A moment later, a man broke from the group on horseback, tearing off with his black cloak flying behind him. He would expect they all return to Chattan Castle to commiserate. Whoever the rider was, it appeared he couldn’t get away fast enough.
Courtesy dictated James join them and address the arrangement. Instead, he watched the remaining group retreat to the castle.
He scratched his day-old beard. There must be a way out. By tomorrow if he hadn’t shown up to pay his respects, it would be considered a slight. The last person disappeared through the gatehouse. James stared after them for several moments before turning in the opposite direction. He needed one more night to think it through. Tomorrow he would meet with Lady Aileana and defy the old man’s wish.
Chapter Two
“Your absence was notable yesterday, m’lord.”
James locked eyes with the grey-haired man seated across from him in his solar. His gut twisted. Normally, he would have entertained a guest in the great hall, but with so many servants bustling around, James preferred privacy for what he thought might be on the man’s mind. Still, James didn’t expect this sort of bold reproach for missing Chattan’s funeral.
“I had pressing business at Inverness. You may pass along my condolences to the lass and tell her I will visit in person as soon as my schedule permits.” James leaned back, folding his arms across his chest.
The visitor had arrived early and was afforded all the courtesy a clergyman should, but James was not about to be chastised. He need not answer to this man or anyone else except his king.
“M’lord, I am duty bound to provide my lady with the anticipated time of your arrival.” Father Addison settled in his chair, hands folded in his lap.
Was this a standoff? Christ! The priest had more patience than Chattan and his father had two years prior. He didn’t want this match then and he didn’t want it now.
James crossed the room toward a side table topped with a tankard of heather ale and goblets. Hanging above the table was one of numerous tapestries dotting the stone walls of Moy Hall. The exquisite weaving created a visual history of battles fought and won. This one depicted a conflict between his clan and the Camerons. MacIntosh longswords assaulted the brass-studded targe of the Cameron’s defeated chief. The warrior used it to shield himself from the onslaught to no avail, and yet the man smiled. He had accepted defeat.
James poured the golden draught into two goblets, breathing deep and steady. This alliance represented everything he didn’t want. Why in hell his father had insisted upon it, James couldn’t say.
Chattan had approached them and persisted until the contract was signed. Not long after, James’s father died. James had been too busy over the last two years leading his clan to give the arrangement much thought. In truth, he preferred to keep it as quiet as possible. The Chattans refused to support the king’s progressive law on authoritative reform, so there was no way James could see the betrothal through—he being on the opposite end of the debate.
Now everything had changed.
The contract would be difficult to break since the girl had no ward. Chattan’s steward and this priest knew about the agreement and it appeared they intended to hold him to it.
If James aligned with this clan, the king could very well remove his title, lands, or worse! James valued his neck too much to risk it for the likes of a woman.
James scrubbed his hand over his face. The priest wanted the betrothal to occur straight away, however, and James had no choice but refuse. It was an impossible time for him since Parliament would convene at Inverness in four days and he must be present. Now was not the time to topple the king’s delicate balance of power.
He shook his head. Chattans were not just non-supporters; they were superstitious and incapable of change. He’d heard the child Aileana even kept a witch for a maid. Such wise-women, or healers as they liked to call themselves, had no place in a lady’s chamber. How could this Father Addison, a so-called man of God, defy the Bishop and tolerate such heresy? They would not progress and James would be damned if he’d take one step backward.
He returned to his seat and passed a goblet to Father Addison. The man raised it in silent salute as he leafed through a bound copy of the Gospels on James’s desk.
“I never took you for devout,” the priest said and smiled.
“It belonged to my mother.”
“She could read?”
“Aye, a little.”
“Hmm. Lady Aileana as well, though more than a little. Her uncle devoted many hours to her education.”
“To what end?” James asked.
“A good question. He said he wanted her to always understand what occurred around her.” Father Addison replaced the wooden cover on top of the elegant scripture. He took a deep draught of the ale and leaned back with all the countenance of a man engaged in a most pleasant conversation.