“Aye, I’ve seen them, and it’s not insolence, but fear you see,” Dunlop disagreed, his tone hesitant.
Colin fought from snorting aloud. “Fear? Dunlop, are you crazed? That woman fears nothing, no one. Even when she should.”
Dunlop shook his head. It was dangerous to counter Colin, but it was important that his friend understood Makenna—especially if they were to wed. “Nay, she fears anything she cannot do well, including marriage. And she definitely is a beauty. Unconventional maybe, but unquestionably bonnie, especially when she leaves her hair unbraided. Many men think so, including Laird MacCuaig. It is rumored that he has more than once tried to convince her to marry him. She is probably the only person in the world more against the concept of matrimony than you.”
Colin looked at the departing sun and twisted the dark mane of his horse in his fingers and easily swung onto its back. “She will have to get over it, then.”
Dunlop moved toward his own mount. “You have made your decision?”
“I have. Ride and inform Laird Dunstan to find his daughter. We wed tomorrow.”
“Aye,” Dunlop answered, swinging onto the brown stallion. “Are you riding on?”
Colin nodded woodenly, still digesting his decision. “I’ll tell the men later. Right now, I need to think.” And thinking meant a long, cold swim.
Makenna took a step toward the edge of the small loch her home was named after and dipped her bare foot beneath the surface to test the temperature of its hidden depths. Despite the early summer’s warmth, the water was still cool.
It was late and the dark night sky would blanket her path home, but at least she was finally alone. It had been difficult to elude the two guards Colin had ordered to watch her whenever she ventured outside Lochlen. At first, it had been easy to sneak by them, but they had learned her tricks faster than she could devise new ones. She had to be especially clever upon her return or yet another pathway to freedom would be stymied.
She yanked her red and green bliaut over her head and threw it on a nearby tree branch. Her off-white chainse immediately followed. “It’s unfair!” she yelled at no one. “Of all the people in this world forced to marry, it should not be me. Father could have no doubts that I would make the worst wife. Colin certainly has none. Then what do I care what that man thinks? The only thing more intolerable than Colin McTiernay is being Lady McTiernay,” Makenna said, shuddering at the idea.
Her older sisters had chided her for years about her tendency of talking out loud to herself, but like most of their criticisms, it had fallen on deaf ears. Makenna had told them it was an unbreakable habit. It was other people’s burden, not hers. But, in truth, she hated being an annoyance or a millstone to anyone, almost as much as she hated to fail.
Makenna stripped off her last piece of clothing and without hesitation, dove into the cold waters. She held her breath and waited for her body to adapt to the icy sensation against her bare skin. When her lungs could stand no more, she broke through the surface and took in a deep breath. The cold was near unbearable, but the silence and the lack of company were worth the self-inflicted torture. Tonight, however, the numbing benefits of the loch could not remove the sting of her failure.
Lochlen Castle was slowly falling apart. During the first few months after Deirdre’s death, life had progressed normally. Chores were done, linens were cleaned, and baths were drawn. Then for some inexplicable reason, random everyday activities had ceased. From the critical steward’s constant looks of expectation and disappointment, she knew it was because of her. So many times she wanted to ask him what to do, but refrained at the last moment as memories of her failing even the most mundane female disciplines filled her head.
“And that is why I just cannot marry anyone. I don’t know how to be a wife, let alone a laird’s wife. Why, Lord? Why wasn’t I born a boy?” she cried out in anguish.
Makenna stroked the water, focusing on the feel of the rippling water against her nude frame now moderately acclimated to the cool temperature. Since she was a child, she had deliberately avoiding any domestic endeavor, instead focusing on exciting activities such as hunting, riding, and swordplay. Those times she had been cornered by one of her four sisters into some keep endeavor, she had failed miserably. “Why is it that everyone wants what I cannot give and forbids what I can?” she sighed aloud and maneuvered to the large rock that jutted out from the water’s surface almost forty feet from the shoreline.
Deirdre had been the one to show her this small secluded spot and had taken her here as a child to go swimming. Deirdre would never go in, but she would watch as Makenna frolicked in the water. Later, it became a place for them to talk, just them—no one else.
People, especially her father and later Colin, were so careful around Deirdre. They never raised their voice or challenged her on anything. Deirdre said she hated it, but Makenna, who did not feel inhibited by her sister’s frailty, challenged the avowal. “You love it, Deirdre. You know you do. Everyone caters to your whims. Think how much it would bother you if someone actually challenged or refused one of your requests. If you were honest, you would not deny this.”
“If I did make such a confession, then I would only do so to you. You keep me grounded, Makenna. Without your honesty, I should be lost.”
“Then I shall supply it forever. Besides, without you, I would be doomed for perpetual sorrow. For I know it is you who ran interference with that hulking husband of yours and got his permission for me to ride and hunt again.”
“I am sorry Colin would not also let you train with his men. It was your most favorite of loves.”
“I’ll take what I can get. I just wish you would ride with me.”
Deirdre shook her head daintily. “Not for me. I’ll leave that lively activity for you. I’m perfectly happy running Lochlen.”
“Thank the Lord,” Makenna murmured aloud.
“You should be thanking your luck that Father Renoir decided to return to France. If he heard your language of late, you would spend all your hours in repentance.”
Makenna headed for the shore. “I’m glad he’s gone. If it weren’t your husband nagging me on this and the other, it was Father Renoir. Both men are completely impossible to please.”
“If you knew Colin better, I think you would like him…a lot. He’s a great deal like you. All fire and passion. I often think he would be happier married to someone with your zest and energy.”
“Ha! He’s your husband, not mine,” Makenna said, rising from the waters. “I choose never to marry.”
Deirdre threw Makenna a cloth. “Not even to Laird MacCuaig?” Deirdre asked mischievously. “I understand that he has been after Father for your hand for some time.”
Makenna faked a shudder and continued drying her legs. “Especially not to him. He’s…I don’t know, but he is…something. I don’t trust him.”
Deirdre hopped off the low-lying limb. “Then neither do I. I trust your instincts, Makenna. I wish you would trust mine about Colin. He really is a wonderful man. No woman could ask for a better husband.”
The memories of her sister were so strong Makenna could still feel Deirdre’s presence, even all these months later.
Makenna squeezed her eyes tightly together. If she did marry Colin, they would both be miserable regardless of her sister’s fervent deathbed pleas otherwise. Deirdre had been graceful, petite, fair, soft-spoken, and mild-mannered. She was what Colin desired for a spouse, not her.
Makenna opened her eyes and peered over the semi-slick rock to study the other side of the slim oval-shaped loch. The opposite shoreline was a good distance away, but she knew instantly she was alone.
More than once, she had seen Colin use the grassy banks across from her secluded rocks as an entrance to the peace and cold the loch provided. She was positive he had never been aware of her presence. He was too focused when he swam, vigorously stroking the cool water as if he were trying to drive out a demon. She had watched in secret fascination.