Page 18 of Unchain the Highlander's Heart

“We shall see, Freya. We still know nothin’ of this man nor of his true intentions. A swallow does nae make a summer, and a letter bearin’ the arms of an ally is nae enough proof to show me this man is tellin’ the truth,” he said, glancing at Murdina, who shrugged her shoulders.

She was pleased that the questions over the man’s identity had distracted from the real reason why Murdoch was visiting the castle. The longer she spent in his company, the more she disliked him. He was arrogant and self-assured, full of his own self-importance. He had already made his mind up about the prisoner’s guilt, and there would be no changing it–he would see the man hanged, whether or not he was innocent.

“Ye would be a fool to trust him, Andrew,” Murdoch warned, but to Murdina’s surprise, her father looked at him angrily.

“I am master in my own castle, Murdoch. I shall decide who dines at this table,” he said, and Murdoch scowled.

“As ye wish,” he said, and the meal continued in silence.

After eating, Murdoch summoned one of his men and bid him make the horses ready for their ride. Murdina dreaded being alone with him, but she had no other choice but to agree, and her father sent them off with his blessings.

“Be sure to bring her back safely, Murdoch,” he cautioned, and Murdoch nodded, still clearly angered by the laird’s previous harsh words,

“She will be quite safe with me,” he said, and that was that.

Outside, the storm of the previous day had given way to bright, spring sunshine, and tufts of white cloud skidded across the sky, a cool breeze blowing in off the sea. The horses were soon saddled, and the two rode out through the castle gates, taking the track that led north past the kirk and into the forest beyond.

“Will we hunt?” Murdina asked, but Murdoch shook his head.

“Nay, lass, we will ride and talk. I daenae wish yer father or yer sisters to be a constant presence at our side,” he said, and Murdina nodded.

She did not like being alone with him, but it seemed she had little choice, and if she was to marry him, this would serve only as an unpleasant foretaste of what was to come.

“And what could be so terrible that ye wouldnae wish them to overhear us?” she asked, trying hard to disguise her contempt for him.

“Ye are forthright in yer opinions, lass, that is certain,” he replied, reining in his horse as they passed by the kirk and the mound where Aoife was buried.

“I speak my mind,” she said, glancing at her sister’s grave.

It had been a cruel man who had driven Aoife to her death, and though Murdina knew she could never love Murdoch in the way her sister had loved her betrothed, she knew he could break her heart if he wished. When a woman was married, she had no choice but to submit to her husband, and a cruel husband could drive a woman into an early grave, particularly if she did not give him the children he desired.

“Yer sister is buried there, is she nae?” Murdoch said, pointing to the mound where the flowers grew, and Murdina nodded.

“She is, aye. Taken too soon,” she replied.

“By her own hand,” he said, a sneer coming over his face.

Murdina’s hands tightened on the reins, and she fixed Murdoch with an angry glare.

“A hand which belonged to a broken heart, a heart that felt it had nay choice but to end the suffering she knew. Ye cannae understand,” she said, unable to contain her anger, as tears now rolled down her cheeks.

“Yer father should never have allowed it. If she were my daughter…” he began, but Murdina had heard enough.

“If she were yer daughter, then I would pity her,” she said, no longer caring anything for manners in the face of his extraordinary cold-heartedness.

“Watch yer tongue. Yer father needs this alliance between our families. I could very easily change my mind about ye,” he snarled, beckoning her to follow him along the track.

Murdina glanced back at her sister’s grave, tears rolling down her cheeks. For a moment, she almost considered Aoife fortunate, resting as she was beyond the cares of the world. It was all so terrible, and Murdina cursed herself for allowing herself to be so easily led by her father and Murdoch.

“And what of my mind?” she asked, catching up with him along the track as it entered the trees.

“What of it? Why should yer thoughts concern me?” he asked, slowing his horse to a trot and coming alongside her.

“Dae ye nae wish to marry for love?” she asked, and he shook his head and laughed.

“I wish to marry so that my clan will continue so that my name will be born in a son. Love does nae come into it,” he replied.

Silence fell between them now, and Murdina found herself thinking of the prisoner and the look in his eyes as he had been dragged from the great hall. He was the exact opposite of Murdoch, or so it seemed, a brave man with principles, standing up for a cause he believed in. His words to Murdoch had seemed so certain–especially for a man who claimed to have lost his memory.

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