Page 59 of Winter Longing
“You think he’ll kill us?” Tank asked again. “Seriously.”
Cole would like to think that Ailsa—if she had any sway at all with her brother—wouldn’t let it come to that. But frankly, he just had no idea. He let out a bitter laugh. “If he does, I’ll haunt him for the rest of his miserable life.”
Tank cracked a faint smile at that, but the moment passed quickly, the silence resuming its oppressive weight. The hours stretched on, with the only upside being that Ailsa was safe and well. That was enough.
Tank resumed his pacing, the scrape of his boots filling the silence once more.
Above them, the muffled sounds of the keep carried faintly through the stone—footsteps, voices, the distant clatter of metal. Life went on, even as they waited in the cold, damp stillness.
***
The tension in the air was almost suffocating as Ailsa faced her brother in his private chamber at Torr Cinnteag. The cold stone walls seemed to amplify the weight of their words, every syllableechoing like a hammer blow. Though her pulse raced, she forced herself to stand tall, her composure fragile, but not broken yet.
Tavis, the brother who had once been her steadfast protector, now sat behind a heavy oak table, his fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm that betrayed his barely restrained fury. His narrowed eyes pinned her where she stood, a scathing glare that made her feel like a trespasser in his domain.
Below them, three floors down in the keep’s frigid dungeons, Cole and Tank were imprisoned under Tavis’s orders. The laird had refused her an audience the previous day, and her attempt to visit the dungeon had been similarly denied. "Laird’s orders," Colin had said, shifting uncomfortably beside Davey as they stood guard at the door. The younger lad hadn’t met her eyes, wincing as he was compelled to rebuff her.
“Tavis, this is a gross overreaction,” she said calmly, trying to reason with him, somehow managing to refrain from wincing herself as her brother leveled her with a scathing glare. “I dinna ken why you’re making such a fuss about this,” she said, her voice tight with frustration. “Cole’s actions were naught but... he was worried for me, just as any decent man would be!”
Tavis’s eyes flashed with fury. “Dinna insult my intelligence,” he growled savagely. “I dinna see any other man—lads ye’ve ken all yer life— hurrying to ye! Kissing ye, for the love of St. Columba!”
Ailsa clenched her fists, but she fought to keep her voice steady. “It was a reaction. Tavis,” she insisted again. “He was frightened. He was frightened for me, but nae because of any attraction—but because aye, we had become friendly...but nae close.” The lie felt hollow even as she spoke it, and the flicker of doubt in Tavis’s eyes told her it hadn’t landed.
Tavis stared at her for a long moment, his jaw set. “Ye ken I’m an eejit, lass?” he finally asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Ye ken I dinnanowsee what goes on—beneath my bluidynose!” He banged his fist on the table, rattling an ink pot and shivering papers. “The MacLae will have every right to back out! He willna wed ye! Nae with yer virtue in question. He dinna want spoilt guids.”
Ailsa bristled at the vile insinuation, the heat of indignation rushing to her cheeks. “I am nae despoiled,” she declared, her voice ringing with conviction. “And dinna speak to me of virtue in the same breath as ye mention Alastair MacLae’s name. 'Tis nae secret what he is. How he hounds his servants, the mistresses he keeps—under the same roof as his sisters and nieces! Aye, I’ve heard it all. Everyone has. The man is depraved, Tavis, a spineless predator!” Her fists clenched, and her chest heaved as her words poured out, raw and unrestrained. “I said naught when ye sought to bind me to him for the rest of my days. Even as I kent the distasteful nature of the man, his repulsive ways, I made nae objection. Ikentwhat was expected of me! But ye ken this—ye broke my heart, brother, sacrificing me to that man without so much as a second thought.”
Tavis’s face darkened, his eyes blazing. “Dinna ye question my—”
Ailsa stepped forward and banged her own small fist on the table, stunning her brother into silence. “Iwillquestion it!” she cried, her voice cracking with fury and heartbreak. “How could ye? How could ye have done what ye did to Orla? How could ye spare so little consideration for your own flesh and bluid?” Her voice rose to a crescendo, shaking the very rafters. “And God’s bones, Tavis, dinna say the wordpeaceto me even one more time!”
