Page 72 of The Wrong Bride
Riona briefly covered her mouth before whispering, “But he wouldn’t let you.”
“He laughed as he pointed out how trapped I was by the contract, that our clan would not only lose your dowry, but a land that was the source of our pride, the source of rare coin in the Highlands. I had to choose between Agnes and the clan.”
She wanted to hold him, to comfort him, but he stood as remote as a tall mountain in a range of hills. A wash of painful emotion swept over her, and she knew it was too late, that she’d fallen in love with this stubborn, noble man who’d alwaysput his clan first, and had spent his life agonizing over something that wasn’t his fault. But loving him didn’t mean she would ever be able to marry him.
“Agnes wouldn’t have married me regardless,” he continued bitterly. “She didn’t want the clan to suffer for her. I made sure she had a new house in the village, promised her an annual sum for her and the child—but she died in childbirth, only knowing the shame, but never the joy of having a son.”
Riona’s eyes stung. “Brendan’s grandmother has taken loving care of him, Hugh. He’s a good boy.”
“But then why is working as a groom?” he demanded. “Why is he opening up himself to hurt and shame? He was never to know about our father—our father made sure to tell his grandmother she’d lose everything from us if she told Brendan the truth.”
“But he must have seen you, Hugh. He’s not stupid. He sees the resemblance and knows what people are saying. He doesn’t seem bitter, just curious. Sadly, in our world, many bastards know they can’t ever be a part of their true family.”
“I can’t keep myself distant—that would be worse. I have to make a decision about telling him the truth.”
She stopped herself from offering advice, knowing he could think through the ramifications himself. “Did your mother know?” she asked hesitantly.
His tone was grim as he said, “She knew.”
“How horrible to discover that your husband is capable of something like that. Why do you hold it against her?”
His brows lowered. “She spent no time with my father, and wouldn’t have suffered if she’d have spoken the truth.”
“That you didn’t impregnate a girl and leave her behind of your own volition?”
He brusquely nodded. “If we’d have gone against my father together, we could have explained everything. If she would have stood at my side instead of abandoning me, abandoning Agnes, things might have gone differently.”
“If it’s any consolation, she seems to deeply regret what happened.” She wished to say more, but knew there was no point. Hugh knew his mother hadn’t abused and abandoned the girl, but he could focus his anger on Lady McCallum as he’d never been able to with his father.
“Her conscience is full of guilt and I cannot absolve her of that,” he said. “She has to find her own peace.”
But Riona thought he’d never find his if he continued to blame his mother for her weakness.
OVERthe next few days, Riona felt more like a consort’s wife than a chief’s betrothed. The chieftains and the gentlemen housed them in the same roomas if the trial marriage were a real thing. During the day, Hugh held court, solving disputes at assemblies of the local people, even helping a newly widowed man find a wife. The law was in his hand, as was the sheriffship. He made fair rulings, and thank God, nothing was serious enough to be punishable by death. But even that was truly in his power.
People seemed intimidated before him, but later, when Hugh was distracted, she heard the rumblings of mistrust over his youthful transgressions, and of course the “bastard” that was now working in his stables.
She seldom had even a moment alone. The thought of fleeing sometimes seemed cowardly rather than an attempt to save herself. She needed to find a way to show the clan that when the contract fell apart, it was her uncle’s manipulation at fault, not Hugh. She hadn’t made the decision to abandon her escape plan lightly, but she couldn’t leave Hugh to suffer. It was a decision she could freely make, and she’d learned to appreciate in a small way the things she could control.
On their final day away, he took her to the sacred glen of his people, leaving behind their retinue and following a path that seemed to lead into the mountain itself. But the path turned, went through a woodland, and before her spread out a broad glen that seemed carved out of the mountain itself. Onthe far side, stalks of barley seemed to wrap around the next mountain. A wet bog oozed across the floor of the glen, tufts of grasses rising from watery ground. He motioned to her and they followed a path that meandered along the base of the mountain, until they reached a cleft where water bubbled and overflowed from high above.
“Drink it,” Hugh said. “’Tis the best, purest water in all of Scotland—in all of the world.”
She laughed and drank in her cupped hands, and the cold clarity of it was invigorating. “Delicious.”
He looked out upon his land with pride. “When the malt taxes were revived a few years ago, there were riots in Scotland because we could no longer brew ale cheaply. Whisky took its place, and to avoid the taxes, it mostly went hidden. We’re careful only to make a finite amount every year, and the Duffs went along with it, to conserve the water, peat, and barley necessary for distilling our whisky.”
“And that keeps the price high,” Riona said.
He grinned. “To keep what’s ours from the excisemen, I’ve heard of whisky being hidden beneath altars and within coffins. ’Tis that important to us.”
She took a deep, almost painful breath. The place was beautiful, bleak and forbidding, yet magical. She could see people in the distance, cutting deep bricks of peat and laying it across the ground to dry. Yet . . . the clan was close to losing it all, and there was nothing she could do.
But . . . she could do something to help Hugh, to bolster the respect of his people before things turned bad.
AStorm followed them home, and though the entire party arrived drenched, frantic clansmen met them in the courtyard and Hugh went off to help rescue trapped and drowning calves.
Riona wasn’t surprised. Hugh would do anything for his people. Admiration and sadness were twin flames inside her, but she had to keep moving, keep focusing on things she could control. She found Lady McCallum and Maggie sewing in the family’s withdrawing room late in the morning, and while lightning flashed and wind roared, she tried to keep Lady McCallum calm by telling them about the trip, the people she’d met, the Gaelic words Hugh had been teaching her.
