Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

T he whole world seemed to have stopped spinning. Sophia felt like she was in a dream—a terrible, nightmarish dream, one in which you scream and fight, yet no one comes to save you.

Lorena cannae marry Kendrick.

Sophia hoped it was all a lie, a mere thing of a jest that her father and Kendrick had orchestrated to tease them. It made no sense for it to be a joke, but she hoped with all her heart that it was.

Her sister's protest was proof enough of their madness. She had forever yapped about her dismay for the Laird; it was senseless that anyone should force her to marry him. As for Kendrick… well, he hardly knew Lorena. He had no reason to want to marry her, especially not after she made it clear that she had no interest in him.

She looked over at Lorena, whose face echoed the hurt in her heart, and then at Kendrick. There were no signs of empathy or sorrow in him. He simply occupied space, blankly.

"We shall nae make an announcement till all are ready for the marriage," Angus repeated as though it hadn't been clear enough the first time. "That way, we may avoid any interruptions during our arrangements—"

"I need to see Mother right away," Lorena cried out. "I dinnae want to be here!"

"Yer mother will need to see to the preparations. I will fetch her and yer sister in the morning," Angus explained to her, worry written all over her beautiful face—a face to which Kendrick would wake every morning.

Lorena sagged and collapsed into the wooden chair behind her. "And what of Sophia?"

"Sophia will stay with ye in Laird MacNeil's castle till yer mother arrives," Angus continued. "Ye will need her company."

"I believe we are done for tonight," Kendrick chirped in begrudgingly. "If anyone has reason to contest the match, we may discuss it in the morn."

He thundered out of the hall, drawing the curtains on such a farce of an evening. Reed followed closely behind. Sir Logan and Angus also departed the great hall, leaving Sophia and Lorena behind to talk—pinned to the spot by the weight of Kendrick's decision.

"Sister," Lorena mumbled. "I am sorry." She began to weep. "I never wanted this."

"Lorena." Sophia brought her sister into her arms, cradling her to try and calm her. "Tis nae yer fault—none of this is." This was all the Laird's doing, she continued inwardly. He was to be blamed for her sister's sadness and—

She did not want to consider her own heartbreak.

"I should've stayed back at home," Lorena mewled. "If I had stayed back, he would've only seen ye."

"And what if he'd chosen Beth instead?" Sophia tried to coerce a smile from her sister, but Lorena only started to sob harder. "Ye promised we would be there for each other. We must be strong to get through this," she added, most likely in hopes of comforting herself rather than her sister.

"Forgive me, sister." Lorena wiped her cheeks and released herself from Sophia's hold. "Ye must be hurting more. I am being selfish—"

"I dinnae mind, Lorena." Sophia ran her fingers through her sister's hair. "And yer nae selfish."

"Ye have affection for him."

"I've more affection for ye," Sophia replied. "If yer sad, then it breaks my own heart."

"Oh, my darling sister!" Lorena exclaimed. "I could never wish for a sister better than ye."

"It is the same for me," Sophia agreed. "But I must talk to the Laird."

"Do ye hope to change his mind?" Lorena sat upright. "Will that do any good?"

"Nae," Sophia answered. "It is over some other matter. Better ye dinnae ken about it."

"Did he do something wrong?" Lorena insisted, but Sophia would not buckle. How could she tell her sister that her bridegroom-to-be had been outside but a few hours before gallivanting with a maid?

"Nae, Lorena. I just have something of great importance to share with him." She sighed. "I will come back as soon as I am done."

Slowly, she rose to her feet and proceeded out of the great hall and into the atrium, her hands clasped behind her back.

If there was an easy way to confront a laird who had tried his best to avoid her for years, she did not know it. Rushing down a darkened hallway, she caught sight of a light coming from a room—a study. Not a study, a workshop of some sort.

She smiled as she remembered it. Kendrick had promised her years ago that the room could be hers if she so desired. A place to work her craft, to plant and study all sorts of herbs. She chuckled to herself as she picked up a dusty vial. How foolish she had been... even as laird, he could not just give out a room in the keep.

