Jennifer Roberson by Lady of the Glen

Author:Lady of the Glen [Glen, Lady of the]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

She sat under the light of a bloated moon, surrounded by the ruins of Achallader Castle. Time had softened the edges; grass overtook fallen bricks, lichen cloaked the cobbles, strangers had carried off anything of value so that only the bones remained. The flesh had fallen away in the aftermath of the raid. All that remained standing were three of four corners.

Her seat was a pile of brickwork, tilting slope-shouldered to one side. It was not a comfortable seat, but Cat did not want comfort; she was angry, very angry, wishing she were a man who might say what she thought, who might, in fact, challenge the man who injured her so.

—that pawkie bastard. . . that God-cursed, pawkie bastard!

She wanted very much to shout at the earl and tell him what she thought of men who used women, who relied upon a woman’s presence to manipulate other men. She had seen his eyes, heard the steel beneath the tone. Within his words, ostensibly of Scotland and of loyalty to his king—whichever king it might be—was a wholly separate conversation intended mostly for Dair MacDonald with a little left over for her, enough to punish her for presumption, to remind her of her place. She was angry for herself, but angrier for Dair.

And cognizant of a loss far greater than there should be, for something just begun.

Just begun? No. Indeed, it had existed in her girlhood, in her childish dreams; in the memories of kindness, of gentleness and compassion, freely offered the enemy. In even the dismay that he had seen her as Robert Stewart presented her, sodden with mud and horse-piss, with the smell of whisky about her from that which she had spilled so she need not serve MacDonald.

Need not serve him; but had she known it was he, she would have served him gladly. He was deserving of that, even as MacDonald, for being honest with the lass.

And now? Loss. The ending of something not so newly begun, though perhaps it was new in his eyes; he was a man, and grown, and with lasses aplenty, no doubt; he had said something of that, of experience. And that experience had seen she was different that day before the shieling, when he had wanted to kiss a Campbell.

An ending, before a proper beginning. An ending to girlhood dreams and the beginning of adulthood, now stolen from her in the blade of Breadalbane’s words.

Dair knew, or had once known. She had told them in the shieling, Alasdair Og and Robert Stewart: that she was on her way to Kilchurn to visit Breadalbane. It had been Stewart who pieced it together, who declared she must be meant to marry one of the earl’s sons. Not John, he had said, because John was already wed. Therefore Duncan, whom Breadalbane detested despite his pedigree; but then it had not mattered what Dair MacDonald thought. There was nothing between them then but an enmity shaped of tradition, except what they overlooked. What they chose to overlook, because it was easier.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.