Where would that leave the "civilized" king then?
But the man raised by Normans in that hellhole to their south was a friend. Despite the
Sassenach
influence, Talorc respected King David, when few men earned that honor.
"Was it not enough he sent you one English bride, that he now sends you another?" Osgard asked, his aged voice still strong enough to express his fury.
"He has no plans to send this one," Barr said.
As if Talorc didn't already know the details of the damn message. "No, he expects me to travel to England to wed this woman."
"'Tis an outrage," Osgard growled.
Barr nodded. "An offense you canna take lightly."
"According to the messenger, 'twas both King David and England's king who took offense you did not marry the first Englishwoman," Guaire, Talorc's seneschal, quietly inserted, earning himself a sulfuric glare from Osgard.
The old man, who had stood in Talorc's father's stead as advisor since his death, deliberately turned so Guaire was no longer in his line of sight. "Some might care about offense to the
Sassenach
king, but there are those of us that know better than to trust the English. Especially one who seeks to be wife to our laird."
"I am concerned about neither king's displeasure, but merely point out that they were offended first and that might explain our own king's unpleasant request." Guaire stood his ground, but it was clear the young soldier was bothered by Osgard's comment.
Osgard harrumphed and Barr kept his own council, but Talorc nodded. "No doubt. I had no intention of marrying the Englishwoman Emily, and 'tis clear my overlord realized that after the fact."
"You did not go to war when the Balmoral took and kept her," Barr said.
"A Chrechte does not go to war over the loss of a
Sassenach
," Osgard spit out, disgust lacing every word.
Guaire frowned. "The Balmoral would."
Talorc's seneschal was right. The leader of the Balmoral clan, now married to the Englishwoman his king had first bid him wed, would no doubt go to war over her. As impossible as it might be for Talorc to understand, all indications led him to believe the other Chrechte laird
loved
his outspoken wife.
Osgard spun to face the younger warrior and would have knocked him to the ground, but another warrior's hand stayed him. The big, battle-scarred Chrechte stared impassively at the old man. As big as Talorc's second-in-command, Barr's twin, Niall, could intimidate without effort. His hard features were made more imposing by the scars that marred the left side of his face.
Killing a Chrechte was no easy task, but Niall had almost died in the same battle that had claimed his older brother Sean, Talorc's former second-in-command and brother-in-law.
Osgard flinched, even though no threat had been spoken from the massive warrior.
Talorc had to bite back amusement. Little intimidated the old Scot, but Niall did it without effort. In fact, besides himself, the only other member of the Sinclair clan that did not tremble in Niall's presence was his twin, Barr.
Opening and closing his mouth like a fish, Guaire stared with wide eyes at Niall and Osgard.
"I see you decided to join us," Barr said to his twin.
"I heard a messenger from the king had arrived."
"You heard correctly," Talorc replied.
"What did he want this time?" Niall asked, as if demands from Scotland's monarch came frequently.
"You can release my arm," Osgard groused.
"You will not hit the boy."
"He insulted our laird," Osgard said.
"I am not a boy," Guaire said at the same time, and then when he realized what Osgard had said, he puffed up with offense. "I did no such thing."
Niall released Osgard's arm but stepped between the old man and the young redheaded warrior. "Our Guaire would no more insult our laird than betray him."
"He said our leader was not as strong as the Balmoral."
"I didn't!" Guaire's face flushed with his own fury.
Niall looked inquiringly at Talorc. "Were you offended, laird?"
"Nay."
"There. See?" Guaire crossed his arms, edging away from Niall toward Barr.
The lines around Niall's mouth tightened, but he said nothing at the telling action.
Guaire said, "I merely referred to the fact that the Balmoral had found benefit in his English wife and our laird could as well. After all, she is Emily's sister."
Aye, the Balmoral had found a mate to his wolf in the English human. She had recently given birth to their first child. A daughter. Talorc actually felt pleasure for them, though he could not imagine why. The Balmoral was a pain in the ass. But a strong Chrechte warrior all the same.