She took a whiff inside the vial and began to cough.

"And who might ye be?" a hoarse voice asked from behind. She turned around in the direction of the voice. A man was there, wizened and doubled-over, with long gray hair. His white beard was wild. He looked seventy, maybe more.

"I-I was only—" She coughed and quickly put the vial back in its place, as if the man had not already caught her holding it. "I was merely taking a walk."

"Ye shouldn't be here, lass." He slowly edged towards her, and she could not help noticing the bend in his legs, slowing him down. He swerved from side to side as he walked, not unlike a duck, hobbling along. She swallowed down her empathy.

"Perchance, sir," she said, still distracted by his gait, "Are ye ailing?"

"Ailing?" he asked. "I treat the ailed." He stared at her eyes then at his legs. "Tis nae a disease that moves with the breeze, lass."

She rapidly averted her gaze. "Sir, I do nae mean—"

"Ye ken exactly what ye mean, lass," he interrupted. "I was born like this. I believe ye've heard o' rickets."

"Rickets? I may have, yes." Sophia took an eager step forward.

"Tis caused by weak bones. It's a rare disease indeed," the old man elaborated.

"Is there nae a cure?" She looked him over. His left eye was clouded over.

"A cure?" He let out a short laugh. "If it had a cure, I would nae be walking like this."

He was right. The stress from the feast must have affected her ability to think properly. "I am sorry if ye find me improper, sir. What is this room?" She glanced around. "It appears ye've a lot of herbs stored in here."

The old man eased a stack of dusty, old paper from a nook on his desk. "I am the keep's healer."

" Ye ?" It was only after she let the word slip from her mouth that she realized it may have been offensive. "Pardon me, sir. ‘It's only..."

"Lass," the old man interjected. "Weren't ye taught to never judge people by appearances? Ye think I dinnae look like a healer?"

That was not what she had meant. She had hardly wanted to upset him, so she quickly tried to change topics. "How long have ye been a healer here?"

"Since ye were a wee girl, no doubt," the old man claimed.

"Ye have a sense o' humor, sir,' she muttered. "I dinnae recollect seeing ye in this castle."

"Ye are Sophia MacNeil, eldest daughter of Angus MacNeil." He stopped as if to catch his breath then continued with, "Ye used to run around the keep grousing with the laird."

"Ye ken me that much?" Sophia asked. The man was intriguing. She was sure she had never met him, yet he seemed to know of her.

"I ken so much more than that, my dear lass," he boasted.

"This was the former laird's study," she said. "Why has it become an infirmary?"

"Laird MacNeil did nae appreciate the study," the old man replied absentmindedly, busy sorting his papers. "He wished for it to be used for something else."

"Why would he nae want the study his father and other lairds before him used?" Sophia hoisted herself to sit atop the table. "Is there a reason?"

"His mother, I ken," The old man slammed down the stack of notes, kicking up dust. "He had been the one to find her here the night she died."

" Died ?" Sophia inquired. "The Lady was said to have passed in her sleep."

"Was said, aye. I guess it's a thing for ye to find out yerself." The old man reached for the vial beside her and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Even the Laird may nae ken as much as he thinks he does."

Sophia felt a sudden urge to know more. Surely, there must be something strange afoot .

"Ye speak in riddles, sir." Sophia pushed aside the pile of old paper and ink bottles between them and leaned towards him. "If the Lady did nae die in her sleep, then what happened to her?"

"Ye should nae be here," came a voice from the hallway.

"Milaird!" the old man sputtered.

" Milaird ?" She turned to see Kendrick and Reed entering the room.

"Where is Lorena?" Kendrick demanded as he walked in. His voice was thunderous, and she hated the tone of it. "Ye shouldn't leave yer sister alone."

"She is yer bride-to-be," she retorted. "It's yer duty to look after her."

"It shall do ye great favor to respect that I am yer Laird." Kendrick scowled, rushing towards her.

