Chapter
One
When the evening meal was placed before him, Carrick
Gordon plowed through the food, planning to retreat to his chambers as soon as
possible. The huge dining hall at the Gordon keep was especially noisy this
eve. Filled with the boisterous talk of the clansmen, who'd just returned from the
clan's games, and the clanking of plates and cups slammed onto the long tables,
the noise elevated with each new pitcher of ale passed.
How different from the more modest home where he now
lived with only a small serving staff and a handful of clansmen for company.
Carrick moved away from his father's keep right after his mother's death
several years earlier, preferring the solitude and quiet of his own home. That
and the fact his remaining family here shunned him.
"Avail me of more ale," his father, Laird
Angus Gordon, bellowed to a serving wench who scurried to do his bidding. Once
filled, he took a long draw from the tankard and slammed it onto the table.
Moraine, the laird's current wife, jumped at the sound, but didn't utter a
word. Throughout the meal, she kept her gaze down, her shaky hand reaching for
food, and on occasion, the goblet of wine. Studying her, Carrick caught sight
of fresh bruising on the woman's jaw.
Carrick looked to his father, who in turn observed the
meek woman's movements with an interest that could only be described as
satisfaction. Fear fed Angus Gordon's ego and he was adept at getting it from
not only his family, but his men as well. The laird's streak of cruelty was
well known.
The food on Carrick's plate lost its appeal and he
pushed it away picking up his cup of ale instead.
The laird cleared his throat upon noticing Carrick's
regard. "Yer lass and her uncle arrive on the morrow. Can you attempt to
behave as if you are part of this family while he is here?" The older man leaned
back into the chair and focused on him, shrewd eyes lingering on his plain
tunic. "Perhaps something more presentable in the way of attire."
Carrick could only gape at the words, at a loss for a
reply. Exactly how did the laird expect him to act? If there were someone who'd
spurned him and ensured he'd never felt a part of the Gordon clan, it was his
father. "The agreement has been made, I sincerely doubt my way of dress
will change anything. This marriage agreement was not my doing, but yours,"
he retorted and stood.
His father's words stopped him from leaving.
"It's up to you of course, the chit has nowhere to go. Either way she will
remain here or her family will shun her if she is rejected by you." He
shrugged. "I suppose I can always give her to your brother." Narrowed
eyes scrutinized Carrick, taking in the scar that ran from the corner of his
right eye down to his upper lip. "But then again, the woman will no doubt
refuse you at first glance. Therefore this conversation may be but a waste of
breath."
His younger brother Declan laughed, but a worried
expression flickered when he regarded their father. "I am in no need of a
wife as of now. The McGregors will insist on the agreed upon marriage to
him." He looked to Carrick.
Angus burped without abash and waved his hands in
dismissal. "You are correct in that, I suppose. Enough of this talk.
Whether frightened or not, she will marry Carrick."
Preferring to die before he'd give his father the
satisfaction of a reaction, Carrick shrugged. "As you wish. It matters
naught to me." He walked with purposeful unhurried steps to his chambers.
Damn them all to hell. How he craved to be away from the place.
That he was at Gordon keep was only because Analise
Macgregor came, and he'd agreed to marry her. The clan made an agreement and
he'd given his word to be present when she arrived instead of sending a proxy,
which would have been his first choice. Carrick tried to remember if he'd hit
his head or drank too much ale on that cursed day which led him to agree to be
present for the farce of a marriage.
No, it was that he felt a kinship with
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