Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

" M e laird, such a union cannae be allowed."

Evan sat behind his desk, fingers tapping repeatedly against its surface as he regarded his advisors, all of them standing around him in a semi-circle. Alaric was by his side, but he had taken no part in this conversation—or rather argument, Evan though would be a better term—so far, choosing instead to stay silent and observing.

The man who had spoken was one of those advisors; a Chief of his clan who had served his father before him; Padraig Malloch, a man of approximately fifty years of age, his dark hair peppered with grey. Out of all the advisors, he had always been the one to share his thoughts most openly with Evan, and Evan couldn't help but think it was because he still viewed him as a young boy rather than a man, a laird with an entire clan in his hands. He had been an advisor to the clan as long as Evan remembered and though Evan valued his opinion more than anyone else's in the council, the thing he admired most in him was also the thing which now enraged him: Padraig only considered the good of the clan, letting no other factors affect him.

Evan had expected such backlash from him, more so than from anyone else. He had no doubt Padraig had been the one to select Medea Buchanan as the woman he was to wed after careful consideration, finding Evan the best match he could politically and financially.

But Evan would not be swayed.

"Ye didnae even consult me in this!" he said, hand slamming down onto the desk in a rare show of rage against his council. Slowly, he took a deep breath and tried to control himself. Showing such anger could only complicate things. "Ye betrothed me tae a lass without me ken an' ye expect me tae agree tae this weddin'? Ye never once asked me. Ye never once even informed me o' yer decision afore I came here an' found that man in me castle!"

To say the presence of the Lady Buchanan's advisor had been a surprise would be an understatement. Evan had lost his wits in that moment, freezing, his words failing him like they never had before.

An' all o' it happened in front o' Bonnie's eyes!

How heartbroken she had been when Mr. McIlroy had spoken. How she had looked at Evan, betrayal etched in her eyes. Evan had felt her grief in his own body, settling heavy in his stomach, and he hadn't even yet had the chance to find her and explain the situation to her, all because his council would not let this matter go.

"It was necessary," Padraig said with a slight bow of his head. "Ye were gone fer too long, me laird. The council was forced tae make a decision, an' I maintain it was the correct decision."

"Ye should have consulted me first," Evan insisted. "I have told ye now o' me plan tae wed Bonnie an' there is naething ye can tell me about the Lady Buchanan or her men tae change me mind."

"An' yer men?" Padraig demanded, taking a halting step forward. "Everyone in this room agrees. A union with Miss MacLaren would be too perilous. We ken o' Graeme Ruthven's intentions. We ken Miss MacLaren is betrothed tae him an' it is only a matter o' time afore they wed."

"It is more than a matter o' time," Evan interrupted, holding up a hand. "I willnae allow him tae touch her."

"It may come tae be that yer involvement is unnecessary," Padraig said. "Once Ruthven's plan is revealed, surely Miss MacLaren will be relieved o' her betrothal tae him. Either way, our involvement is ill-advised. We will remain neutral in this conflict."

"It is far too late fer that," Evan pointed out, looking at every man in the room. "I have already brought her here an' I will wed her. An' if any o' ye is opposed tae this, then . . ."

What threat was there for him to give? Replacing them with other advisors would surely cause a riot among them, and so would challenging them to a fight. Tensions between them were already high and Evan was doing a terrible job at calming them.

"What me brother is tryin' tae say," Alaric said, stepping forward, "is that perhaps there is merit in considerin' Miss MacLaren as a potential bride. Is there doubt among ye that the MacLaren Clan is stronger than ever? Surely, they would make better allies than Clan Buchanan."

"It is o' nae importance when ye consider that both our laird an' Miss MacLaren are already betrothed!" cried Padraig in a rare burst of exasperation. He had always been a patient man, level-headed and mild-mannered, but now he could hardly contain his anger. Evan saw it in the way his eyes narrowed, the skin around them crinkling with annoyance, his skin getting a faint tint of red.

Silence followed the man's outburst and Padraig took a moment to breathe, bringing himself back under control. Presently, he said, "I implore ye, me laird . . . see reason. It is a heavy burden ye carry, but ye ken as well as anyone in this room that the clan is more important than the matters o' the heart."

Evan knew that to be true, of course. Few in his position were lucky to marry for love, fewer still could say they had made the right choice. And yet, whenever he thought about Bonnie, whenever he remembered the pain in her gaze, he couldn't bring himself to agree to this wedding with the Lady Buchanan.

"Leave me," Evan said eventually, having the council away.

"Me laird?—"

Before Padraig could finish, Evan said, "We will discuss this later, Padraig, I promise. I wish tae speak tae me brother."

After a moment of hesitation, Padraig nodded and ushered the rest of the advisors out of the room. When the door closed and plunged them in silence, Evan let his head fall in his hands, drawing a deep, steadying breath. From the corner of his eye, he saw Alaric pull a chair next to him, perching himself on it.

"I cannae dae this, Alaric," he said. "I cannae betray her like this."

Castle MacGregor was as grand inside as it was outside, though it lacked the ostentatious character of Castle Ruthven. The glory of this place came not from sprawling tapestries and branching chandeliers of solid gold, but rather from the portraits of the previous generations, hanging in the rooms and the hallways and revealing the clan's past to Bonnie.

Isabeau hardly gave her time to see any of it, though, as she dragged her around the place, until the two of them came all the way to the north side and went once again out into the courtyard, but this time at the other end of the castle. There, Bonnie noticed a smaller building, one that resembled one of the cottages out in the country, surrounded by a garden of flowers and herbs whose scents permeated the air, making it fragrant.

"This is where I spend much o' me time," said Isabeau as she pulled Bonnie along once more, into the small building. Inside, the air was just as fragrant from the dried bunches of herbs that hanged from the ceiling, dappling the light as it crossed them. The walls were lined with shelves, some of which held books while others held jars and other containers, all of them neatly labelled.