Before she could utter another word, he was upon her. She could feel his breath against her skin, could smell his sweet, woody scent, too. She could almost have been convinced to cease their arguing had it not been for the grimace on his face.

"What sort of man taunts a lady in front o' other gentlemen, milaird ?" she challenged. She could trace the line of his muscled arms through the light linen of his clothes. The sheer sight of it turned her cheeks a burning red. She imagined herself sliding into the protection of his arms, and she swallowed hard. "I'm sure there are other people who would agree with me."

"Ye should nae be here, then. Ye should keep those people close if ye share a common belief with them."

"Really? Ye've nae right to tell me what to do."

"This is my castle, my clan and my rules, Sophia." He lowered his head so close she thought he might try and kiss her. It was then she remembered their audience. "Ye are here to keep company to my bride. If ye're nae happy with that, then ye may leave."

He should not have said those words . Her insides churned and ached, dull at first then in hot stabs. Her tongue was tied, and her lips refused to part. She was seized, as though wings had curled around her.

Kendrick spared her no look as he retired from the room.

She looked over to the old man and then to Reed who looked sad, as if he was sharing in her torment.

"We should go to Lorena," he finally said. "She must be waiting for ye to return."

"Aye," was all she could say.

She followed Reed, giving the healer one last glance out of courtesy. However, when she went back to the hall, one of the maidservants notified her that Lorena had gone to the chamber that had been readied for them. She offered to escort her there, with Reed in tow.

The walk to Lorena finally gave her the courage to ask the question the old man had failed to answer, and she turned to Reed.

"Reed." She took a breath to summon more courage. "If I dare ask, do ye mayhap ken what happened to the Laird's mother?"

"Dinnae ye ken?" Reed replied. "She died in her sleep."

"I learned it was but a rumor," she went on. "She did nae die in her sleep."

"Where did ye hear that?" Reed had a stammer in his voice.

"The old man in the infirmary told me," she informed him. "He said there may have been more to her death than we ken."

"It's nae true," he muttered quickly, "Dinnae talk about it to anyone else, ye hear?" They were now in front of the room. She tried to speak more, but he cut her off. "I will retire now, milady. Good night and sleep well," he said, and walked off before the maid could even open Sophia's door.

"Sister!" Lorena had a grin as she saw Sophia. "Ye've returned." She jumped to her feet and grabbed her by the arm. "Meet my new maidservant!"

"Mistress," the maidservant greeted Sophia. "It is a pleasure to have ye here."

It was dark, but the features of the maid's face were strikingly similar. Sophia knew immediately that she was the maidservant who had been kissing Kendrick beneath the oak tree. She coiled in anger.

"Her name is Catherine," Lorena chimed in. "I chose her myself—she was the most cheery of all."

"It is a pleasure to meet ye," Sophia murmured.

"I was telling her about the Laird and—"

"Dinnae!" Sophia clamped her hands over her sister's mouth. "Ye're nae supposed to talk about it."

"Why?" Lorena asked. "It's nae like I want it, anyway. I have a right to complain about it."

"Father gave ye an order." She turned to Catherine. "Ye can leave us alone for the night."

"I am nae finished, milady," Catherine said. "I need to dress yer sister for bed and comb her lovely hair—and ye, if ye will let me."

"Ye dinnae need to," Sophia growled. "I will comb her hair myself."

Catherine gave them a quick curtsy and left the room crestfallen.

"Sister!" Lorena cried. "Ye did nae have to be so mean. What has gotten into ye?"

"Listen to me, Lorena," Sophia warned. "I dinnae want ye close to her."

"Why?" Lorena pushed herself back from Sophia. "Is there something wrong with her that I should ken?"

It was all too complicated for Sophia to explain. She debated about telling Lorena about the maid and Kendrick, but decided against it.

At least this hurt I can spare her.

"Promise me, Lorena. Ye will be vigilant."

"I promise," Lorena said reluctantly.