“Go ahead, kill me,” she said calmly. “That would serve your purpose well.”
He lashed out and backhanded her across the cheek. She fell to the ground, her hand snapping up to cup her jaw.
“Leave her alone!” Crispen cried.
She lunged for him, pulling him down until he was cradled in her arms. “Shhh,” she cautioned. “Do nothing to anger him further.”
“I see you have regained your senses,” Duncan said. “See to it they don’t leave you again.”
She said nothing, just lay there on the ground, holding Crispen as she stared at Duncan’s unmarred boots. He must never work, she thought. Even his hand was soft against her cheek. How could a man who rose to power on the broken backs of others have such strength?
“Take her inside and give her to the women to bathe,” Duncan said in disgust.
“Stay near me,” she whispered to Crispen. She didn’t trust Finn not to hurt him.
Finn hauled her to her feet and half dragged, half carried her inside the keep. Though the outside gleamed, the inside was dirty and musty and smelled of days-old ale. Dogs barked excitedly, and she curled her nose as the odor of feces assaulted her nostrils.
“Upstairs with you,” Finn snarled, as he shoved her toward the stairs. “And don’t be trying anything. I’ll have guards posted outside your door. Make it quick. You don’t want to keep the laird waiting.”
The two women given the task of seeing to Mairin’s bath viewed her with a mixture of sympathy and curiosity as they briskly washed her hair.
“Do you be wanting the lad to bathe as well?” one asked.
“Nay!” Crispen exclaimed from his perch on the bed.
“Nay,” Mairin echoed softly. “Leave him be.”
After they rinsed the soap from Mairin’s hair, they helped her from the tub and soon had her dressed in a beautiful blue gown with elaborate embroidery around the neck and sleeves and again at the hem. She didn’t miss the significance of being dressed in Duncan’s colors. How easily heconsidered her his conquest.
When the two women offered to arrange her hair, Mairin shook her head. As soon as it was dry she’d braid it.
With a shrug, the women departed the room, leaving her to await her summons from Duncan.
She sat down on the bed next to Crispen, and he snuggled into the crook of her arm.
“I’m getting you dirty,” he whispered.
“I don’t care.”
“What are we going to do, Mairin?”
His voice shook with fear, and she kissed the top of his head.
“We’ll think of something, Crispen. We’ll think of something.”
The door flew open, and Mairin instinctively shoved Crispen behind her. Finn stood there in the doorway, his gaze triumphant.
“The laird wants you.”
She turned to Crispen and cupped his chin until he looked directly into her eyes. “Stay here,” she whispered. “Don’t come out of this room. Promise me.”
He nodded, his eyes wide with fright.
She rose and went to where Finn stood. When he reached for her arm, she yanked it away. “I’m capable of walking unaided.”
“Uppity bitch,” he bit out.
She preceded him down the stairs, her dread growing with each passing second. When she saw the priest standing next to the fire in the great hall, she knew that Duncan was taking no chances. He’d marry her, bed her, and seal her fate and that of Neamh Álainn.
As Finn shoved her forward, she prayed for strength and courage for what she must do.
“There’s my bride now,” Duncan said, as he turned from his conversation with the priest.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and he studied her intently, almost as if he were warning her of the consequences if she refused.
God, help me.
The priest cleared his throat and focused his attention on Mairin. “Are you willing, lass?”
Silence fell as all awaited her response. Then slowly, she shook her head. The priest swung his gaze to Duncan, a look of accusation in his eyes.
“What is this, Laird? You told me you both wished this marriage.”
The look on Duncan’s face had the priest backtracking. The priest hastily crossed himself and positioned himself a safe distance from Duncan.
Then Duncan turned to her, and her blood ran cd. For such a handsome man, he was, in that moment, very ugly.
He stepped toward her, grasping her arm above the elbow, squeezing until she feared her bone would snap.
“I’ll ask this only once more,” he said in a deceptively soft voice. “Are you willing?”
She knew. She knew that when she uttered her denial, he would retaliate. He might even kill her if he saw his path to Neamh Álainn shattered. But she hadn’t stayed sequestered all these years only to yield at the first sign of adversity. Somehow, someway, she must find a way out of this mess.
She lifted her shoulders, infusing the steel of a broadsword into her spine. In a clear, distinct voice, she uttered her denial. “Nay.”
His roar of rage nearly shattered her ears. His fist sent her flying several feet, and she huddled into a ball, gasping for breath. He’d hit her so hard in the ribs that she couldn’t squeeze breath into her lungs.
She raised her shocked and unfocused gaze up to see him towering over her, his anger a tangible, terrible thing. In that moment, she knew she’d chosen right. Even if he killed her in his frenzy, what would her life be like as his wife? After she bore him the necessary heir to Neamh Álainn, he’d have no further use for her anyway, and he’d just rid himself of her then.