Bonnie knew a healer's cottage when she saw one and now she walked around, looking at the old, cracked spines of the books in awe.

"Yer a healer?" she asked Isabeau.

"A midwife," said Isabeau, leaning against the table that dominated the middle of the room. "But I have learnt many things. An' I can see yer hurt."

Bonnie turned to look at Isabeau in surprise, her hand reaching for her shoulder on instinct. "How did ye ken?"

"I can see that ye favor yer left arm," said Isabeau. "An' ye protect yer right arm as though there is a fresh wound. An' we received word from Evan, so I already kent."

Bonnie couldn't help but laugh, joining Isabeau at the table when she gestured at her to approach. Bonnie sat in one of the chairs there, a simple wooden seat with a short back, as Isabeau walked around the room to gather her supplies. She returned with clean cloth, a few jars filled with pastes Bonnie couldn't identify, and a small pot of hot water from the large one which sat over the fireplace.

"An' I thought fer a moment that ye were a witch," Bonnie teased as she bared her shoulder for Isabeau to take a look at the injury. The cloth that was wrapped around it had only a few specks of blood on it, and Bonnie could only think that was a good thing—slowly, she was healing.

"Ach, I hope nae one thinks I'm a witch!" Isabeau said, only half-joking as she began to clean Bonnie's wound with soft, methodical movements. She was very careful, Bonnie noted, making sure she missed none of the blood and the old paste the healer at Castle Ruthven had applied over the wound. "I promise ye, I'm nae evil."

"I dinnae think anyone could see ye an' think yer evil," Bonnie assured her. It was the truth. Isabeau looked like innocence personified, with her wide green eyes and the smile that never seemed to leave her rosy lips. She resembled the dolls with which Bonnie played as a child with her patrician beauty and her shiny dark hair. "Nae one who is evil would care about a wounded person . . . or fer a maither an' her bairn, in fact. How is it that a young noble lass wishes tae be a midwife?"

Isabeau shrugged a shoulder, opening one of the jars with delicate fingers. "I wished . . . I wish tae help people. I ken that perhaps I willnae have the chance once I wed, but I will dae it fer as long as I can. I've seen too many maithers, too many bairns sufferin'. This clan has lost some good, young lasses in labor an' I want tae put an end tae that."

Isabeau spoke with such passion, such conviction, that it was difficult for Bonnie—or for anyone else, she suspected—to remain unmoved by her words. She wasn't doing this because she was in need of gold. She was only eager to help other, to ease some of the pain of her people.

"I wish there were more people like ye in the world," Bonnie said, meaning every word. Isabeau smiled and the two of them fell into a silence that was surprisingly comfortable for two women who had only just met each other. Bonnie's thoughts drifted to Evan once more, thinking about all the similarities he shared with Isabeau, but also all the differences between them. Her mere appearance radiated a certain calmness, one which seeped right into Bonnie and gave her some comfort in the midst of all this grief and chaos.

She seemed to be perceptive, too, as she said, "Me brother . . . he came into his power very suddenly. There are many things he doesnae yet ken how tae handle. Afore our parents' death, nae one o' us thought he would have tae take our faither's place so soon. But he did an' he hasnae even had a chance tae mourn them."

Bonnie knew that to be true, but it didn't ease the ache in her chest at the thought that he had lied to her so blatantly, so carelessly. She wasn't about to share with Isabeau that he had bedded her, but that was the one thing she could not look past —despite his reassurances, he had taken his pleasure from her when he knew they could never wed. Instead of promising her that he would speak to his council, he could have admitted that he was already betrothed to someone else. Had Bonnie known that, she wouldn't have given him her virtue.

"I ken that," Bonnie said, forcing a small smile to her lips as she nodded. "I dae. I ken it's difficult fer him, more so than fer many other men in his position."

I only wish it wasnae so.

Bonnie didn't speak those words out loud, nor did she say anything else on the matter. She didn't want to burden Isabeau with her own pain, nor did she think it proper to tell her everything about her relationship with her brother, no matter how easy it already was to talk to her.

I suppose that is somethin' they all have in common . . . they make ye feel at home.

Once Isabeau had finished cleaning and bandaging the wound, Bonnie pulled her dress over her shoulder once more, reaching for her hand. "Thank ye," she said. "It feels much better now."

"Does it hurt?" Isabeau asked, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before she cleaned up the table. It was spotless, Bonnie noted, and she wondered if Isabeau allowed maids in this room or if she kept it like this herself. She knew how possessive healers could be of their spaces, how they disliked anything being out of place—whether that place was on a shelf or strewn over the floor.

"It does, but it comes an' goes," said Bonnie. "If I'm nae careful an' try tae move me right hand, there's much pain."

"Let us see . . ." Isabeau looked through her shelves, eventually picking a small bottle and handing it to Bonnie. "This will help with the pain. Place three drops in yer tea twice a day. An' if it gets worse or if ye run a fever, ye must see me immediately."

This is a lass who has also lost her parents. An' yet she seems so strong.

Stronger than her brothers even, perhaps. Ever since Bonnie had met Evan and Alaric, the two of them had been visibly fraying at the edges, slowly coming apart under the pressures of their clan. Isabeau may not have had the same pressures, but she, too, had gone through much and Bonnie could understand all of it. She, too, had gone through the same thing, after all. Surely, Isabeau felt the pressure of being the perfect daughter, of honoring her parents' memory. It was more than likely that she would end up in an unwanted marriage, one which would soon come.

"Come," Isabeau said, offering her hand once more with a smile, and Bonnie couldn't help but think she would be a ray of sun in this gloomy time. "There is much I must show ye."