Page 24 of Scandalous Scot
“I will leave when you are ready for me to do so.”
Màiri really did wish for Alana to remain with her father—they deserved happiness, if only they’d allow themselves to find it—but selfishly she wished her friend would stay.
“I can tell you will miss her,” Marian said when the wooden door clicked closed. “Why is she not staying here at Hightower?”
Màiri pulled the fine robe Alana had brought with them tighter across her chest. The fire raged in front of them as if it knew the harsh winter threatened another snowfall. “My mother died when I was just eight. And though she’s like a mother to me, I suspect my father needs her more. ’Twill be lonely for him without me, I fear.”
Marian stood, making her way to the sole table in the room. Intricately carved and painted bright blue, it stood in stark contrast to the whitewashed stone walls. Using the pitcher of wine Alana had brought in earlier, Marian filled two goblets and handed one to Màiri.
“Nay, I have had three already.”
But Marian did not move.
“I should not drink to excess.”
A smile tugged at the other woman’s lips. “Aye, you should. Take it.”
Her father had not been pleased when she’d accepted that third goblet—she’d seen him glance at her from farther down the table—but he was not in this chamber. And so she took it.
“’Tis kind of you to forgo your maid for your father’s happiness.” Marian returned to her seat and took a sip of her wine. “I, too, was raised without a mother. She died giving birth to me.”
Màiri’s eyes widened.
“But unlike the love you and your father clearly have for each other, my father only cared for the allegiance he could make with my wedding.”
“Surely he loves you.”
But Marian’s face told another story. A sad one she suddenly wished to hear.
“We have much time to share tales, but your husband may be coming any time. Ask, and please do not be shy.”
Màiri’s heart thudded in her chest.
“I did not expect to be married today.”
Marian laughed. “I should think you did not, having met Ian just a sennight ago. I am sorry for the circumstances of your wedding, but I can assure you that Ian is a good man, even if I suspect he may not be handling the suddenness of this well. From what Grey has told me, they have a close and caring family.”
“Grey,” she repeated, never having heard such a strange name.
“’Tis what his family calls him. And you are family now. Please use my given name as well.”
The other woman’s kindness was exactly what Màiri had needed. Without thinking, she lifted her hand to her cheek. But instead of commenting on the mark or staring at it, Marian took another sip of her wine.
“As your maid said,” Marian continued, “’twill be a pleasant experience, I am sure. The McCaim men are not like—” She stopped abruptly.
“McCaim? I thought Ian was a MacKinnish.”
“He is, though his father’s family are called McCaim. You’ve heard of them?”
Màiri nodded. “Balliol allies?”
“Aye.”
His father’s family. McCaim. Odd. And from Marian’s expression, she could tell there was something else, something more the other woman wished to say. Another knock at the door prevented her from asking.
“Quick, ’tis likely Ian,” Marian said. “Do you wish to know anything more?”
“A moment please,” she called out for his ears. “Aye,” she added in an undertone. “Will it hurt? Alana could not answer me that question.”
