“Ye ken yer temper has bested ye because I’m right.”
Callum clenched his jaw on retorting. He rarely lost control, but Brice’s words, the day, and the impending arrival of a woman he did not wish to wed had him on edge. His brother was correct that he never again wanted to feel the pain of loss. His grief had nearly drowned him when Marsaili had died. But he didn’t fear that he would feel such pain again, because he would never feel for anyone as he had for her. Loving Marsaili, plunging his clan into strife for her only to lose her before ever truly having her, had left him keenly aware that his choices carried long-lasting, sometimes irrevocable consequences. He felt a thousand summers older than the twenty-seven he was, and he prayed he was wise enough now to never forget that.
Brice clamped a hand on Callum’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Brother. I see I pushed ye too hard. We can talk more of this when ye are ready to really listen.”
Callum grunted and responded by starting toward the path to the loch. Brice fell into step beside him as he made his way down the jagged embankment. He could have taken the stairs, not far to the west, but he welcomed the burn in his legs from his muscles working to keep him from sliding and the tightness in his lungs from the clipped pace. It took his concentration, which was a welcome reprieve from the thoughts in his head.
“I ken ye heard me,” Brice said, terseness underlying his tone.
“I heard ye,” Callum snapped. “Now ye hear me. I’ll nae talk more of this. Ye raise the topic again at yer own peril. Do ye ken me?” He stopped and turned to Brice. He could not afford—God’s bones, the clan could not afford—for his brother to ruin the arrangement with Ainsworth. When Brice gave him a stubborn look, Callum’s temper spiked. He knew his brother meant well, but when he looked at his brother, Callum saw the same naive fool he had once been, believing the good of one outweighed the good of many. “If ye push me, Brice, as laird, I will have to punish ye for failing to obey.”
Brice’s lips pressed into a thin line, but after a minute, he smiled. “Ye ken ye sounded just like Da when ye said that.”
“Good,” Callum said, meaning it, as he reached the shore. “Da was a strong laird.”
“Da was ruthless and scheming,” Brice replied. “As is Mother.”
“Be that as it may, if I had relented to their demands to wed Edina, he would be alive and the clan would be much stronger.”
“Ye have shoved how ye felt for the Campbell lass so deep within ye that it seems all ye can recall is yer guilt. Ye have forgotten the feelings that led to yer choices.”
“I do nae forget,” Callum growled. “I only wish I could.” With that, he turned from his brother and made his way down the seagate stairs.
Bright light cracked the darkness of the dungeon. Marsaili scampered up from the cold, slick floor, squeezing her eyes shut against the light. From her stiff limbs and the way she could hardly tolerate the light, she figured she’d been down here at least two days—no more than three. Her stomach growled with gnawing hunger, and she rubbed at it while slowly cracking her eyes open. Oh, how she detested the penance cell.
She could just make out the shadowy figure of a hooded woman. Marsaili’s eyes watered as she willed them to adjust. It wasn’t Jean—of that much she was sure. If Jean were this near Marsaili, the evil woman would have taunted her. She would have been crowing at how Marsaili had been caught by Torquol and dragged to the dungeon. Marsaili swallowed, her throat so dry it felt as if she’d just tried to get down a mouthful of dirt. When had she last had something to drink? Day one or two down here? Two, she thought, but who knew if that was truly correct. Her thoughts were swimming in her head like slippery fish that didn’t want to be caught.
“Is my father here?” she croaked. The question elicited fear and anger inside her. She wanted to see him only to spit in his face, but if she was close enough to see him, any hope of escape was lost. Though, it seemed rather lost already.
“Nay,” a woman answered in a tart, amused voice. “Lucky for ye, I’d say. Would ye nae?”
