Page 34 of Kilty as Sin
What had he almost admitted earlier?
Barclay turned to her and offered a bow—this one neither brief nor mocking. The warmth in Grace’s veins made it difficult to smile, but she tried anyhow.
“Ye’ll no’ forget yer promise to me, will ye?” Her tongue felt heavy. “The convent?”
“Aye, milady.” His voice was low, his tone almost reluctant. “Fare thee well.”
Her words stuck in her throat. “A-and ye.”
‘Twas all she could manage. Likely because her heart felt as if ‘twas beating double-time. Her chest was tight, her eyelids could barely stay open.
Blessed Virgin, saying goodbye to Barclay was breaking her!
Dinnae fash. Ye’ll be with the Mother Superior soon enough, and she’ll help ye reach Barclay.
There might not be a future for them, but Gracehadto keep hope alive!
So, she said naught as Barclay swung back up onto Mayo, who dipped his head to her, as if waiting for a farewell. She wanted to pet his nose but couldn’t seem to make her arm work. Instead, she sipped the sweet mead and tried not to cry.
Barclay nodded once to her father, then paused, his gaze lingering on her. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but eventually shook his head, clucked his tongue to the horse, and they both turned toward the gate.
Grace watched him go, knowing part of her heart was leaving with him.
Dear God, why was it so difficult to breathe?
She startled when Father’s heavy hand landed on her shoulder.
“’Tis glad I am to hear ye fought off those bastards,” he announced. “Yer virginity is key to this arrangement.”
Arrangement?
Frowning, she turned to her sire, although the courtyard seemed to continue spinning long after she’d completed the motion. She opened her mouth to ask but couldn’t seem to make her tongue work.
Father’s smile seemed pleased, as if things were going according to some plan. “Now that I have ye back, I’ll be sending word to yer bridegroom. Ye can be married within the sennight.”
A sennight. She had seven days to make her escape.
Except…
All she wanted to do right now was sleep.
“I…willnae…” she managed, despite wanting to rail against his tyranny.
He tsked his tongue. “So like yer mother. Grace, ye are headstrong, aye, which I could forgive. But even now, ye’re scheming how to put yer own interests before that of the clan, are ye no’?” He sighed hugely and shook his head. “I vowed to Laird MacGill he’d have ye as another wife, and he is a powerful man. He’ll be a powerful ally. Yer son will be laird of both clans!”
Why couldn’t she take a full breath? Why was there darkness at the corners of her vision.
“…Run,” she managed.
“Nay, ye’ll no’.” Father patted her hand gently, leading her toward the steps. “Ye’re going to yer room to sleep for a good long while. A sennight at least. ‘Twas MacGill’s suggestion, and a good one. I’ll keep ye drugged until yer bridegroom arrives, and ye can stay that way through the ceremony!”
Blinking, Grace dropped her gaze to the cup she still held as she stumbled along beside Father. The mead had been drugged?
Of course, ‘twas, ye idiot! The rest of us picked up on the foreshadowing!
But… She lifted her gaze. “Father?” she slurred.
He grinned, proud in the knowledge of his victory as the flagon fell from her fingers.
