Bride of Lochbarr. Margaret Moore

don’t have to assume anything,” Nicholas interrupted. “I can afford the masons now that I don’t have to pay the good sisters for your care.”

      His tone was no longer dismissive. It was surprisingly resentful, as if paying for her years at the convent represented serious hardship. Yet her family had never suffered for want of money, and the sisters had never implied that she was there out of charity, like some of the more unfortunate girls. “Was it so very costly to keep me there?”

      “Costly enough,” he replied. “But I didn’t come here to talk about money.”

      Telling herself his resentment must have another, more mysterious source, she lowered herself onto the stool and thought of a reason he might have come to her chamber. “Have you had word from Henry?”

      Crossing his arms over his broad chest, Nicholas frowned. “A soldier doesn’t have time to send messages to his family.”

      From the sound of it, things were still no better between her brothers. They’d fought constantly as children; indeed, some of her earliest memories involved hiding from them when they argued and wrestled.

      “So, what do you wish to talk about?” she asked, confused by his obvious reluctance to come to the point. Nicholas was usually extremely direct, and this prevarication was making her nervous.

      Then she thought of one explanation why a brother might seek out a sister. “Is it something about women?” she asked hopefully. “Is there a woman you wish to woo and you came for my advice?”

      Nicholas looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve got more important things to do right now than court a woman, and I wouldn’t come to you for advice if I were.”

      Marianne tried not to feel hurt at his brusque response. “I was only trying to be helpful, Nicholas,” she replied. “I was twelve years among girls and women. There’s probably not much I don’t know about them, so if you ever do want to ask me anything—”

      “It’s your marriage I’ve come about, not mine.”

      A knot formed in the pit of her stomach. She’d been expecting this since the day he’d come to take her from the convent. It was, after all, the fate of most noblewomen and she dearly wanted children. Her happiest times at the convent had been helping the younger girls. So what reason could he have for taking so long to tell her that was why he had come to her chamber, unless he thought she wouldn’t be pleased?

      In spite of her increasing dread, she tried to sound calm when she answered. “Oh? To whom?”

      He strolled toward the brazier and studied the glowing coals. “It’s a very good match, Marianne,” he said after a moment that seemed to last an eternity. “Your husband has great wealth and power.”

      His words brought absolutely no comfort; they only increased her uneasiness. “Who is he?”

      “Hamish Mac Glogan.”

      She stared at her brother with horrified dismay. “Isn’t that the old man who came here this morning?”

      “That old man is rich and influential, related to the king of Scotland.”

      Hearing the underlying impatience in his voice, she instantly recalled Nicholas’s rages when they were children. He was ten years older than she, and although he never struck her, she’d been terrified nonetheless. She certainly didn’t want to rouse that fierce ire.

      Clasping her hands, she lowered her voice to a more beseeching tone. “Nicholas, I appreciate that you’re my older brother and stand in place of our father. I realize that it’s your duty to find a suitable husband for me. But I thought I would marry a Norman. So did the holy sisters, and that is what they had in mind when they taught me.”

      “I told you, Hamish Mac Glogan is rich, he’s noble and he’s related to a king. That’s all that matters.”

      She rose and went toward her brother. “But he’s so old, and he’s a Scot. I don’t know anything about these people, except that their land is harsh and cold and wet, and they wear those odd clothes. Surely there must be somebody else, a Norman nobleman, who—”

      “You misunderstand, Marianne,” Nicholas replied with a coldness that chilled her to the marrow of her bones. “The agreement has already been made, the contract signed. Hamish Mac Glogan will be a powerful ally, and I need allies here.”

      He spoke as if she was something for him to use as necessary, no more to him than the brazier beside him.

      Anguish filled her as she saw not a brother who loved her, but a man who would do anything to fulfill his own plans.

      “The wedding will be in a se’en night,” he announced.

      So harsh, so cold, so cruel.

      Seven nights, and she would be married to that old Scot and forced to live in this wilderness forever.

      “Nicholas, I’ll willingly marry any man you like, as long as he’s a Norman. Surely that’s not too much to ask.”

      “Yes, it is. I told you, Marianne, the agreement has been made, and there’s an end to it. Since I’m your oldest male relative, you have to do as I say.”

      Her dismay and disappointment fled, to be replaced by firm resolution. This was her life, her future, in the balance. If no one else would look out for her interests, she must.

      “I have rights, Nicholas. I learned all about them in the convent. Father Damien told us we had to agree to our betrothal. A woman can’t be forced into marriage. It’s against the law of the church.”

      Nicholas looked utterly unimpressed. “The Reverend Mother told me you were headstrong and selfish. I see she wasn’t exaggerating. No wonder she was relieved to be rid of you.”

      Marianne wouldn’t let his words hurt her. “I’ll go to the church for sanctuary.”

      “Which church? How will you get there?”

      “I’ll write to Rome, to the pope himself. I assure you I’ll do whatever’s necessary to see that—”

      Nicholas grabbed her shoulders and in that moment, she saw the man his opponents in battle feared—the fierce, determined warrior who had survived when so many others had fallen.

      “Are you forgetting who paid to keep you in that convent?” he demanded. “Do you think staying there came cheap? We may be nobly born, but our family’s poor and has been for years, since before our parents died.”

      Refusing to believe him, she twisted out of his grasp. “You’re lying. You’re lying to try to get me to do what you want. I’d remember if we’d been poor.”

      “It’s the truth, Marianne. You just didn’t know it. Our parents sent you away so you wouldn’t suffer, and sacrificed much to keep you there, as I did, because before they died they made me promise I would. I kept that promise, and while you were sleeping on clean sheets and eating like a princess, I was risking my neck and killing other men before they could kill me. Wearing secondhand armor. Sleeping in stables rather than pay for a place at an inn. Going hungry more times than I can count. And now I’ve arranged it so that you’ll never suffer from want, keeping my promise still, for which you should be grateful.”

      Marianne stared at him, aghast, hearing the truth in his angry words. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

      “I’m telling you now. Scot or not, Hamish Mac Glogan is rich. You’ll be living in luxury, while I try to get some income out of this place.”

      She went to him and put a placating hand on his powerful forearm. “Nicholas, I’m truly sorry you suffered for my sake, and I wish I’d known and been able to do something to help, but please, don’t make me repay you with this marriage. Don’t make me suffer for the rest of my life because of your ambitions. I can’t live in this country.”

      “You can’t!”