Page 22 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird
“I ken the ground.”
Donaldina stood and crossed toward the dressing table, though she had no purpose there. Roy’s torn strip of linen remained around her arm. The sight of it recalled his rough fingers against her wrist and the care with which he cleaned a wound she insisted did not exist.
“He saved ye,” Mairi said. “Twice.”
“Aye.”
“And he helped restore Dun Ard.”
“He did.”
“But… that doesnae mean ye know him.”
Donaldina’s fingers stilled.
Mairi came nearer. “Many still believe he returned because Lachlan couldnae. They believe he left yer brother tae die.”
“Belief doesnae make a thing true.”
“Nae. But gratitude doesnae make a man trustworthy either.”
There was no accusation in Mairi’s face, only concern. “He could have taken the castle by force,” Donaldina said. “He refused because MacNicol men would have died.”
“He could afford patience. The King already promised him the castle through ye.”
The words struck more sharply than Mairi intended. Donaldina moved away.
“He hasnae spoken of Dun Ard as his.”
“Nae yet.”
Donaldina frowned. “Ye sound like Cormac.”
Mairi flinched. Regret followed immediately, but Donaldina’s confusion was too raw for an apology.
Mairi lowered her voice. “I only ask ye tae remember who he is.”
“I scarcely ken who he is.”
“That is what frightens me.”
Donaldina also felt fear. She understood that Roy spoke sparingly, observed carefully, and showed respect for her—something men from her own clan withheld. She recognized that he hid tenderness behind his practicality and sorrow behind his quietness. She knew the memory of someone still haunted him. However, she was unsure if these qualities made him safe. Even more, she no longer felt sure she wanted to be free from him as she once did before he arrived at Dun Ard.
Mairi studied her face. “Yesterday ye looked at him as if ye meant tae strike him.”
“And today?”
“As if ye are considering whether striking him would require standing closer.”
Mairi’s mouth twitched. Despite herself, Donaldina felt heat climb farther into her face. “This conversation has become intolerable.”
“Aye. Ye are very pink.”
Donaldina crossed to the writing table and sat with considerably more force than necessary. A sheet of parchment lay before her. The royal seal upon the marriage agreement seemed to exist even when the document itself was elsewhere. It governed eight years of absence, war and expectation. Now it waited to decide what portion of her life belonged to a man she had known for scarcely two days.
She dipped the quill.
“What are ye writing?” Mairi asked.
