Eveline knew no more of what her mother was saying, but it didn’t matter because Eveline understood. Everything she needed to know was right here in her mother’s hug.
“We need to have words, Armstrong,” Graeme said as he faced Eveline’s father.
Tavis stared back at him with weary eyes, and for the first time, Graeme felt a twinge of sympathy for the older man, but he quickly squashed it. The Armstrongs didn’t deserve his sympathy. They’d given no mercy to his clan and he’d give none in return.
“Come, let’s sit and have some ale. Then we’ll speak of what’s on your mind.”
Graeme motioned for his brothers to remain back as he followed the laird to the high table on the dais at the opposite end of the great hall. He was surprised Armstrong bothered to show him the courtesy of placing him where honored guests would be seated when in attendance.
A serving woman appeared with a tankard of ale and two goblets. After filling them, she slipped away, leaving the two men alone at the table.
The earl had retired, evidently convinced that there would be no overt hostilities. Bowen and Teague stood across the room staring belligerently at Eveline’s two brothers. Graeme gave them a sharp look and then dipped his head in the direction of one of the lesser tables to indicate they should sit down.
Then he turned his attention fully on the Armstrong laird.
“ ’Tis clear that neither of us wants this union.”
Tavis’s lips tightened and he started to speak, but Graeme’s expression stopped him.
“But I’ll treat your daughter well. I’ll treat her with more respect than you and yours ever afforded my clan.”
Anger glittered in Tavis’s eyes, but he continued to stare at Graeme in stony silence.
“I was truthful with your lady wife. I do not wage war against the innocent, and your daughter is perhaps more innocent than most. She’s clearly different. Do not fear my treatment of her, for she will be well provided for. However, do not expect our marriage to be an open invitation for you to step foot on my lands.”
“You’d have me send my daughter off, never to see her again?” Tavis demanded. “How will I know if you’ve upheld your word if I never see the proof of your claim?”
“I will allow her to visit upon occasion only if it’s convenient and I can be assured of no foul play, but no Armstrong, save she, will ever set foot over our borders. ’Tis a blood vow I swear and a blood vow it is, because if it should ever happen, blood will be shed.”
“Know then that no Montgomery, save one who is escorting my daughter, will ever be allowed back on our lands. Consider this an aberration and one afforded to you only by order of our king,” Tavis said through his teeth.
“Good enough,” Graeme said. “We’ll sign the treaty, give the king what he wants, but we have an understanding.”
“Aye, we do.”
“Now tell me more about Eveline. Does she always act so oddly?”
Tavis started to scowl, but Graeme held up his hand. “I mean no insult. You saw that she came to me and was not afraid. You and her kin acted as though this was unusual behavior for her.”
Tavis nodded grimly. “Aye, it is. I’ve never seen her act thusly. She is usually quite shy and content to be left alone, and moreover, ’tis something I prefer. Not all in our clan are as accepting as others when it comes to her affliction. I would not have her ridiculed or mocked or even potentially harmed by those who view her as a devil’s instrument.”
Graeme’s eyebrow raised. “Devil’s instrument?”
“You know well what people think when faced with someone like Eveline. You’re a fool if you think it won’t happen in your clan. My daughter has two things against her going in. One, she’s an Armstrong and will be reviled for nothing more than her parentage. Two, she’ll be considered daft, touched, addled, and many other less kind words will be attributed to her. ’Tis a dangerous situation that you will have to monitor closely. If the wrong people have it in their head that she’s Satan’s instrument, they could well kill her.”
“Is she all of those things? Daft? Touched?” Graeme asked in an even voice.
“I do not know,” Tavis said wearily. “There are days when I think she understands perfectly what goes on around her. She’ll respond when we talk to her. She seems to grasp certain situations. And then other days, it’s as if the rest of us don’t exist and she’s in her own realm.”
“And she never speaks?”
Tavis shook his head. “Not since the accident and resulting fever. I know not why. I don’t know if she had fever of the brain and it damaged her in some way. Or if she was so deeply affected by the event that she cannot even speak of it.”
He leaned forward, his expression serious. “She cannot sit a horse. It’s important you not make her try.”
Graeme frowned. “Cannot sit a horse? Why has she been neglected so? I don’t have a litter to carry her back to my keep and I’m damn sure not going to make her walk.”
“It’s not that she’s been neglected. Indeed, she was an expert horseman. Never saw anything quite like it. From an early age, she just commanded the attention of horses. They gravitated toward her. Liked her. She could make them do anything. And ride like the wind.
“She used to scare me spitless. She’d swing up on a horse bareback in her bare feet, her hair going in all directions, and she’d ride hell-bent for leather across the meadow, back and forth. I was always convinced she was going to kill herself, but she enjoyed it so much that I couldn’t bear to make her stop.”
Tavis sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “And then it happened. Just as I feared. She took a bad fall. Horse was spooked, pitched her right off his back and she fell into a deep ravine. It was three days before we found her, and by then she was gravely ill. She had an injury to her head and a fever that lasted an entire fortnight. After that she was never the same and she’s deathly afraid of horses. You needed to know so that you never try to make her mount.”
“How the hell am I supposed to get her back to my keep?” Graeme demanded.
“I’ll provide a cart for her to ride in,” Tavis said.
Graeme let out a disgruntled push of air. His bride was becoming more of a pain in his arse all the time. It was a marriage to prevent further bloodshed, but to him it felt like a death sentence.