"Our laird will not be stepping foot onto English soil to be wed," Osgard said with pure conviction.
"Nay, I won't." Talorc turned to Guaire. "You will write a message to the king for me."
"Yes, laird."
"Tell him I will wed the
Sassenach
as requested, but will do so on the soil of our homeland. I will travel south through MacDonald land; they are our allies."
"Yes, laird. Anything else?"
"I will accept the land bordering the Donegal clan that has been in dispute these years past and the other dowry items he offered to provide, but will require an additional twenty drums of mead and twenty shields, twenty helmets, ten swords, and ten poleaxes in payment for taking the English bride."
"What need have we of shields and helmets?" Osgard asked, though it was clear he approved of Talorc requiring a bigger dowry of his king to marry the
Sassenach
.
"Not all our warriors are Chrechte," Talorc reminded his aged advisor.
Some, indeed the majority of their clan, were human. They did not have the power of the wolf to protect them in battle, or the ability to change into the beast.
Only the Chrechte had those abilities, and their dual nature was a closely guarded secret. Though they made no secret of the truth, they saw themselves as superior warriors.
Human treachery could undermine Chrechte strength though. MacAlpin's betrayal of the Chrechte people was still fresh in most of their minds, though it had taken place in the last century. Other wounds were more fresh, like the treachery of Talorc's stepmother, the human Tamara. She had betrayed his father and the entire Sinclair clan. Her machinations had resulted in many deaths, both human and Chrechte alike, Talorc's father and brother among them.
The fact that she had brought about her own death as well did not assuage Talorc's fury or his grief.
'Twas not a thing Talorc was likely to forget. Ever.
He could almost pity the human Englishwoman chosen as his bride because of it.
Abigail snuck into the room her stepfather used mostly for meetings with his steward and the captain of his guard. It was also where he stored written correspondence and kept the few books that comprised the Hamilton library. No one but Sir Reuben and his lady, Abigail's mother, were allowed in the room without an invitation.
Abigail's clenched hands perspired with nerves at the prospect of being discovered, but she had no choice.
Not after the argument she had witnessed between her lady mother and her younger sister, Jolenta. She wasn't supposed to have seen that, either, but needs must.
And she needed to know more than others about what occurred in the keep. If for no other reason than to protect her own secret.
So, without hesitation, she had watched her mother and sister's disagreement from her hiding place on the other side of the bailey. She had seen only her sister's face so knew only one side of the argument, but Jolenta's words had caused deep disquiet within Abigail, and she had come looking for answers.
Among other, more alarming things, Jolenta had mentioned a message from the king. She had accused their mother, Sybil, of favoritism toward Abigail. Which had been so absurd, Abigail had laughed with silent, bitter mirth even as the argument continued.
Her watching had resulted in more questions than answers. Abigail was hoping the message from the king had been written and that she would find it here.
Before going to the Highlands to marry a laird there, her stepsister, Emily, had once said that she would never know what was going on if she did not eavesdrop. Abigail did not have the option of listening in on conversations, but she had her own methods of discovering that which her mother would keep hidden.
Like reading her sister's lips from a distance.
Abigail had lost her hearing and her mother's love six years ago to a fever that had almost taken her life. When she'd woken from the fever and her affliction was discovered, her mother had refused to return to Abigail's sick-room. It was left to Emily, her stepsister only a couple of years older than she, to nurse Abigail back to health.
It had taken only one visit with her mother and stepfather after Abigail was well enough to leave her room for the girls to realize Abigail no longer held status as a precious daughter. Indeed, Sir and Lady Hamilton did their best to pretend Abigail did not exist at all.
Once the girls realized the effect her deafness had on their parents' affections, they had known they could not let others know about it.
Emily had been worried Abigail would not only be rejected, but be seen as cursed.
The older girl had taken on the task of helping Abigail hide her burden from the rest of the keep. She had worked tirelessly with Abigail, teaching her to read lips and to continue to speak in a well-modulated voice.
