Rowan stayed in her room and worked on her translations for the rest of the afternoon. When she thought she might be ready to speak with her father, she went downstairs to join him in his study, but when she reached the door, she found him playing cards with Merrilee. The girl gave her a sad smile, but her father avoided her eyes, and the scene irritated and hurt Rowan so, she decided to spend the remainder of the evening in her room. Feigning illness, she took her supper up there, and although she wanted to speak with the duke again, wanted to discuss her trip to the palace city further, she didn’t dare interrupt when she heard him below talking with her father late into the night, their voices rising like smoke to her room, their words just out of reach. And when she heard the duke ascend the stairs to his room, she extinguished her candles with a heaviness in her heart.
9. TEMPERANCE
IT WAS LATE afternoon the next day when Tom made his intentions known to Rowan. They were walking around the perimeter of the village when he stopped and held a hand to her cheek.
“Rowan,” he said. “Good old Rowan.”
She pulled away, unnerved by his behavior. He spoke like a drunk man, only he hadn’t been drinking, which somehow made it worse.
“Are you okay, Tom?” she asked, and he nodded, smiled even.
“I’m great. I’ve never been better.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked out into the trees. “I’ve been stupid, really. Mooning around over a girl I didn’t even know. I see that now. You can’t fall in love with a stranger. You can’t build a family, a home, with a girl when you don’t even know how her mind works or what goes on inside her heart.”
He looked to Rowan for confirmation, but she didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure where this was going, but she was increasingly aware of a sick sensation swelling within her belly.
“Do you understand me?” he asked, looking more lost than ever. She shook her head, and he covered his eyes for a moment as if the action might help him to think. “I’m saying that I know you, Rowan. I’ve known you longer and better than anyone else in my life.”
She took a step back, and uncovering his eyes, he sank to his knees before her in the snow. When he opened his hand to reveal a thin strip of red twine, she shook her head, certain it couldn’t be for her.
“Rowan,” he said. “I want you to be my bride.” With those words, he took her left wrist, the wrist that led to her heart, and tied the twine around it with gentle fingers.
She stared down at the red twine with horror. With one simple action, Tom had just destroyed any chance she might have of being a scholar. Wives could not be scholars. Wives could not travel at their leisure, nor could they study in the libraries of the palace city. From now on, she would go where Tom went and help him with whatever it was he chose to do, which Rowan knew meant a life spent at the inn with Elsbet barking orders at her and drunken oafs puking on her boots. And what was worse, she was now bound to a boy who would never love her, could never love her—not how she wanted to be loved—because his heart would always belong to another.
He looked up at her with a broad smile, and yet his eyes were completely lifeless—empty, even—and she realized she needed to try to smile. She loved Tom. He was her best friend, and when she had thought she might lose him, she’d realized that her feelings ran deeper, but marriage was something she couldn’t consider.
And what of the boy who had cried love at first sight? Where was he? Fiona Eira’s body was barely cold, and here he was tying a nuptial band round Rowan’s wrist. She gazed down at the scarlet twine, bold against her pale skin, and she realized that she was nothing but a consolation prize. He had done what his mother wanted. He had chosen with his head instead of his heart because his heart had been ripped from him the moment Fiona Eira’s had been ripped from her chest.
She felt the warmth of tears flowing down her cheeks, felt the sting as they glided past the cut on her lip, and Tom smiled up at her, and mistaking her grief for joy, he took both her hands in his. If it had been in her power to refuse, she would have done so. She no more wanted this for him than she did for herself. But he already had her family nuptial band. Her father had given consent, and she had no choice in the matter. She bit down on her lip to staunch the flow of tears as she wondered how her father could have done this without talking to her first.
Laughing now, crying too, Tom stood and took her face in his hands.
“I will take care of you,” he said, and then leaning forward like he might topple over at any moment, he placed his cold mouth against hers. Politely, she met him with ruby lips, her heart breaking, and then she pulled back and nodded.
“I have to get home,” she said, and he looked confused.
“Now?” he asked. “Don’t you want to celebrate? My mother is eager to see you.”
She held a hand to her stomach. “I feel unwell. I need to go home. Later … later we will celebrate.” And with that, she turned and started off onto the forest path.
“Ro,” he called after her, his voice anxious. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She turned and smiled at him. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “We’ll speak later.”
He nodded, and she held his gaze for a moment, and then headed out. When she knew she was hidden from sight, she veered from the path and delved deeper into the trees, the sky spinning above her, the crows circling as if waiting for her to trip and fall and split open her head. When she was certain no one would come upon her, she knelt on the ground and wept. She wept until she thought she might vomit. She wept until she thought there was nothing left inside her anymore. She wept for the girl she once was and for the girl she would never be, and inside her a rage began to burn.
When she had calmed herself, she wiped away the tears and walked home. As she approached her house, she could see that her father’s light was burning in his study. Once inside, she didn’t call out for Emily, as was her custom, but rather went straight to her father’s office. She didn’t bother knocking. She threw open his door, and he flinched, quickly closing the heavy leather book he was consulting, and stuffing a second—a thin black book—into his drawer.
“Rowan,” he said, clearly unsettled by her presence. “What is it, child?”
She thrust out her wrist to him, displaying the red band that now yoked her forever and always to Tom.
“Ah, then.” He smiled. “He’s told you. What a joyous night. I’ll have Emily fix something special.”
Rowan stood aghast. “How could you?”
Henry Rose shook his head, appearing to be genuinely surprised. “You’re not pleased?”
“You expected me to be pleased?” she asked, unable to keep the anger from her voice.
“Of course I did, my child. I would never want for you to be unhappy. It’s been apparent for some time that you have feelings for the boy. When he came to me, my suspicions were confirmed. He’ll make a good and faithful husband.”
“He’s mad with grief. He was in love with Fiona Eira. He doesn’t love me.”
“He will grow to love you. It is now his duty.”
“I don’t want loving me to be someone’s duty,” Rowan cried, tears threatening to flow. “I don’t want to be someone’s second choice, and I don’t want to live my whole life in Nag’s End. I want to be a scholar. Please, Father, you have to call it off.”
He looked to the window and shook his head. “I can’t do that,” he said.
“Please, Father,” she begged, desperation breaking her voice. “I can’t do this. I’m meant to be a scholar. Please don’t take that away from me. I can’t marry Tom. I don’t want to.”