Bliss stared at Lawler. What could one say to the news of one’s own impending death? Only one thing came to mind. “Do you think he means it?”
“If you asked me that of the man he was before he left his homeland, I would say nay, I do not believe Lord Rannick would do such a heinous thing. But since his return,” —Lawler shook his head— “I cannot say for sure what Lord Rannick would do. He is a man full of never-ending pain and mounting anger, and I do not know if he will ever be able to rid himself of both.”
“I am grateful for your honesty,” Bliss said even though his words had spiked her fear.
“There is more you should know.”
Bliss waited, Lawler’s silence an indication that he was hesitant to tell her.
Lawler took a heavy breath before he finally continued. “When the men Lord Lochlann sent to bring his son home found Rannick,” —he stopped again and shook his head— “a hole was about to be made in his head… voluntarily.”
Bliss shut her eyes a moment and shook her head.
“You do not seem as shocked as most do when they hear that,” Lawler said.
“People do strange and horrible things to those they believe are possessed by evil. A hole in one’s skull would be considered a good way to rid someone of evil, though it would do little to solve the problem. Lord Rannick must have been desperate that he would agree to such a procedure.”
“From what I heard from those at Clan Loudon, you are a skillful healer and speaking with you, I see how true it is. I pray by some miracle that you can help restore Lord Rannick to the honorable man he once was or as close to it as possible.”
Anxious over his remark, Bliss quickly asked, “Lord Lochlann will not expect a miracle from me, will he?”
“It will be a miracle if Lord Rannick allows you near him, let alone gets you with child.”
“You believe I am doomed to fail, don’t you?” Bliss asked, after hearing what Lawler had to say, it seemed the likely outcome.
“I have come to admire your courage, Lady Bliss. I would rather see you fail than die.” With a nod, Lawler rode ahead.
Lady Bliss.
Lawler’s formal acknowledgment made her marriage to Lord Rannick all the more real as well as her fate. Did death at her husband’s hands await her? Or punishment by Lord Lochlann when she failed to fulfill the marriage agreement and get with child? Or would she succumb to the curse before anything else could touch her?
It would not be long before she found out.
The village was impressive, as was the towering keep that occupied a large space to the right side of the village in the distance. Defined pathways ran like tentacles through the village, cottages aligned neatly along them with gardens alongside each. The people of Clan MacClaren went about their chores with few smiles and not a bit of laughter. Their faces were solemn as if resigned to their fate—to the curse.
The keep loomed large over the village, intimidating anyone who looked its way. Two sentinels stood to the sides of two tall, wood doors and pulled them open when she and Lawler approached.
Bliss wished she had a chance to freshen herself before meeting Lord Lochlann, her garments dusty from the journey. At least her plain, pale-yellow shift and green wool tunic didn’t appear worn, thanks to Elysia’s skilled stitching hand. Her brown wool cloak wasn’t as warm as it once had been. It had seen many years, having belonged to her mum, who died ten years ago when she was barely twelve.
She slipped her cloak off and draped it over her arm and moved her long braid off her back to rest over her shoulder on her chest. Her brown hair held only a slight curl to it but did well braided.
“Wait here a moment,” Lawler said and disappeared.
Servants were busy with chores and cast curious glances her way, some even gathered to whisper. They quickly spread apart when Lawler returned with a man who she assumed was Lord Lochlann.
His was a formidable man, tall with wide shoulders, a broad chest, and a well-defined body for a man whose gray hair showed little sign of the dark color it once had been. He was also a man of good features, and no doubt the reason she had heard tell that at one time Lord Rannick possessed even finer features than his father.
His gait was as intent as were his brown eyes as he fast approached Bliss, but she remained where she stood, determined to show no fear, though her stomach twisted in knots.
“You agreed to this marriage freely?” Lord Lochlann demanded, stopping in front of her.
Bliss was not a short woman, but she had to tilt her neck back to meet his eyes. “I did, my lord.”