“I’m sorry. About the bairn, and about your mother.”
“So am I.” She braced to continue. Already this was hard, and she hadn’t reached the worst part. “Papa struggled on for another six years, but he was never the same after Mamma died.”
“So ye were left alone at fifteen? That’s a vulnerable age for a lassie.”
Wasn’t it just? Grim humor flattened her lips. “I’d have done better alone, I think. Here’s where Papa’s unworldliness becomes crucial. He didn’t make a will. If something happened to him, I’d always assumed I’d live with Mamma’s parents in Edinburgh. But Allan Grant descended on the funeral and claimed rights over me as chief of my father’s clan. He took me back to Bancavan and within a fortnight, married me to his younger brother Ian. Not that Ian was that young. He was only two years younger than Allan.” Her hands clenched against the tabletop as she forced herself to look back on those appalling weeks of sorrow and dread and bullying.
“Fiona—”
“I should have resisted. I tried.” She rushed on before Diarmid could tell her how sorry he was. At this moment, his pity would destroy her. “But they locked me up in the cellar and beat and starved me until I agreed.”
“I should have shot the bastards before they had a chance to cross my threshold,” he said flatly. “Ye were a child. A grief-stricken orphan. Ripped away from everything you’d ever known. What they did was unconscionable. I assume there was a dowry involved.”
“Aye. Papa wasn’t rich, but there was a house in Edinburgh, and Mamma had a small inheritance. The Grants like to amass property. Once they’ve got it, they don’t like to let it go.”
“And their idea of property includes their womenfolk.”
She swallowed to shift the boulder of hatred blocking her throat. “It does.”
He leaned forward. “Puir wee lassie, ye must have felt like you’d been stolen away to hell.”
“Life in Edinburgh was calm and happy and civilized. The Grants live like animals.”
“With Allan the king of the beasts.”
“None of the others have the backbone to stand up to him.”
“I loathe that this happened to ye.” Bristling with tension, Diarmid rose and crossed to stand in front of the fire. His voice vibrated with emotion. “Given over for an old man to rape.”
She flinched at the stark description. “I was Ian’s wife. He owned me.” Bitterness sharpened her tone. “There’s no rape in marriage.”
Diarmid’s shoulders moved with a sigh. When he turned to face her, she saw that he was struggling to contain his outrage. “Were ye willing?”
“Once he had my vow, I owed him the use of my body.”
“Were ye willing?” His tone was implacable.
“I was obedient.”
Her belly knotted in a queasy tangle, as she recalled Ian grunting and sweating over her. The first time he’d taken her, he’d hurt her so badly that she’d vomited. That had earned her a beating from Allan when Ian complained of his bride’s lack of enthusiasm. After that, she learned to lie still until the foul act was over.
She straightened on her hard wooden chair and steeled herself to go on. It wasn’t just that she hated to recall those nights when Ian’s scrawny old body had heaved about on top of her. Something about discussing such a private topic with Diarmid Mactavish set those crowds of butterflies in her stomach madly fluttering once more.
“Ian died nearly a year ago. He hadn’t been well for a long time before the end. For most of our married life, I was more nurse than wife.”
God forgive her, she’d been grateful when her husband’s debilitating illness left him incapable of his husbandly duties. She’d been hard put to summon any pity for his sufferings either.
One of the most disturbing parts of the last ten years was the creeping fear that constant misery gradually turned her as evil as Allan Grant. The nightmare of her existence at Bancavan poisoned any sweetness and softness she’d ever possessed.
“Couldnae ye leave, once you were a widow?”
“I had no money and nowhere to go.” Looking back, she realized that unending brutality had cowed her into sullen compliance. “And I had a year ahead with no man in my bed. Allan wanted to wait to see if there was another child.”
“There wasnae?”
“No. Ian had hardly touched me in two years, but I wasn’t going to tell Allan that.” Odd how they kept circling back to this topic of marital relations. “But I couldn’t keep the ruse up forever. Allan pushed the marriage with Thomas, despite the fact that a union with my brother-in-law isn’t strictly legal.”
“Another old man.”