She recoiled in shock. If he had any doubts about the validity of Maddie’s claims, he didn’t now. Mairin’s reaction was too genuine. She was utterly horrified that he knew the truth.
She quickly came to the same realization that she’d given herself away, because she didn’t attempt to deny it. Tears welled in her eyes and she turned away, her fist going to her mouth.
An uncomfortable sensation knotted his chest. The sight of her distress unsettled him. The lass had suffered enough, and now she looked as though she was utterly defeated. The light had vanished from her eyes the moment he’d uttered her name.
“Mairin,” he began and gently touched her shoulder. She trembled underneath his touch, and he realized she shook with quiet sobs. “Lass, don’t cry. ’Tis not as bad as that.”
“Nay?” She sniffed and shrugged away from his hand, moving closer to the window again. She bowed her head and her hair fell over her face, obscuring it from his view.
He wasn’t any good with tears. They discomfited him. He was much more comfortable when he was inciting her anger. So he did the one thing he knew would infuriate her. He ordered her to stop crying.
As predicted, she turned on him, spitting like a cornered kitten.
“I’ll cry if I want to. You will cease ordering me about!”
He raised an eyebrow. “You dare to issue me orders?”
She flushed, but at least she wasn’t crying any longer.
“Now tell me about this brand on your thigh. Your father’s crest. I’d like to see it.”
She went crimson and she backed up a step until her back met with the ledge of the window. “I will not do something so indecent as to show you my leg!”
“When we’re married, I’ll see more than that,” he said mildly.
“Married? Married? I’m not marrying you, Laird. I’m not marrying anyone. Not yet anyway.”
It was the yet that intrigued Ewan. Clearly the lass hadn’t totally discounted the notion of marriage, and she seemed levelheaded enough, so she had to realize the importance of marrying. She could hardly bear an heir to Neamh Álainn if she never married.
He sat on the bed and stretched his legs outward. This might take awhile, and he might as well be comfortable.
“Tell me why not yet. Surely you’ve given thought to marriage.”
“Aye, I’ve given it thought. I’ve thought about little else over the years,” she blurted out. “Have you any idea how the last ten years have been for me? Living in fear, having to hide from men who’d force me to their will so that they’d gain from their marriage to me. Men who would plant their seed in my belly and discard me the moment I gave birth.
“I was but a child when I was forced into hiding. A child. I needed time to formulate a plan. Mother Serenity suggested I find a man, a warrior, with the strength to protect my heritage, but also a man with honor. Someone who would treat me well,” she whispered. “A man who would cherish the gift I would bring to our marriage. And me.”
He was struck by the vulnerability in her voice. The dreams of a young woman sounded strong in the tale she spun. It wasn’t practical, but when he looked at her, he understood that she’d been desperate and afraid, and she’d clung to the hope of finding such a man among all the ones who’d do just as she said. Marry her, impregnate her, and discard her when she no longer served a purpose.
He sighed. She wanted to be loved and cherished. He couldn’t offer her those things, but he could offer her his protection and his regard. It was far more than Duncan Cameron would give her.
“I’ll never hurt you, lass. You’ll have the respect due you as wife to the laird of the McCabe clan. I’ll protect you and any child you bear me. You wanted a man who had the strength to defend your legacy. I’m that man.”
She turned wounded eyes on him, skepticism bright in her gaze. “Not to offer insult, Laird, but your keep is crumbling around your ears. If you can’t defend your own, how can you expect to defend a holding such as Neamh Álainn?”
He stiffened at the insult, intended or not.
“You cannot be angry over such an observation,” she rushed to say. “ ’Tis my right to question the qualifications of the man I would marry and in whose hands I would place my life.”
“I have spent the last eight years fortifying my troops. There is not a larger, better-trained force in all of Scotland.”
“If that is correct, why then does your keep look as if it has sustained crippling damage in a battle?”
“It did,” he said bluntly. “Eight years ago. Since then my focus has been on keeping my clan fed and my men trained. Repairs to the keep have been a much lower priority.”