Pledged to a Highlander (Highland Promise Trilogy 1)

“I hope not,” Demelza said and stepped outside.

Wren followed Demelza out and called out to Oria, “Send whoever you think needs to see me first.”

Oria walked with Ross to the door, his arm wrapped with a cloth, the blood on it dried. “I tried to tell him, Oria, I’m a farmer not a warrior. I could grow him good crops and lift a sword if necessary, but I’m no warrior. Please, I beg you take me and Aine and our two sons home with you. Please, I fear what will happen if we remain here. You should talk with Old Henry. He wants to leave here too.”

That Ross begged her for help tore at her heart and that Old Henry wanted to leave worried her as well. If she remembered correctly, he was the oldest person in the clan. That he wanted to leave the only home he had ever know was unthinkable. She was tired of feeling helpless, tired of watching good people suffer—her people suffer.

“Get your things together when you’re done here and be ready to leave with us,” she ordered.

“He won’t let you take them,” Demelza said after Ross entered the cottage.

“Your husband stole this clan. These people rightfully come under my husband’s rule. If your husband has an ounce of honor in him, he’ll let those go who wish to leave with us,” Oria said, it was growing more difficult to hold her anger. She had listened to complaint after complaint about how every man had to spend so much time on the practice field learning to be a warrior, learning to battle.

“My husband is a good man with good intentions—”

“Intentions of what? Battle? Are these forced lessons in preparation of something to come? Will you attack and take our lands from us once again?” Oria accused.

“It is what my husband knows—”

“Then he needs to learn it is different here,” Oria snapped.

Demelza paled and placed her hand on her stomach.

Oria went to her and hurried her to the bench that sat against the cottage. “Stay here, I’ll get Wren.”

“No, please, I’m all right. The nausea comes and goes. It has already past.”

Color began to return to her face so Oria did as Demelza requested, but guilt had her offering an apology. “Forgive me, I should not have spoken to you like that.”

“I can’t believe you have been as pleasant as you have, coming here to the clan that had once been yours, seeing the people who appear to truly care for you unhappy. I have tried to come to know them, make friends with them, but I believe they fear my husband too much to even acknowledge me at times.”

“Were you forced to wed Trevor? You seem far too kind to have wed such a man of your own accord,” Oria said and gasped at her audacity to say such a thing. She was sounding like Raven, who often failed to temper her words. She was shocked when Demelza laughed.

“Everyone wonders the same,” Demelza said. “But I saw and continue to see the good in my husband. Given a chance, I think the people here would see that as well.”

Oria saw herself in Demelza. She would defend Royden no matter what, but then all knew Royden was a good man, grumpy and commanding as he may be at times, he was still a good man. And Demelza believed the same of her husband.

“I suppose that is a possibility, but how long will that take and how many will suffer?” Oria asked worried for her clan.

Demelza sighed. “I don’t know. Trevor can be stubborn until he realizes what I offer him is actually sage advice.”

Oria had a thought. “Perhaps he needs to hear it from me.”

“I don’t know if that would be wise,” Demelza advised.

“Wise or not, I can’t let those I care for suffer,” Oria said and offered her arm to Demelza. “Will you come with me?”

Demelza smiled. “I wouldn’t let you go alone and I wouldn’t want to miss what you have to say to my husband.”

They passed Parlan on his way to see how Wren was doing and he told them that Trevor was showing Royden the practice field. Both women hurried along after hearing that, each not saying a word, but both thinking the same thing.

“What are you doing?” Oria shouted when she and Demelza caught sight of their husbands’ wooden practice swords in hand and both about to enter the practice arena.

“A friendly joust,” Trevor said.

Planting her hands on her hips and with a terse tone, Oria said, “I don’t think so.” She was quick to cut Trevor off before he could remark. “There are more important things to see to than a game best left to young lads.” Her hand went up to stop Trevor again. “The most important thing being that whoever in my clan wishes to come home with me will be leaving here with us.”