The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(8)

Christina nearly sighed with relief to see her.

Her sister stood before their father like a penitent, hands crossed before her and head bowed beneath a long, pale-blue veil secured by a circlet of gold. Tall and feathery thin, Beatrix’s delicate features looked as if they’d been carved from the finest marble—except for the yellowish brown shadows marring her cheek. The sight of them filled Christina with rage. How could he hit her? How could anyone strike someone so lovely? It wasn’t just her sister’s angelic face, but the beauty inside. She was innocent. Pure. And achingly fragile.

“You wished to see me, Father?” Beatrix asked, keeping her eyes lowered. Even her voiced sounded like an angel’s, soft and musical, with an ethereal breathiness.

But her sister’s sweetness seemed only to further annoy her father, as if he couldn’t believe such weakness came from him. “Pack your things.” He looked to Christina almost as an afterthought. “Yours as well. We leave on the morrow.”

“Leave?” Christina repeated, dumbfounded. “But where are we going?”

Her father’s gaze hardened at the impertinence. They were to follow orders, not question them. Thus, she was surprised when he answered her. “Finlaggan Castle on Islay.”

She would have been less shocked if he’d said London.

It took even Alex aback. “The Western Isles?”

It was like another world. Barbarian lands, full of … well, barbarians. Ferocious warlords and Norse-blooded pirates who ruled over the western seaboard with virtually unfettered authority. It must have been the sheer shock that gave Christina the courage to ask, “But whatever for?”

Her father’s hard, black gaze narrowed on her menacingly, as if he’d like nothing more than to grind her under his heel. So when he smiled instead of striking her, she knew the answer was going to be bad. Very bad.

“To forge an alliance.”

“But why do you need us?” Christina was surprised to hear her sister’s voice. Beatrix rarely found the courage to address their father directly.

“Why do you think?” he challenged. “One of you will marry him.”

The three siblings gasped in unison. Marriage? To some brutish warlord? God have mercy! The color drained from Christina’s face. She shook her head mutely; she couldn’t do it.

Her father drew up as if he intended to inform her otherwise, but then apparently reconsidered. “It will probably be Beatrix because she is the elder.”

A wave of relief swelled over her. Thank God.

Then she looked at her sister.

“No,” Beatrix whispered, terror choking her voice. She started to swoon, but Alex caught her around her tiny waist and held her against him.

Something twisted in Christina’s chest seeing them like that, her frail, innocent sister sagging against a big, mail-clad warrior. Though still young, Alex was dark-haired like her, but tall and broad-shouldered. Next to him, Beatrix looked painfully vulnerable. Like a butterfly in an iron claw.

Beatrix would die under some vile brute. Christina knew it with certainty that could not be avoided.

Without thinking, Christina stepped forward. Her stomach tossed, but she fought back the panic. “No, Father. I’ll do it. I’ll marry him.”

Her father looked back and forth between the two girls, appraising them as if they were two horses at market. For once he seemed pleased with what he saw. “You’ll both come, and he will choose which of you pleases him more.”

Without another word he turned on his heel and left the room, leaving both girls reeling in his wake.

Christina grabbed the wooden bedpost to steady herself. Beatrix was still plastered to her brother’s side like a floppy poppet of rags. Alex stroked her head as she wept softly against his shoulder.

Over their sister’s veiled head, their eyes met. Christina read the compassion in her brother’s gaze. They both knew he could do nothing to stop their father. That the girls had not been betrothed before this was only because their father had been imprisoned and King Edward had not gotten to them yet. Marriage was what was expected of them. She’d known it. Ignored it, perhaps, but in the back of her mind she always knew this day would come.

A vision of Lancelot sprang to mind before she quickly forced it back. Only a dream. But never could she have anticipated this.

“Maybe he won’t want either of us?” she ventured hopefully.

The look of compassion only deepened. Alex shook his head as if she were sadly deluded. “I very much doubt that, sister. You and Beatrix, well,” he paused uncomfortably. “You are very beautiful. In different ways, perhaps, but equally exquisite. Beatrix looks like an angel and you …” His cheeks reddened. “You don’t.”

It should be a wicked thing to say, but he made it sound as if it were just the opposite. Her brows wrinkled together. “I don’t understand?”

Alex grimaced, looking as if he’d rather be doing anything other than talking about this. “It’s your mouth and eyes.”

“What’s the matter with them?” Her eyes were maybe a little slanted and her mouth perhaps a tad wide, but she didn’t realize that something was so horribly wrong.

He made a sound of exasperation. “Nothing. It’s just I’ve heard men say it makes them think of sin.”

Her eyes widened, and self-consciously she covered her mouth with her hand. “Really? How awful!”