“I didn’t want to burden you or your sisters with clan matters,” James said.
“We are family. We share the burden together.”
Sometimes, James did not know what to make of Sorrell. One minute she reminded him that he was their father’s bastard son and on the other she called him family. In time, he hoped the latter would prove truer.
Sorrell’s brow scrunched tight. “Wait. How is it this clan agrees to a marriage arrangement when we have nothing to offer in exchange, except…” Her eyes shot wide. “Our land and where it sits, adjacent to the Lord of Fire, Tarass of the Clan MacFiere. Don’t tell me that the Lord of Fire has something to do with this arrangement.”
Sorrell was far too intelligent for her own good. She could figure out problems with the snap of her fingers and he envied that about her.
“The Lord of Fire is offering a substantial sum for this union.”
“Why?” Sorrell shook her head, not needing an answer and understanding why. “This union will benefit him. But how?” she demanded, then shook her head once again realizing the answer. “It must have something to do with a nearby clan who will pledge their fealty to him and strengthen his forces in the area.” She closed her eyes a moment and when she opened them they were fiery hot with anger. “Do not tell me you made arrangements for me to marry into the Clan MacLoon, for if you did, both you and the Lord of Fire can go to hell.”
“No, no,” James said ready to assure her. “It is not the Clan MacLoon the arrangement has been made with.”
“Then who is to be my husband?” Sorrell asked, her brow narrowing as she tried to think of possibilities.
James braced himself for her response as he said, “Seth of the Clan MacCannish.”
“No! Absolutely not! Never! He dictates and drinks until drunk. I’d kill him before our wedding day has ended.”
“His father assures me that he will treat you well and dictate only when necessary.”
“Dictate only when necessary?” Sorrell asked with a hardy laugh. “Not likely. I will not wed Seth MacCannish.”
James rubbed the back of his neck and scrunched his face as he said, “The arrangement has been made, the document signed. It is done. Nothing can undo it.”
Sorrell stood and though she was a wee one as the giant had pointed out, when she took a stance on something she appeared taller and more intimidating than the giant himself.
“I tell you now, James, and take it as my word. I will not now or ever wed Seth MacCannish.”
James watched Sorrell leave his solar, her head high, her shoulders back and a defiant lift of her chin, and he shook his head. There was no stopping Sorrell when she set her mind to something and that meant she’d find a way to get out of this marriage arrangement, and he couldn’t let that happen.
Sorrell had no choice. She had to wed Seth MacCannish, and he would see that she did.
Chapter 3
John sat in a dark, quiet corner of the stable enjoying the small feast Dorrit, the cook, had given him. The short, skinny woman with wiry gray hair that belied her youthful appearance had been wary of him, until he repeated what Sorrell had told him.
The gray-haired woman had laughed and said, “That’s our Sorrell.”
Dorrit had been more than generous with food and drink and since it had been almost a day since he had last eaten, he appreciated every delicious bite.
He also found himself not being able to get the wee, spitfire of a woman off his mind. He had known strong, independent women, traits found in most Highland women, but none as petite and fiery as Sorrell. How she had the courage to go up against the lad Peter, who was three times or more her size was a wonder. When he had come upon the scene, he had watched with amusement, until he realized the wee woman meant to conquer the lad, though how she would have accomplished that feat had been a mystery to him.
He had stepped forward, intending to give aid to the woman, but the size of him had frightened the lad off, though not for long. He had been wise enough to hide upon his return and John suspected it wasn’t the last time Sorrell would see Peter. It made him wonder how she would ever be able to truly protect herself against the angry lad.
He drank from the pitcher of ale Dorrit had given him, and she told him if he returned the pitcher to her, she’d refill it for him. He intended to take her up on her offer.
He rubbed at his beard, a habit of late. How long had it been since he felt his face without it? How long had it been since he had heard his given name spoken? How long had it been since the lies had stolen his life?