Page 13 of At the Highlander's Mercy
‘Now she is Rob’s plaything to bed and use. I am not happy about this, Symon.’ Tyra stood, smoothing her gown down as she stepped closer to him. Leaning in, she whispered to him, ‘Take her back, Symon. Get her out of his bed.’
Symon almost took a step back at the vehemence in her tone. Almost. But he was the man here and, though Tyra was his elder sister, he would not take orders from a woman.
‘You will listen to me, Tyra,’ he commanded in a low voice. There was no need for servants and the like to overhear this conversation. ‘She is a temporary stone in the path here. A means to an end. Once we have the gold from the MacLerie, she will be gone and we will be richer. And I will be able to take the chieftain’s chair from the bastard. Our plans will all see success.’ She made to step around him, but he grabbed her arm to stop her.
‘I will be laird here, so you had better watch your step and do as I tell you to do. I will not be as pliable as that whoreson Rob is when it comes to giving you your way if you disobey me in this.’
Something flickered in her eyes for a moment before she masked it. Something he could not identify. Something dead.
‘But, of course, Brother,’ she replied, bowing her head. ‘I value your guidance in all things.’
He huffed out a breath and released her. As long as she realised that she was beholden to him for her position, things would work out. Symon lifted the latch and pulled on the door before glancing back at Tyra. Her expression was one of humility and obedience, but that was not what he’d seen there before.
Not at all.
* * *
Tyra kept her gaze blank until Symon left her chambers and then her anger filled her. Clenching her fists,she searched for something, anything, to throw and break. The need to smash something into the floor or wall grew uncontrollable and she finally spied just the thing—her looking glass.
A present from her stepfather, Symon’s father, she took the heavy metal object with both hands and flung it to the floor, sending pieces off in different directions across the chamber. The larger reflecting piece skidded satisfyingly on the rough wood until it slammed into the wall.
Tyra seethed with rage. Men always controlled her life. Her father, then her stepfather, her brother and now the newly made laird who had agreed to take her as wife. Agreed, aye, after having to be convinced by the worthless elders! Yet now he felt no shame or hesitation in sleeping with another woman before all of them. No explanation to her, no words to soften the blow to her pride. She was simply expected to accept this treatment as her place in life and be grateful for it.
Grateful was not something that she did easily or well.
Damn that fool Symon! This move had cost much and confounded her own plans. If he had only left well enough alone and let those elders who agreed with him push Rob out, all would have been well and her future would have been as she’d desired. Now, Rob was exerting his own pressures on the elders and the rest and the MacKenzies seemed less and less appealing as allies in the face of the MacLerie’s forces.
Damn him!
The sound of footsteps approaching her door alertedher that she had to regain control of herself. Men might not know how to control themselves, but Tyra would not her plans fail because of excessive emotions. Letting out her breath, she forced her face to relax and cleared her mind of thoughts, until she could allow a smile to alight on her mouth.
‘I misjudged its weight,’ she said apologetically as she turned to face her serving woman. The woman went scurrying around the bedchamber, gathering up the scattered pieces of metal.
‘Oh, my lady,’ Margaret whispered, holding out the broken looking glass. ‘’Tis the one that your stepfather gave you on the anniversary of your birth!’
‘Mayhap the smith can repair it? Would you take it to him and ask him?’ she said, smiling at the maid.
‘Oh, aye, my lady,’ Margaret said, ever trying to please her mistress since she and the others expected her to be the woman who would rule over this household very soon.
Tyra waited for her to leave before sitting down before the table that used to hold the looking glass. She smoothed her hair back and tugged on the sleeves of the gown. She must appear in the hall soon and act as though everything in her life pleased her. As though she was not bothered at all by her betrothed bedding another woman while the entire clan knew. As though she was happy at the thought of becoming lady here. As though this was her perfect life and would be her perfect future.
She had learned long ago how to bide her time; it was a lesson hard-learned and not forgotten. Not then and not now. Everything these fools planned would be fornaught and in the end she would rule over the household of her beloved—Gavin MacKenzie, the heir to the vast MacKenzie lands and wealth.
And they would learn that they should never have underestimated her.
Lairig Dubh
Jocelyn did not like it one bit.
Something was going on and no one would tell her what it was. Rurik, usually the one to spill any news first, simply watched her silently. Duncan, the clan’s negotiator, came and went from Connor’s meetings without meeting her gaze.
Oh, aye, something bad was afoot in the clan MacLerie.
Connor had sent a servant to summon her back from the village, but upon her arrival at Lairig Dubh, he’d kept her waiting. Her patience, non-existent when she was worrying over her family, wore through at that moment and she climbed to her feet, put her basket on the table and prepared to find out the truth.
‘Jocelyn,’ Connor said quietly, opening his door to her. ‘Come. We must speak.’
All her bluster left her at the look on his face. Bad? This was not bad—this was a disaster of some kind. Jocelyn attempted to smooth her breathing and not lose control as she tried to remember where each of their children was. Where each of Connor’s kin was. Where every person she cared about was at that moment. Yet, none of that helped in this tense moment.
