“Aye, my love, I promise,” he said and sealed it with a kiss.
Chapter 3
Arran caught the movement out of the corner of his eye as he adjusted his plaid. He reached down and stretched his hand out to Flora. She finished tucking her ample bosom—that only moments ago he had enjoyed feasting on—back in her shift and took his hand. Once on her feet, he took her in his arms.
“Beautiful as always and enjoyable as always,” he said and kissed her cheek.
Flora, a buxom lass with bright red hair, pale skin, and lovely features, blushed. “Go on with you now, Arran. You say that to all the lasses you poke.”
He kissed her cheek again and whispered in her ear, “Not a one, only you Flora. I enjoy you the most.”
Flora laughed. “I’m not one to be believing your tall tales, but I’ll enjoy them anyway.”
Arran laughed and hugged her tight. “That’s why I favor you the most. You know me well.”
“That I do and I favor you myself. Now I have to get back to the kitchen before Cook comes looking for me,” Flora said, stepping out of his arms.
“Later?” Arran asked with a wink.
“You’re a hungry one,” Flora said with a laugh. “But then so am I. Until later.”
It wasn’t until Flora had left the stable that he said, “You can come out now.”
Dead silence greeted his words.
“If you make me come get you, I promise you’ll be sorry,” Arran threatened.
There was a rustling noise, then a young lass, her garments too large for her petite size and her head bent, stepped from around the pile of hay in the corner of the barn.
“Purity?” he asked as though he wasn’t sure it was her. She appeared thinner than usual. “What are you doing here and how long have you been here?”
He was patient while the young lass found her voice. She was a shy one, barely speaking to anyone, afraid of most everything and plain as could be. Not a memorable or striking feature to call her attractive. He watched her tuck a strand of her brown, limp hair behind her ear. It was long, nearly to her waist and as straight as could be. To make matters worse she was born missing her thumb and pinky finger, leaving her left hand to resemble a claw. It would take a hefty dowry to get any man to agree to wed her. A fact that had proven true since she was already ten and eight years with still no prospects of a husband.
Her father Galvin, Chieftain of the Clan Macara, had approached Arran’s father about a possible marriage between Purity and Arran. It wasn’t that he cared about his daughter, he had even told Arran’s da that Arran need only bed Purity to get her with child, then he was free to enjoy the pleasures of other women. Galvin felt it was a good union, beneficial to two powerful clans. Arran’s da had thought otherwise, though he had presented the proposition to Arran, which he had quickly rejected. He had no interest in taking Purity as a wife. His father had graciously declined Galvin’s offer, though it hadn’t stopped the man from continuing to be persistent about it.
Arran grew impatient waiting for her to find her courage to speak and was about to hurry an answer from her when she finally spoke.
“I came to see the cat. Raven told me she had birthed a litter of kittens,” Purity said her voice as soft as a whisper.
“And how long have you been here?” he asked, wondering what she had witnessed.
“I didn’t watch. I kept my head turned away,” she said, keeping her eyes focused on the ground.
He felt bad for her. Most lasses her age were wed and with bairns by now. He doubted she’d ever been kissed and he found himself asking her that very question.
“Have you ever been kissed, Purity?”
Red blotches blossomed all over her face, giving him his answer.
“Would you like to know what it is like to be kissed?” he asked, thinking a kiss might be kind for her right now.
She flashed angry green eyes on him. “I don’t need your pity, Arran MacKinnon.” She scooped up the kitten at her feet, the tip of his tail white and white stockings on his two front paws, while the rest of him was pitch black. She hugged him to her and ran from the stable.
He shook his head, feeling sorry she was doomed to a lonely life spent more with animals than with humans. Raven had told him how easily animals responded to Purity and bairns as well. It was a shame, since she would probably never have bairns of her own.
He walked out of the stables to storm clouds hovering overhead and Raven in the not far distance waving him toward her.
“What is so important that you wave wildly at me?” he asked when he reached her.
“Da and Royden wait for you in his solar along with Chieftain Galvin and his son, Bayne,” she said, scrunching her nose as if distasteful of the name.
“Bayne hasn’t bothered you, has he?” Arran asked with a note of anger.
“Nay, he stares at me with a strange glare as if he knows something I don’t, but keeps his distance. I have no use for the likes of him.”
“Keep yourself out of his sight while he’s here. I don’t trust him,” Arran said.
“You voice my own thoughts,” Raven said and once inside the keep hurried off to her room.
Arran made his way to his father’s solar and wasn’t surprised to hear raised voices as he neared the closed door.
“The King will not tolerate those who oppose him.”
Galvin’s loud, booming voice was easy to recognize and Arran didn’t bother to knock, he opened the door and entered. That brought the conversation to a halt.
“What have I missed?” Arran asked with a grin.
“Your charm will not serve you well when the King comes to claim you for service,” Galvin warned.
“So you’ve heard the rumors,” Royden challenged.
“They’re not rumors. They’re coming for us,” Galvin said.
Parlan shook his head. “We have no argument with the King.”
“It doesn’t seem to matter. The King is asking no permission,” Galvin cautioned.
A knock sounded at the door and Parlan bid entrance.
Arran was surprised to see Purity enter.
“You wished to see me, Father?” she asked, her eyes downcast.
“Aye, but not hear you,” Galvin chastised and turned to Parlan. “I worry for my daughter if attacked. She has no courage, fears everything, and has no strength to protect herself. I ask—I beg—that you accept my proposal for Arran to wed her. At least then she will be protected.”
Arran knew no other way to put this to rest than to be blunt. “I want no wife.”
“I told you this was a fool’s errand,” Bayne said, stepping forward.
He was a sizeable man, taller than them all and lean and fit with muscles. There was no doubt he was strong, tales saying he could best ten men by himself and an arrogance and commanding nature that all avoided when possible.
“Even if attacked the enemy will not want Purity, she’s worthless and nothing to look at,” Bayne said.
Purity turned to take her leave.
“Where do you think you go? You were not dismissed,” Bayne yelled and Purity stopped abruptly, her eyes avoiding her brother.
“She listens well, a rarity in most Highland women. She’ll say little and obey. What more could you ask for in a wife?” Bayne asked.