Page 88 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
Another tear splashed onto Shona’s cheek.
Clara reached up and wiped it away. “If your mother loves you, then she’d want you to be happy.”
“I’ll not be happyhere,” Shona said. “I don’t want to be a laird’s wife. Murray’s a younger son. He likes the simple life. He wants to farm the land—he already knows how to look after a herd of cattle.”
Clara smiled at the pride in Shona’s voice—pride in the man she loved.
“And you want to be a farmer’s wife?” she said.
“Aye. I don’t want to be lady of a castle, and certainly nothere.”
“Then, Shona, you should tell your mother.”
“But Ma would be so angry!”
“And your father?”
The girl glanced across the hall to where her father stood beside Clara’s father-in-law. As if they sensed they were being watched, both men turned their attention to the two of them. Clara’s father-in-law gave his usual scowl of contempt, but the McCallum smiled at his daughter with the kind of fatherly affection Clara had never seen growing up—until Papa Harcourt had taught her that children were to be cherished and loved, not sold off like chattel.
“I think your father loves you, Shona,” Clara said. “He’ll understand if you didn’t want to marry James.”
“Ye don’t think James could love me?”
“No,” Clara said. “Like you, he loves another.”
“Then what should I do?”
“Follow your heart before it’s too late. Love is everything.”
Before Shona could respond, Clara’s father-in-law raised his hand and the guests’ chatter faded. Then he moved to the center of the hall, taking James with him.
“Friends!” he cried. “It gives me much pleasure to have ye here tonight to celebrate the festival of Lughnasadh. The land has been bountiful, and I pray it continues to do so until thewinter comes upon us, so that we might reap the fruits of our labors.”
A ripple of approval threaded through the company.
“It gives me greater pleasure to announce that I’ve reaped the fruits ofmylabors and secured a match for my heir!”
A cheer rose, and Shona glanced at Clara, her eyes glazed with panic, while James stood beside his father, his mouth set in a grim line.
“My eldest son, James Alastair Malcolm, will ensure the continuation of the McTavish line with pure Highlander blood. His sons—my grandsons—will rule our clan in the knowledge that they have an ancestry to be proud of. Their blood shall not be tainted. Tonight, before ye all, my son shall pledge his troth to—”
“No!” Shona cried.
The guests drew in a collective breath.
Shona reached for Clara’s hand.
The laird’s expression darkened. “Whatdid ye say, lass?”
Still clutching Clara’s hand, Shona stepped forward and tilted her chin up.
“I said no. I willnotmarry James.”
“Daughter!” Lady McCallum said. “Stop playing the simpleton. Forgive her, Lord McTavish—she has a fanciful nature, but she’ll do her duty, even if she needs a little”—she turned her pale gaze to Shona—“marital discipline.”
“But Ma,” Shona said, “I—”
“Silence!” Lady McCallum cried. “Must ye dishonor yer poor mother? And yer father? He wants the match more than I—a union between two fine families.”
