“What woman,” she said, planting her fists on her hips, “could say nay to having such a considerate husband?”
“I don’t want to lie to ye,” he said. “I’ve never tried to be faithful, so I don’t know if I can.”
“Ye are a born romantic, Alexander Ban MacDonald.”
Good lord, did hardheaded Glynis MacNeil expect love? He’d had no notion she harbored such hopes.
“I thought your first marriage would have cured ye of unreasonable expectations,” he said—and knew at once he had made another a mistake.
“So, I am the unreasonable one?” Her eyes were narrow slits like a wildcat’s ready to strike. “And yet, ye would expect me to mother your daughter, manage your household, and be your bedmate for as long as ye like. And then, when ye tire of having me in your bed, I’m to stand aside while ye have one ‘discreet’ affair after another with every willing woman in the Western Isles?”
Alex shifted from foot to foot. He did not sleep with
“And because ye are such a handsome, charming man,” she said, spreading her hands out, “I would, of course, agree to this arrangement.”
“Ye are a sensible woman,” he said, though he was having serious doubts about this. “Ye have to marry someone, and I’m no worse than most.”
Not much worse, anyway.
“Besides,” he added, “ye already went to bed with me, so we ought to marry.”
“I presume,” she continued, as though he had not spoken, “that I could have affairs as well, so long as I was
“Nay.” The word was out of his mouth before he thought it. He would have to kill any man who touched his wife, but he thought better of telling her this. “Suppose ye became pregnant? I’d need to know that the child was mine.”
“Setting aside the fact that I’m verra likely barren,” she said. “You’re saying it would be well and good for me to raise your children by other women, but no the other way around.”
“Aye.” That was the way of the world. Why did she make it sound as if he had invented it? “But I only have the one child.”
“So far.” She folded her arms. “I appreciate that ye blessed me with your kind offer, but I will not marry another philanderer. If I am forced to take another husband, I’ll wed a steady, serious man I can rely on.”
He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away.
“You, Alexander Ban MacDonald,” she said, poking her finger into his chest, “are the verra last man in all of the Highlands I would want for a husband.”
* * *
Sorcha opened her eyes to blackness, and fear rushed through her. When she heard the soft breathing of the women on either side of her, she knew she was not back in the room with the big mice. Still, she wanted to see the stars to be sure.
Taking care not to wake Glynis and Bessie, she crawled out of the tent on her hands and knees. Across the cold campfire, her father sat alone in the dark. He was no more than a black shape, but she knew it was him. And he was sad.
The grass made her feet wet as she walked around the campfire to him.
“Ye couldn’t sleep either?” he asked in a soft voice when she crawled into his lap.
She nodded against his chest and pointed up at the stars.
“A wish?” He always seemed to understand her. She felt him chuckle, and he said, “I suppose it can’t hurt.”
Together they found the brightest star so he could make his wish.
Sorcha didn’t need to make one. Hers had been granted when her father found her.
CHAPTER 27
By the saints, Glynis MacNeil was a stubborn woman. In the week since Alex suggested they marry, she had not spoken to him except when absolutely necessary.
Worse, she spent far too much time riding beside D’Arcy. They were in front of him and Sorcha now, engaged in a lively conversation that involved hand motions as much as words. It appeared that she was teaching D’Arcy Gaelic. Still, Glynis had kept her promise to care for Sorcha on the trip. Every night, she sat by the fire with his daughter in her lap and then slept with her—instead of him.
Alex usually let women come to him, but he was not above seducing Glynis to persuade her to wed him. It should not be difficult—he could tell she wanted him. He was always catching her eyes on him, because he was always looking at her as well. Unfortunately, the opportunities to seduce her while riding out in the open with twenty men and his daughter were few, so Alex was biding his time until they reached the Campbell stronghold.
In the meantime, he was wooing her with his stories around the campfire. Glynis was a constant surprise, for beneath that sober, sensible demeanor was a lass with a weakness for a good tale. Alex hoped her weakness would extend to the storyteller.
“That castle ye see across this loch is Inveraray Castle, the seat of the Campbell clan,” Alex said, pointing it out for Sorcha. Sometimes now he spoke to her only in Gaelic, and she would tap on his arm to let him know when she did not understand. “We’ll reach it tomorrow.”
Glynis slowed her horse to ride beside them.
