Page 42 of Scandalous Scot
“And that would be so awful because . . . ?”
Ian thought of Màiri’s hand on his back the night before. He’d been hard as a rock. But lust wasn’t love. They hardly knew each other. He barely had his own life together back home.
“Because . . .”
Say it. Because I don’t know what I want. Here. Home. I don’t have it together like the rest of you. I hate my job. I love you guys and want to be a part of the family, but Monday mornings suck. The press sucks. Public relations isn’t my thing and never will be. And Màiri deserves more. She deserves someone like Ambrose who worships the ground she walks on. Or like you or Rhys, who have your shit together.
But this was the one thing Ian was used to lying about.
“Because a wife would cramp my style.”
17
Màiri walkedtoward Marian’s dressing chamber. She’d been at Hightower for a sennight now, and each day unfolded much the same way. Wake in the chamber adjoining her husband’s, dress with the assistance of her new maid, and break her fast with Marian.
The men rose early, training each day despite the weather. It was much the same at Kinross, especially in the winter months. By the midday meal, the men would come indoors to prepare for the largest meal of the day. And like back home, after more training or hunting or hawking, Hightower’s minstrel would treat them to songs well into the darkened hours, when the castle would prepare for another night’s rest.
It hurt to see glimpses of Ian—even more so because she saw the desire in his eyes on the rare occasions when he looked at her—but she was grateful for Marian. Their talk about the future was entertaining. She enjoyed learning more about it, and yet, she couldn’t help but wish the information had come from Ian. Learning about his mother’s fate from Marian, and not Ian, told her all she needed to know of the state of their marriage.
The hours stretched out too long, with little to occupy them. While Marian relished freedoms she’d not enjoyed at Fenwall, Màiri found her lack of duties disconcerting. If not for the possibility of starting a war between their clans, she might have returned home now rather than later.
But such an action would create a rift between her father and Clan MacKinnish, and his stubbornness had already cost their clan too many friends. Besides, she knew from both Ian and Marian what the future held, including her future brother’s role in Bruce’s army. She didn’t wish to change the future for the worse. When the time came, it would be her role to convince her father to do what was needed.
And so she bided her time, treating her stay in Hightower as a bridge between her old life and a new one with Ambrose. Because when the time came for her to marry again, she’d not allow her father to sway her. Marrying Ambrose would be good for their clans. He was handsome and kind, and she had no doubt he would make a good husband. A much better one than Ian, surely.
At least he would touch her.
No matter that Marian had told her it was madness to marry a man she did not love, that she should instead try to talk to Ian, work things out. Marian’s husband intended to take her with him, come what may. She did not understand.
Shaking her head, she knocked on the door of Marian’s chamber. The door was opened a moment later.
But not by Marian.
“Pardon,” she said to Greyson, not having expected him. “I did not realize . . .”
Marian appeared behind him, her cheeks rosy with excitement. “’Tis snowing, quite violently. The men are not training today.”
“Can I escort you to break your fast in the hall?” Greyson stepped into the corridor, waiting for his wife to join them.
“I will be but a moment,” Marian called out to them.
“Of course.”
Màiri had spoken to Ian’s brother at supper each evening. But this was the first time she had found herself alone with the man. Although they bore a resemblance to one another, Ian’s hair was darker and longer than his brother’s, and his countenance was much less serious.
It did not take her long to realize Ian looked to Greyson for approval. When she’d broached the topic with Marian, her friend had laughed. She thought Grey felt much the same way about their oldest brother, Rhys.
“Marian says you are adjusting well to Hightower?”
He asked as if knowing it were only partly true.
“Aye, ’tis much the same as my own home. As its closest neighbor, I’ve been here many times before.”
Realizing she’d turned to present her “good” cheek to him, Màiri forced herself to stand still. Alana had gently pointed out the habit when she was younger, and she’d stopped doing it. Mostly. But sometimes she still caught herself attempting to hide that which could not be hidden.
“I have to say, it’s remarkable how easily you’ve accepted us. And our position.”
Màiri had become accustomed to speaking this way. The only time they talked freely about Ian and Greyson’s past, or rather future, was inside a closed chamber. Otherwise, there was too great of a risk they might be overheard.