“I don’t know that she can ever make you a proper wife,” Tavis said in a low voice that sounded precariously close to pleading. “Don’t force the issue. I wouldn’t have her hurt or ill-treated for anything in the world. She is dear to all of us. You are receiving a gift, Laird. Whether you choose to believe so or not, you are receiving something more precious than gold.”
CHAPTER 8
Graeme climbed the steps to the chamber he’d been assigned. As the apparent guest of honor, he’d been afforded a room in the upper wing while his brothers had been consigned to the common sleeping hall where many of the warriors slept on cots lining the walls.
Since his room was next to the Earl of Dunbar’s, he wondered if the earl had been the one to insist this respect be given Graeme. Armstrong would have likely wanted them all to camp outside the walls of the keep with the rest of his men. Or better yet, never have set foot on Armstrong land to begin with.
Graeme pushed open his door, only wanting to bed down for the night. Tomorrow he’d wed and then leave for home to face the inevitability of his future. Or lack thereof. He wasn’t one to focus on the negative, but for the first time he felt a certain bleakness, because any dream he had of heirs and passing his legacy on to his own bloodline was gone. As was any thought of revenge against the clan who’d murdered his da.
When he stepped inside, he was surprised to see candles already burning and a fire laid in the hearth. But he was even more surprised to see Eveline perched on the edge of his bed, her expression guarded as she stared up at him.
She wore the same dress she’d had on earlier in the day. While Lady Armstrong had dressed for the occasion to greet her guests—albeit unwanted ones—Eveline had first greeted him in a simple frock that was similar to a work dress worn by the other women in the clan. And perhaps because it was so simple, it had only drawn a more stark comparison between Eveline’s beauty and the plainness of her apparel.
But then Graeme wasn’t certain there was a single item she could wear that would diminish what was clearly a beautiful lass.
Eveline looked to be worried that he would be angry over the intrusion. And he should be. It was a breech of his privacy, but it was also improper for her to be alone with him in his chamber on the eve of their wedding. Her family would be outraged if they knew of her whereabouts, and it could call into question his own honor that he so jealously guarded.
And yet he couldn’t bring himself to show any temper toward the lass.
Unsure of what he should do, he continued into the room, closing the door behind him. After a moment he turned to look at her, and he could see a hint of color rise in her cheeks, reflected in the soft candlelight.
She looked angelic. Impossibly beautiful. He’d never seen anything her equal. It wasn’t that she was the most beautifully fashioned woman he’d ever seen, but she was easily the most …
He frowned. The most what?
There was something quite irresistible about her and he couldn’t even put his finger on it. She lacked the practiced graces of older, more mature women. But neither did she look like a maiden too young for a man to even look at.
She was … just right.
God’s teeth, was he lusting over his bride? Self-loathing filled him. He should be treating her gently and kindly. It was obvious there was something off about the lass, even if he didn’t know the extent, and here he was looking at her as a prospective wife with all the benefits entailed.
No matter that she was an Armstrong. It was clear she couldn’t be punished for or defined by the actions of her family when it was likely she was unaware of most things around her.
As much as he didn’t want to label any Armstrong a victim, he had enough intelligence to know she didn’t deserve this union any more than he deserved to be forced into it.
She would be taken from her home—the only safe haven she had. From everyone who protected and loved her—and it was obvious she was well loved by her family. She would be thrust into a hostile environment. Could any Armstrong ever find a place in the Montgomery clan? It was going to be a difficult matter, no matter how it was handled, and it was she who stood to lose the most, while all he gained was an unwanted wife and grudging truce with the Armstrongs.
As if she had grown impatient with him just standing and staring at her, she stood with a slight frown and then crossed the room to stand just before him. She reached for his face and his automatic reaction was to flinch away.
Hurt shadowed her eyes and she snatched her hand back, a frown turning her lips down.
Aggrieved that he’d somehow hurt her, he carefully reached down, took her hand and then raised it back to his chin where she’d nearly touched him before. He had no idea of her intention, but he would see how it played out.
She smiled and again he was struck by how such a smile transformed her entire face into a ray of sunshine. Her fingers slid delicately over his rough jaw and to his lips. His eyes widened when she touched his mouth and then pushed up and down at his lips.
When he didn’t immediately react, she frowned and pushed more forcefully. Then she removed her fingers and pressed her finger and thumb into his cheeks, squeezing so his lips puckered outward.
Frowning harder, she stared up at him as if to say, Do you not understand? It seemed clear the lass wanted him to speak.
He nearly laughed. Everyone treated her as somewhat of a simpleton, but here she was acting as if he were the dolt with no sense.
She wanted him to speak. Of what, he had no idea, but it was clear she wanted him to say something.
“You shouldn’t be here, Eveline,” he said kindly. “It’s not proper and if your father should find out, he’d almost certainly declare war, which would most assuredly displease our king.”
Her brow furrowed deeper and she gave him a fierce glare. Then she shook her head and raised her hands as if to say, Who is to know?
She put her finger back to his lips, but by now he knew what it was she wanted. With a sigh, he led her to a chair by the fire and motioned for her to sit. He dragged the bench by the window across the floor so he could sit near her.
They were side by side and before he could think of anything further to say, she stood and turned her chair, positioning it so she was facing him. Then she settled back down and leaned forward, her eyes focused intently on him.
He’d never felt so unsettled. His tongue felt tied and he had no idea what to say to the lass. It would be so much easier if she spoke, because then she could ask questions. Aye, he could answer questions easily enough, but to just come up with a topic?