Page 4 of The Wrong Bride
“Yes, but there aretwoof us. My cousin and I share the same family name because neither of our fathers would give in to the other. We call her Cat and myself Riona.”
He ignored her ridiculous attempts to dissuade him. He knew the duplicity her family was capable of—there were centuries of evidence, including cattle raids during a time of peace. “Riona fits ye well. Womanly.”
He took a step toward his betrothed, feeling the need to touch her. When she darted to the side, he told himself he could be patient. Too much was at stake within his own clan. The money from her tocher would increase their prosperity. And he needed a peaceable, willing bride on his return home after so long away, to cement the clan’s respect and dull their memories of his foolish youth.
Knowing he could outrun Riona, he waited to see what she would do. She hesitated, and her tense shoulders gradually slumped as she gazed solemnly at the vast expanse of the valley, the dales rising in the northwest, the moors to the northeast. Their long journey would take them up the center between them. She was as cautious as a butterfly, waiting to see which way the wind would blow her. At last she faced him again.
“Laird McCallum,” she said.
She was now trying to sound reasonable, although the trembling gave her away. One eyebrow raised, he simply waited to see what she’d do next.
“Take me back,” she insisted. “Surely we cannot be that far from York. My uncle will explain everything. Cat was in the country yesterday, but she was to return today.” She briefly closed her eyes. “Goodness, Cat doesn’t know about this betrothal. When she finds out . . .”
Hugh appreciated her determination, if nothing else. He was not offended that she tried so hard to deny their upcoming marriage. It had obviously taken her by surprise. Though his own father had been a poor specimen of a man, drunk more than sober, at least he’d informed Hugh of the commitment when he’d been old enough to understand. Not that Hugh had accepted his fate with good grace . . .
And then his father had taken to the whisky even more, until Hugh’s mother had taken him and his sister to live with her family.
“I can’t marry you!” she cried. “I’m—I’m already betrothed.”
He shrugged. “Whatever actions ye committed because your father did not have the honor to tell ye the truth have no bearing on the agreement between our families. Your family agreed to this contract at your birth, and from that time on, they have shared the wealth of our best land. Now ’tis time for my own family to benefit—with the tocher.”
She blinked at him. “Tocher?”
“The bride price. The dowry.”
“So it’s money you want,” she said disdainfully.
He eyed her. “Is not money involved in every marriage among the privileged? But ’tis not only the money. My clan has dealt honorably with your father, giving up full control of the purest springs, the finest peat, the best barley, all that we use for our whisky. This product supports my people. The contract was a great sacrifice my father made to ensure peace between our clans with only the promise of future honor on your side. We mean to see the bargain met.”
She stared at him for a moment, then gave an abortive laugh that held no amusement. “Cat’s life and freedom were a tradable commodity to promotewhisky?”
He frowned. “Do not ever let my people hear such disdain in your voice for that which promotes our clan and provides coin, something there is little of in the Highlands, thanks to the Sassenachs.” He practically spat the last word.
Her forehead knit with confusion. “Sass . . . what?”
“Englishmen, outlander. Did your family have so little pride as to neglect your Gaelic?”
She drew herself up. “My mother is English.”
He turned away, saying over his shoulder. “’Tis not true. Your falsehoods will not change your circumstances, Lady Catriona. Like every woman, ye knew ye had to marry and that the choosing of your husband would not be in your own hands.”
“Well I wouldn’t have chosen you! And neither would my cousin Cat. If you don’t take me back, you’ll have no hope to win her. Our family will consider this act of treachery an insult and—and a reason to break the contract.”
And then he found himself looming over her, watching her shrink back against the coach. “Do not speak to me of treachery after the way your father coldly tried to negate the contract yesterday, claiming he could not in good conscience allow his daughter to be ‘hauled off to the McCallums’—his words. I saw a man—if he can be called one—looking for a way to break the contract. My father is now dead, and the responsibility of Clan McCallum is mine. The earl will live up to his bargain when he sees he has no choice.Heis the reason you were stolen from your rooms instead of presented to me with honor. I came with gifts suitable for the joining of our clans. Our meeting should have been celebrated as the promise of the future.”
“I—I—”
To his surprise, she pushed at his chest. He didn’t move, although this display of spirit improved his mood. It wasn’t her fault she’d been brought up poorly. He grasped her soft, delicate hands and kept them on his chest. “Examining the goods, my lady?”
She gasped and pulled away, and he let her. He almost smiled, but he would not let her think him her friend, or a man who could be convinced to change his mind. He was none of those things. He was her future husband, her laird. She had to understand that she would now be ruled by his word alone, not by her treacherous father.
“Now fetch the food I left inside the coach,” he said. “Unless ye mean to starve.”
Her green eyes narrowed mutinously, and he almost hoped she’d defy him, so their sparring could continue. Then she lifted her chin and turned to climb inside the coach.
Hugh met Samuel’s gaze and found himself nodding with satisfaction. Samuel’s smile was tinged with worry, and he shook his head. Hugh thought his bodyguard’s concerns unfounded. They’d come to York and done what they’d had to. But he could admit to himself that he, too, had been worried about the kind of wife he’d be saddled with. True, she might still be a shrew, but he hoped he could settle her eventually.
She appeared in the doorway of the coach, the cloth sack in one hand. He reached to assist her down, but she thrust the sack into his hands and descended on her own.
