Free The Devil of Jedburgh by Claire Robyns Page A

understanding?” Lillian turned her head to look up at him. “I’m afraid I—Breghan?” she called in high voice as her gaze swept past him.
    Arran spun about in time to see a blur of gold disappearing through the archway. “Never mind,” he muttered, hurrying after Breghan.
    The long tables in the great hall were packed tightly with McAllen men-at-arms and every family from the village. Excited whispers hummed over the general shuffle of bodies, booted feet and children growing bored. Word had spread of Breghan’s temporary disappearance and everyone had an opinion. Arran had heard them all through the course of day. Popular consensus, at least amongst the women, was that Breghan would do better to throw herself off the North tower than submit to the Roxburgh Beast.
    It took a moment for the crowd to realise something was happening, and by then Breghan had almost reached her father with Arran a good few paces behind. His jaw clenched as the whispering ceased. He didn’t take kindly to be seen running after his bride, no matter that she’d never be his bride or anything else. He’d spent the day deliberating Breghan’s finer qualities and completely forgotten her tendency to rash behaviour.
    “Papa, please, ’tis important,” she was saying as Arran came up behind.
    Arran gave the white-haired priest an apologetic grimace and turned to McAllen, whose black brows were drawn into a scowling line. “Perhaps we could discuss this somewhere else?”
    McAllen’s gaze did a quick sweep of the hall, then he beckoned them toward the charter room with a gruff, “This will not take long,” to the priest.
    Breghan followed her father inside the small chamber and Arran nearly got the door slammed on him. He shoved his foot in the doorway.
    “I wish to speak to my father alone,” Breghan said.
    “I wish to speak to him together.” Arran grabbed the edge of the door and easily pushed it all the way open.
    “Do you always have to force your will?” She glared at him, standing firmly in the doorway to block his passage. “I have a matter of some delicacy to—”
    “Breghan,” McAllen barked. “Let the man inside. He might have the patience of a saint to put up with this, but I have not.”
    “You promised this was my choice,” Breghan hissed.
    Arran lifted her at the waist. “I also promised to explain,” he said softly as he set her aside. “I canna shield you from blame if I’m not here.”
    “But—” She jumped as he kicked the door closed behind him.
    Feet braced far apart, arms folded, Arran looked past her to where McAllen stood. It didn’t take long for Breghan to accept he wasn’t going anywhere.
    She swung about, set her shoulders back and marched the few steps to face her father. “Papa, I want your word that when—if I return after a year, I’ll be allowed to decide on any offers made for my hand.”
    “What dangerous game are you up to now?” McAllen demanded, his thick brows pulled tight.

    “I know you’ve turned down offers, without even mentioning them to me.” Although she spoke in a low voice, the chamber was too small to shield anything from Arran. “You may do with me as you will, but I’ll only proceed with this handfasting upon your oath that after a year I may then be wooed and courted as I please, that my next betrothal will be mine to accept or decline.”
    Arran’s jaw fell slack. The rest of him coiled as tight as McAllen’s brows, from the tension pulling behind his neck to the fury whipped into his calf muscles.
    She was using him.
    She made a mockery of his noble gesture and a fool of the man.
    More was said between father and daughter, fiercely whispered words that Arran could easily have heard if he’d been concentrating. He caught mention of the name Alexander Gordon and his mind blurred red. She already had someone in mind. Her heart was set on another man.
    She’s using me to barter for another man.
    He could almost not believe it.
    They hadn’t even