Page 44 of Highlander's Lady of the Lake

“Aye, I do wish for ye to marry him.”

“How?” Nimue demanded. “How can ye want that? Look at what he did to ye. What makes ye think he willna do it to me?”

For a moment, there was silence between them, and for a moment, Nimue thought that she had finally gotten through to her father. She observed him carefully, the lines in his forehead as he frowned, the thin line of his mouth, the tired eyes. It all spoke of understanding, and yet the words that followed were not what Nimue had expected to hear.

“He willna harm ye,” he said, and he sounded certain of it. At least that gave her some relief, knowing that her father had convinced himself the Earl wouldn’t hurt her, even if it wasn’t true. It meant that he wasn’t just handing her over to a man he suspected would harm her. “I willna let him harm ye, Nimue. And ye must believe me, ye’ll be safer with him than ye’ll be with that man ye married.”

“His name is Chrisdean,” Nimue reminded him. “Ye speak of him as though he means nothin’. And perhaps he means nothin’ to ye, but na to me.”

Nimue thought back to the few days she had spent in bliss with Chrisdean. She remembered the moments they spent laughing, the kisses they had shared, the intimate hours when they had explored each other’s bodies. She wondered if she would ever have that again, if she would ever even see him again, and the thought drove her to despair.

What if I never escape the Earl? How will I spend me life as his wife?

If spending the rest of her years married to Chrisdean had seemed impossible only weeks prior, spending them married to the Earl now seemed like a death sentence. The mere notion brought tears to her eyes, tears that she had been trying to stifle ever since the Earl had informed her that she was to marry him but that she could hold back no more.

“Nimue,” her father said, reaching for her hand and holding it gently in his own. “Dinna cry. Ye must be strong.”

“How can ye ask me to be strong, Faither?” she asked. “How?”

“The truth is that the Earl willna rest until all of Scotland is burnin’,” the Laird said. “Do ye understand what that means? Do ye? It means that yer lad will be dead soon and that ye’d be a widow were ye to stay married to him. And then the Earl will marry ye anyway. But that’s only if ye survive. I canna guarantee that ye willna die with the rest of them if ye fight the Earl on this. I canna do anythin’ to save ye if ye dinna do as ye’re told.”

“Then let me die,” Nimue said, her tears drying on her cheeks. She wiped her face furiously with the back of her hand, angry with herself for letting her father see her that way, for letting anyone see her cry. “I’d rather die with the Scots than live with the Sassenachs.”

“I beg ye to reconsider this, Nimue,” her father insisted. “There is na way that Scotland will win this, and I dinna want me family to be on the losin’ side. If ye dinna wish to think of yerself, think about us, about yer family. Think about yer brother and sister.”

Nimue’s breath caught in her throat at the mention of her siblings. “Has the Earl hurt them? I swear, if he’s so much as touched Guinevere—”

“Guinevere is fine,” the Laird assured her. “And so is Tristan, for noo. He’s only hurt me so far.” “And yet, ye’re still willin’ to make that man a part of our family.”

Once more, her father fell silent, expressing his disapproval with only a sigh, which told Nimue that he was tired of arguing, as well. For a moment, Nimue appreciated the silence, the cease in their fighting that had started so long ago and didn’t seem to have an end in sight. She wondered if the two of them would ever see eye to eye again, if there was ever going to be a chance for reconciliation, but she couldn’t imagine such a future while her father was so adamant that she should leave Chrisdean.

She would never leave Chrisdean. The only thing that could separate them was death.

Of course, there was no saying if death had already separated them. When she had been captured, he had been so weak that she couldn’t help but fear he may have already succumbed to his wounds.

She couldn’t allow such thoughts to enter her mind, though, not if she wanted to retain some of her sanity, and so she pushed them all away, telling herself that Chrisdean would be fine, that he was coming for her.

With a grunt, Nimue stood and made her way to the opening of the tent. She didn’t speak to her father; she didn’t even look at him before she stepped outside into the fresh air, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light. She spotted the Earl by the fire, laughing and drinking with his men, and for a moment, he even seemed human to her, but she knew that wasn’t the case. That man was a monster, she thought, with not a single human quality about him.

When the Earl spotted her, he smiled at her, but all his smile did was make her uneasy. It seemed to her like he was baring his teeth, a challenge more than a friendly gesture.

Determined, Nimue clenched her fists and marched up to him, eager to give him a piece of her mind. Many outcomes crossed her mind, most of them ending in disaster, and none of them ending in what she truly wanted. However, she worried that if she didn’t speak to the Earl, her anger would consume her whole.

“I dinna care what ye or me faither say,” Nimue said, placing her hands on her hips as she came to stand by the fire. She didn’t dare to look at any of the Earl’s men, but she could tell that all their eyes were on her, watching her with amusement. None of them considered her a threat. None of them was afraid of her or anything she had to say. “I willna marry ye. If ye wish to kill me, kill me noo.”

The Earl laughed, a throaty, full laugh that only served to anger Nimue even more. She could feel her hands beginning to shake with the fury that coiled in her stomach, making the bile rise to the back of her throat at the mere sight of the other man.

“How many times must I tell you that I don’t wish to kill you?” the Earl asked. He didn’t even stand to address Nimue, and she narrowed her eyes at him, a growl brewing in her throat. “Why would I? You’re a very beautiful woman, and I’m sure that eventually when I’ve taught you how to be nice, and quiet, and obedient, you’ll make a very good wife. I have no reason to kill you. That Laird you seem to love so much, though . . . well, that’s a different story.”

Once more, the Earl and his men laughed, the sound surrounding Nimue, making her feel as though she were being pulled under by waves. Only this time, she had had enough. She refused to stand there and listen as the English made fun of her and Chrisdean, and so she lunged at the man closest to her, her hand swift as she grabbed his blade.

In an instant, the entire camp surrounded her, the men pulling out their own swords and pointing them at her. Only the Earl remained seated, amusement etched on his features.

“You have the blade,” he said, and Nimue could hear the smile in his voice, just as much as she could see it on his lips. “What will you do now? Will you fight all my men? You won’t last a second.”

“Ye’re right,” Nimue said. She knew that very well. She had spent the entire night trying to think of a way to attack the Earl, but she couldn’t come up with a single one. But even though she couldn’t attack him or kill any of his men, she could still take something from him.

Her hand tightening around the hilt of the sword, Nimue brought the blade to her throat, its sharp edge pressing hard against her skin.

“I canna kill ye,” she said. “But I can kill meself.”

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