Tavis opened his mouth, but Ailsa pressed on, her voice breaking under the weight of her emotions. “Damn ye, Tavis, for your cold-hearted ignorance, for sacrificing your own sisters with so little care! Ye should have destroyed the MacLaes years ago, should never have suffered their ignorant tyranny and pettycruelty, their devious plots and their constant pecking at Torr Cinnteag and any Sinclair!Yeshould have done that, Tavis.” Her breath came in ragged gulps, her chest rising and falling as the torrent of her emotions finally began to ebb. “Have ye forgotten, Tavis, what they’ve done to us? How they snatched our wee brother—our bonny Callum—when he was just a bairn? How we wept, how mam near lost her mind until he was returned—sick and frightened—only after Da paid them half the fortune of Torr Cinnteag? Did ye forget thecreachof a decade past, when they burned every home in the village, leaving naught but ash and two charred ruins? Did that slip yer mind, as well?” Her breath hitched, but her words poured out, unstoppable. “And Uncle James—stabbed in the back like a common dog. Oh aye, highwaymen ye say, but everyone kent it was the MacLaes. They never paid for it, were never made to answer.” Her voice dropped, raw with emotion. “And do ye forget the desecration? The MacLaes crept onto Sinclair land, to our ancestors’ resting place, and shattered the stones of men and women who’ve been dead for centuries. Desecrated our family’s bones, Tavis! And yet, here ye stand, pretending nae any of it ever happened, asking me to bind myself to the MacLaes with so much Sinclair bluid on their hands—however do ye sit there with a clear conscience and suggest that I have ruined the peace?”
Having spent her fury, she straightened her back and lifted her chin, her icy gaze boring into Tavis’s stunned face. Never in her life had she unleashed such an unladylike, fiery tirade. And far from feeling ashamed, she was glad—no,relieved—to have finally unburdened herself. Swallowing thickly, she spoke again, her tone frosty and resolute.
“Aye,” she said, her voice edged with steel. “I’ll keep to your plan, Tavis. Your indolent, foul wish to secure peace in the most expedient manner—even by way of this abomination of a marriage. I’ll wed thepredatorybastard.” Her words hit likehammer blows. “But nae unless and until ye release Cole Carter and Tank Morrison.” She stepped back, her hands steady now despite the rawness in her heart. “And nae if you mean to hold Cole’s actions against him in any way, shape, or form. If the man is more forgiving than I and decides to remain at Torr Cinnteag after what you’ve done, I’ll nae stand for him to be punished further. Mayhap ye should try it, brother—forgiveness rather than punishment,” she suggested smartly.
“That is nae how a laird governs—”
“Then you’re doing it wrong, brother,” she suggested somberly.
She drew a slow, shuddering breath, her defiance stark against the ensuing, oppressive silence of the room.
Tavis hadn’t moved, save to clench his fist even more rigidly upon the table, since she’d begun speaking.
He didn’t move now. Save for a muscle twitching in his cheek, pulsing with the heat of his wrath, he made no move, didn’t even blink.
A cold shiver ran up Ailsa’s spine.
“Begone from my sight,” Tavis said, his whisper more dangerous than any roar, “ere I do something I will later regret.”
After a small gasp, Ailsa left the chamber, pulling the door closed sharply behind her. She paused, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to steady her breath. The weight of the confrontation lingered, making her knees weak.
It was only when she caught the faintest shuffling in her peripheral vision that she realized she wasn’t alone. Anwen was there, her presence as cautious as a shadow, tiptoeing forward as if afraid to break the tenuous quiet—or alert Tavis to her presence. Ailsa slowly turned her head, her watery eyes meeting the maid’s.
They hadn’t been the same, not as they once were. Not since Orla’s house. There had been flickers of warmth, however,hesitant and fragile, in the aftermath of the avalanche, and all those harrowing hours spent together. Something like a tentative understanding—or ceasefire— had thawed them toward each other.
But now, there was no censure or judgment in Anwen’s eyes, no priggishness in her demeanor. Her face was soft with compassion, her brow pinched as though she might cry for the pain she’d overheard. Quietly, Anwen slipped her arm around Ailsa’s shoulders, her gesture hesitant but full of genuine care.