Emily had been a strict taskmaster, but Abigail knew her sister's insistence on practice to the point of exhaustion had been motivated by love. Nevertheless, there had been times Abigail had wondered if waking from her fever had been for the best. Out of her own love for Emily, Abigail had never given voice to her doubts.
She had not wanted to hurt the stepsister who loved her and treated her more kindly than her blood sister ever would. Abigail missed Emily so much.
And without her there to help, Abigail's voice had dropped to what she knew was a near whisper. Speaking was difficult enough; speaking normally was almost impossible without Emily's constant covert instruction. It was a testament to how well Emily had trained Abigail to speak that none of the servants had discovered her secret in more than two years since her sister had gone to Scotland, however.
Abigail lived for the day she would join her sister and be able to escape the Hamilton Keep.
Sir Reuben's attitude had softened toward her once he had seen that she would not embarrass him by making her affliction known, but her mother made it clear that she considered Abigail a stone around her neck. She pinned all her hopes of a progressive marriage match on Jolenta.
Yet Sybil had refused Emily's initial petition to send Abigail to the Highlands for an extended visit.
Abigail did not understand why. Unless her mother simply hated her so much that Sybil could not stand the idea of Abigail happy, as she surely would be, reunited with the one person in the world who loved her and truly desired her presence.
Abigail spent most of her days in her own company. Thankfully, Emily had taught her to read letters as well as lips. Though few and far between, letters from her sister had been her only link to Emily since going north to marry her Highlander. Abigail studied the books Sir Reuben allowed her to read and the letters Emily had left behind from her friend, the abbess. In the past six months, Abigail had begun her own correspondence with the learned woman as well. Her inability to hear had no power to tarnish a friendship carried out in writing.
Their housekeeper, Anna, was kind, but she was a busy woman, and Abigail did not like to be a bother. She only continued to work on improving her Gaelic with the old woman born in Scotland because she refused to give up hope. Eventually Sybil would allow the daughter she considered useless to join Emily in the Highlands. She had to.
Indeed, Abigail had been sure that time had come when Sybil had taken her aside these seven days past and told her that she would be leaving the keep with Sir Reuben and Sybil on a trip. Abigail believed Sybil had finally acceded to Emily's entreaties and thrown herself into preparations for the trip with excitement she had not felt since her sister had been taken from her.
Of course, Abigail had experienced some trepidation at the prospect that she was being taken to a nunnery. But surely the abbess would have said something in her last letter if that were to be the case. Abigail had asked her mother if she would be seeing Emily.
Sybil had replied that it was possible. Abigail had thought she was just being coy.
Now, she feared the older woman had meant exactly that. It was possible, not probable.
Finally, Abigail found the letter from the king and read it with growing panic.
It could not be possible. Her mother would not be so cruel. But the missive from the king said otherwise. Sybil, damn her avaricious soul, had said nothing of the true reason for the upcoming journey, but the letter laid out her mother's greed and treachery in ink, sealed by the king himself.
How could a mother plan something so nefarious for her blood offspring? Worse, how could she do so without warning Abigail of what was to come?
A hand grabbed her shoulder, fingers that felt like claws digging into her. Her heart stopped and then began beating faster than a rabbit's.
She was spun violently around and came face-to-face with her livid mother.
Sybil demanded, "What do you think you are doing?"
She could not hear the words, but Abigail had no trouble reading the anger or the question coming from her mother's lips.
At first, shock and fear at being discovered paralyzed Abigail's thoughts. She tried to speak, but could tell no sound had made it past her throat from the disgusted expression twisting her mother's features.
That disgust sliced through Abigail, leaving a bloody trail of inner pain behind.
However, instead of the shame she usually felt at her inabilities, fury at her mother's betrayal boiled up inside Abigail.
More than two years had passed since the first edict from the king that had torn Abigail's world apart for the second time. Because of Sir Reuben's miserly response to the king's call for soldiers from his landed knights, the king had demanded his vassal provide a marriageable daughter. He and Scotland's monarch wanted to intermarry English nobility with the hard-to-control Highland nobles.