Bound to the Highlander(4)

She ignored surprised expressions from new servants regarding her ability. True, not many ladies of the gentry in the Highlands could read, but that was because not all were fortunate enough to have a doting parent whose fondest wish was to make them happy.

She would steal away whenever possible and had read and reread her uncle’s humble collection many times. Her favourite was Christine de Pizan’s The Book of the City of Ladies. It had been a gift from him the previous year.

“You’ve a clever mind, lass, keen on the written word I see,” her uncle had said. “I’ve brought you something special from France.” His grin had stretched wide.

“What’s it about, Uncle?”

“Let’s just say it’s better to see all sides of a thing before judging it.” He had placed the manuscript in her hands and kissed her forehead. “I’ll let you decipher the rest.”

He’d been right. The book detailed ridiculous falsehoods about women—written by men. Still, the broader topic of a woman’s ability compared to a man’s had sparked many lively discussions between them. She stroked the leather-bound script before laying it aside. Reading it would now never be the same.

Her thoughts turned to Gawain. He was a good man who would do his duty and marry her and little would change. It wasn’t as if she were to marry someone who didn’t understand how Chattan Castle operated or her role in it. She could rely on him.

She would prove to him he could rely on her as well. He would want to examine the estate’s assets and his inheritance right away. Andrews would pull their records and she’d review them with Gawain the moment he was ready. While Chattan Castle wasn’t large, they were comfortable enough and he would take charge of it all.

“M’lady?”

She looked up to see Andrews waiting. There was no turning away. She must face the task ahead because her uncle would expect no less. She squared her shoulders and followed him to the solar.

She was surprised to find Father Addison inside, pacing. And further surprised when Andrews closed the door behind her.

“Where is Sir Gawain?” Aileana asked.

“M’lady, ’tis unnecessary for the constable to attend matters related to your uncle’s funeral,” Andrews said.

She hadn’t asked about the constable. She’d asked about her future husband.

“You see, my dear, Gawain—”

The door swung wide and the man in question stepped into the room, scowling straight away at Andrews.

Aileana stepped back a pace. His normal aloof demeanour was much preferable to the imposing figure before her. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. His face was red and a sheen of sweat marked his brow.

“What passes here?”

His voice was tight, as if he held his control by a thread.

“We were about to discuss the funeral service with her ladyship. Is there something we can do for you, Sir Gawain?” Father Addison asked.

“As I instructed yesterday, you may not burden Lady Aileana with these unpleasant details.” Gawain clenched and unclenched his hands as he spoke.

Father Addison moved closer to Aileana and placed his arm around her shoulder, “Sir Gawain, ’tis natural for her ladyship to help plan the funeral service for her uncle. She will be better prepared for what is to come. After all, he was her only family.”

She stiffened. Gawain was a distant cousin, but she still considered him kin.

“Please,” Aileana said. “We’re all grief-stricken. I thank you, Father, and you Andrews, for your consideration. It means a great deal to me, as it would have to my uncle.” She turned to Gawain, “Your consideration for my well-being is much appreciated, Sir Gawain, but I am quite able to discuss the funeral. Your kindness does your clan great justice.”

What else could she say to him? She hadn’t spoken to him since they parted ways the day her uncle had been brought to the stable and they had not yet discussed any of that which consumed her thoughts.

His eyes narrowed and his lips formed a thin line, “As you wish, my lady.”

Before she spoke another word, he turned on his heel and stalked out, slamming the door behind him. She closed her eyes. How on earth could she resolve anything with the man when he kept her at such arm’s length?

The remainder of the day was a blur of faces and condolences. Aileana registered little of it. As the last shovel full of earth fell onto her past, her future, cloaked in black, mounted his horse and tore off toward the gatehouse and beyond. His grief must be overwhelming indeed.

* * *

James MacIntosh tried to reconcile his dilemma as he looked down upon the mourners from the crag above them. He’d indulged the old man last year by agreeing to his terms out of mutual respect, though he never intended to see it through. Now the man was dead and he was honour-bound to attach himself to a young, unsophisticated lass and an outdated way of life with no room for change. His destrier, Arion, fidgeted beneath him and he flexed his thighs to still the animal.