“No’ squandered!” Grif objected.
“What ye did with it is no concern of mine, but ye canna repay me as we agreed, and thereby, ye leave me no choice.”
“Land,” Grif said quickly. “We can repay ye in land.”
Payton considered that for a moment. It was a plausible option, but not terribly desirable. The Lockhart land was separated from his estate by the mountain Ben Cluaran. If he were to take land to repay the debt they owed him, it would leave them with precious little to farm. And it would be near to impossible for him to make much use of that land, separated from his estate as it was, for the manpower required to farm it would be far costlier than the yield. The only way it would be of use to him was if he could put sheep on it, and he rather doubted the Lockharts would allow it, what with their stubborn love of cows.
He shook his head and looked at the laird. “Ye agreed to my terms, Lockhart. I’ll ask that ye set a date for the betrothal.”
Mared’s smile suddenly faded. She slapped the book shut and looked at her father, as did everyone else in that stuffy room. Carson thoughtfully rubbed his chin, then sighed wearily. “We shall set the date a year and a day from whence the loan was made, then,” he said after a moment.
“Carson!” Lady Lockhart cried.
“Ach, mo ghraidh, he’s right, ye know he is! We agreed to the terms of the loan, as did Mared—”
“Under considerable duress, Father!” Mared interjected.
“Aye, perhaps,” he said, turning to look at her. “But ye agreed all the same. We knew there was a possibility Grif wouldna succeed, and now we must honor our word, daughter. Ye must do so, as well.”
Lady Lockhart gasped.
“’Tis too late, Aila,” Carson said gruffly. “What else is left to her, then? Douglas is the only man in the parish who puts no stock in fairies and goblins and will have her!”
That did not soothe Lady Lockhart or Mared, whose expression grew quite murderous.
“Ye must no’ fear yer welfare, lass,” Payton softly assured her. “On my honor, I will always treat ye well.”
“Ach, how can ye pretend so?” she demanded. “The Douglases and the Lockharts have been sworn enemies for hundreds of years!”
“Ye donna understand, Payton Douglas!” Lady Lockhart insisted firmly. “’Tis no’ Mared’s welfare that we fear—’tis yer welfare.”
She said it so earnestly that Payton couldn’t help but laugh. “I donna fear her,” he laughingly assured her. “Ye’ve nothing to fear, then, for she canna hurt me,” he said and laughed again at Mared’s glower.
She had come to her feet, was standing behind the desk with her arms folded implacably across her trim middle. “I willna marry ye, Payton Douglas.”
“Mared!” Lady Lockhart cried.
But Payton chuckled and thought that it might be fun to tame the fire in her in his bed. “Aye, ye will, Mared. And as there is nothing further to discuss, please excuse me. I’ve guests,” he said, and with a curt nod to the impossible Lockharts, he strode out of the stuffy room, smiling inwardly at the thought of Mared in his bed.
That night, in her room high above the study in the old tower, Mared was busily at work.
Her spirit was far from broken.
Her family could think of nothing to save her, blast the lot of them, but she’d not lie idle. Even now, in the stillness of the night, in her drafty chambers of the even draftier old castle, Mared wrote two letters by the light of a single candle while the rest of them slept.
The first was directed to Miss Beitris Crowley, the daughter of the solicitor in Aberfoyle. Mared had befriended her, had taken long, chatty walks with her along the banks of Loch Ard, across from Eilean Ros, assessing her suitability as the future Lady Douglas.
Aye. The future Lady Douglas.
Mared had come to the conclusion that perhaps if the odious and highly objectionable Laird Douglas had another, more charming alternative to her, he might forgive the ridiculous terms of the loan and take to wife a woman more suitable for him in temperament and mien. She had suggested as much to him; he had laughed and responded that any woman, old or young, fat or thin, rich or poor, would be better suited to him in temperament and mien than she was, and seemed to think himself quite the wit for having said it.
Mared was determined to prove it to him, with or without Beitris’s help. Beitris, she had discovered, was painfully shy, particularly in the company of Laird Douglas. She’d put Beitris in his path a dozen times at least, and the lass had still not gained as much as a kiss. He terrified her. Of course he did—he was a creature who had obviously climbed out of the loch.