Page 16 of The Laird's Masked Desire
Drummond’s head snapped back toward him. “Deferred?”
“Until such time as the marriage is solemnized,” Kerr explained. “And the Crown is satisfied that the union serves its intended purpose.”
Drummond gave a short, humorless laugh. “So I am tae pay later fer a bargain I never struck.”
“Ye are tae comply,” Kerr corrected.
“And the marriage?” Drummond demanded. “How swiftly dae ye intend tae rid Falkland of this embarrassment?”
“Within the fortnight,” Kerr instructed. “Witnessed and public.”
Domhnall inclined his head once. “That is acceptable.”
Drummond stared at him. “Of course, it is. Ye gain a wife and I gain naething.”
Domhnall turned then, finally meeting his gaze. “I gain responsibility,” he said. “And ye lose control. We both pay.”
Drummond’s jaw clenched. His eyes turned to Margaret. She was standing silent beside Domhnall. She neither pleaded norprotested. She did not even look at her father.That, Domhnall noticed, unsettled him more than any outburst could have.
Kerr dipped the quill. “Then we are agreed.”
Drummond’s voice was rough. “Agreed is a generous word.”
“Binding is sufficient,” Domhnall said.
The quill scratched across the parchment. Wax followed. The seal pressed down, hissing softly as it set.
“It is done,” Kerr declared. “By the authority vested in me, I bless this union on behalf of the Crown.”
No one spoke. Margaret remained still at Domhnall’s side, looking composed and contained, already bearing the weight of what had been decided around her. Domhnall glanced down at her only briefly, feeling curiosity sharpening beneath his composure.
She had been schemed over, bartered and finally, cornered. Yet she stood as if none of it had bent her.
And that, he realized, was far more dangerous and far more intriguing than tears ever would have been.
CHAPTER FOUR
They did not leave the chamber with ceremony. The doors opened quickly, and suddenly Margaret was thrust back into the corridors of Falkland Palace unmasked, uncovered, and far too visible.
Courtiers turned. Whispers followed like sparks along dry straw. She felt them everywhere: on her face, her spine, the back of her neck.
Domhnall’s hand was at her back as they crossed the threshold. Then it was gone.
“Margaret.”
Her father’s fingers closed around her arm with bruising force, pulling her sharply aside into the shadow of a stone alcove hung with a faded tapestry. The noise of the corridor dulled, but not the danger. His face was close and his smile fixed for any watching eyes, but his fury was blazing beneath it.
“Where,” he whispered through clenched teeth, “is yer sister?”
Margaret wrenched her arm free. “Dinnae touch me.”
His nostrils flared. “Ye will answer me.”
“I owe ye nay answers anymore,” she said, just as quietly.
His eyes burned. “Ye owe me obedience.”
“Enough, Faither. Eleonor needed me,” Margaret replied.
