He did not need to read her gestures to know what she was saying. “Unfortunately, it is not for Flora to decide. Newlin is responsible to find her a good husband. Lord Torin is a far better choice than Lord Ivan.”
Dawn’s brow scrunched in question.
“Lord Ivan expressed interest in wedding Flora and Newlin informed him she was already spoken for, something Ivan did not like hearing.”
Dawn placed her hand on her chest and sighed silently, demonstrating her relief.
Cree reached out and adjusted her hood around her face to keep the cold air from stinging it even more than it already had. “One thing I know about Lord Torin is that he will protect what is his with his life. He will keep Flora safe.”
Dawn rested her hand on her husband’s chest, loving the warmth she felt there, the strength of his taut muscles, and his love for her deep in his heart, and she shrugged.
Cree rested his hand over hers, caressing it lightly to chase the chill. “You wonder about love. You and I both know that most marriages are arranged, love rarely if ever matters. Some couples learn to tolerate each other, others form friendships, and the rare lucky few find what most crave… love. I am glad we found love.”
She smiled and drifted into the crook of his arm to be hugged tight.
“This situation with Lord Torin and Flora is not for us to interfere in. Newlin does what he feels is best and perhaps in the end it will prove to be just that—for the best.”
Dawn nodded, knowing he was right, but still her heart ached for Flora.
They continued walking a bit, then returned to the keep, Beast following sluggishly behind them worn-out from playing with the bairns.
They entered the Great Hall to angry shouts.
“I will not wed Lord Torin,” Flora said, straining to shout as loud as she could. “You had no right—”
“I have every right,” Newlin shouted, his voice much louder than Flora’s. “You are my responsibility, and I will do what is right by you whether you agree to it or not.”
Her pain had Flora flinging words at him like sharp daggers. “My da would be sorely disappointed in you for forcing this on me.”
Newlin cringed feeling the hurt of her words. “My brother would expect me to secure a good marriage for you. Lord Torin is—”
“An idiot!” Flora said.
Newlin glared at her, frustrated. “He is a good man who will provide for you and protect you and in the Highlands that is what matters the most.”
“I do not want to be here just as much as you dinnae want me here and I want no part of a marriage to Lord Torin. And what about our agreement. I have held my tongue far more than I would have cared to.”
“I regret that bargain and regret having to rescind it, and I planned to speak with you about Lord Torin’s offer,” —Newlin grew quiet and shook his head— “until Lord Ivan took one look at you and decided you would make him a good wife.”
Flora shuddered at the horrible thought of being Lord Ivan’s wife and that there was no choice left to her. Fate had decided for her, and she was getting tired of fate robbing her of her own decisions.
“Talk with Lord Torin, but not too much,” Newlin warned. “Remember he prefers a quiet wife, and it would do you well not to chatter so much.”
“So not only am I to wed an idiot, but you advise me to be an idiot to please him,” Flora argued.
Newlin ran his hand through his gray and white hair, ready to pull it from his head, Flora being the most stubborn woman he had ever met. “Your da should have taught you that we most often do things we dinnae want to do but what is best for us. This marriage is best for you, realize that and accept it, for you have no other choice.”
Flora stormed out of the room without a word and Tavia followed after her.
“Why could me and my brother not have had sons?” Newlin asked of no one in particular as he shook his head.
Cree thought of his own daughter and suddenly feared the coming years, praying Old Mary had been accurate in her prediction that he would have only one daughter, the rest would be sons.
“One problem settled—hopefully,” Newlin said with a glance at Cree. “Come sit and join me in a much-needed drink and a hot drink for Lady Dawn. Her cheeks are tinged with the cold.”
Seats were taken by the hearth and tankards filled, Dawn grateful for the hot cider’s warmth, not only heating her insides, but the tankard warming her hands as well. Soothed by the warmth, she settled against her husband, his arm going around her, to listen to the conversation.