Domnall's POV
The drawing room is suffocating. Twenty-seven people crammed into a space meant for fifteen, all discussing details that matter to exactly none of them except my mother and possibly Elspeth.
"The table linens should coordinate with the floral arrangements, which means we need to finalize the flower selection before proceeding with…"
Someone is talking. I've lost track of who.
I lean against the window frame, nodding mechanically at intervals that seem appropriate. Elspeth sits beside my mother, genuinely engaged, asking thoughtful questions about centerpiece heights and guest seating protocols.
She's trying. I can see the effort in every carefully considered response, every attempt to anticipate what my mother wants before being asked.
It's painful to watch.
"Lord Morvaine?" The dressmaker is addressing me. "Your preference on the groomsmen's waistcoats?"
"Whatever you think best." The answer comes automatically.
My mother's voice cuts through. "Domnall, this is your wedding. Surely you have some opinion."
"I trust your judgment, Mother. You've orchestrated everything else beautifully." The words taste like ash, but I deliver them with a smile.
Movement in the garden catches my eye. I turn my head slightly, trying not to make it obvious I'm no longer paying attention.
Mairead is there, playing with the triplets on the lawn. Her hair is loose—I've never seen it completely unbound before. It falls past her shoulders in waves, catching the afternoon sun.
She's laughing, spinning Fenella in circles while the girl shrieks with delight. Tavish and Lachlan chase each other around her skirts, nearly knocking her over.
She stumbles, catches herself, drops to her knees and pulls all three children into a hug. They pile on top of her in a tangle of limbs and giggles.
I smile. Can't help it. A genuine smile, the kind that reaches my eyes and makes my chest feel less tight. The kind I haven't managed once during this entire planning session.
Lachlan breaks away from the group and makes a run for the oak tree at the garden's edge. Mairead scrambles to her feet, calling after him.
I can't hear the words through the window, but I can read her body language—hands on hips, that particular expression she gets when the children are testing boundaries.
Lachlan ignores her and starts climbing. She hurries over, still scolding, but there's no real anger in it. Just exasperated affection.
I chuckle softly. That boy is fearless. Gets it from his—
"Domnall." My mother's voice is sharp. "Are you listening?"
I turn back to the room. Twenty-seven pairs of eyes are watching me. Elspeth looks embarrassed while my mother looks furious.
"I apologize. What was the question?"
"I asked your opinion on the table linen colors. Twice." Her tone could freeze water.
I have no idea what colors were suggested. I take a guess. "The second option. That seems best."
"And what was the second option?" My mother's voice is too calm, too controlled.
The trap closes. I have no answer. The room waits.
"That's what I thought." She sets down the fabric swatches with deliberate precision. "Perhaps if you were actually paying attention to the planning instead of staring out windows, you might have an opinion worth offering."
The room goes very quiet. Servants suddenly find reasons to study their shoes. The dressmaker pretends to examine her notes.
"You're absolutely right." I straighten from the window. "My apologies to everyone. Please continue."
My mother's jaw tightens. She turns to the assembled staff and guests. "That will be all for today. We'll reconvene tomorrow at the same time. Dismissed."
People scatter with remarkable speed. Even Elspeth rises, clearly reading the room.
"Not you," my mother says to me. "You’re staying."
Elspeth glances between us, then quietly exits. The door closes with a soft click that sounds far too loud.
I don't sit. I remain standing by the window, arms crossed.
"What was that?" My mother's voice is controlled, but there's steel underneath.
"What was what?"
"That performance. Staring out windows during wedding planning. Giving vague, disinterested responses. Smiling at…" She stops herself.
"At what, Mother?"
"You need to take this wedding seriously. You need to engage with your fiancée. You need to stop this distracted, dismissive behavior."
"It's strange," I say quietly, "being asked to bond with a 'fiancée' I didn't choose. Actually, calling her my fiancée at all feels dishonest since 'fiancée' implies I proposed, which we both know I didn't."
Her expression hardens. "You agreed to the arrangement."
"Did I? Or did you inform me of your decision and I failed to fight hard enough to stop you?" I push off from the window. "There's a difference between agreement and surrender, Mother. I'm not sure which one I gave you."
"You're being ungrateful."
"Am I? This is exactly what happened with Sorcha. You chose her, you orchestrated the marriage."
The words come out sharper than intended.
"And then you spent the next six years making her miserable with constant criticism and impossible standards. Nothing she did was ever good enough for you."
"Sorcha was—"
"Kind and patient, trying her absolute best to be the daughter-in-law you demanded." My voice rises slightly. "And you destroyed any chance we had at happiness because she didn't meet your arbitrary requirements for breeding and status and whatever other criteria you deemed important."
"I was protecting this family's interests."
"You were controlling me." The accusation hangs between us. "You couldn't stand that I might care about someone you didn't choose, that she might have influence over my decisions. So you undermined her at every turn until the marriage was a hollow performance."
Catriona's face is stone. "You're rewriting history to justify your current behavior."
"I'm seeing patterns I was too young and too compliant to recognize before." I take a step closer. "You're already doing it to Elspeth. I've heard you 'instructing' her: correcting her posture, her speech, her opinions. You're preparing to control another daughter-in-law before the wedding even happens."
"Someone needs to prepare her for the responsibilities."
"You can't help yourself."
The realization settles with uncomfortable clarity.
"You're incapable of accepting any woman in this house who might have actual influence over me. You need to be the only voice I listen to, the only opinion that matters. It's not about protecting the family, it's about controlling me."
"Everything I have done," she says with ice-cold precision, "has been for your wellbeing. For your future. For securing your position and your legacy."
"My position? Or yours?" I watch her face carefully. "Be honest, Mother. Who really benefits from these marriages you arrange? Me? Or the image you're cultivating of our family?"
"Children are always ungrateful." Her voice could cut glass. "They never understand the sacrifices parents make, the compromises, the difficult decisions required to ensure their futures."
"I understand perfectly." I move toward the door. "I understand that you've orchestrated my entire life according to your vision, and any deviation from that vision—any hint that I might want something different—is treated as betrayal."
"Where are you going?"
"Out. I need air that doesn't smell like flowers and fabric swatches and the future you're forcing on me."
"Domnall." She stands. "This conversation isn't finished."
"Yes, it is." I open the door. "Because we've been having the same argument in different forms for years, and it always ends the same way. You tell me you know what's best. I surrender because fighting you is exhausting. And we both pretend that's the same as agreement."
I leave before she can respond. The hallway feels too narrow, the walls pressing in. I need space, distance, somewhere I can breathe without feeling like every inhale is monitored and evaluated.
I head toward my study, locking the door behind me. Through the window, I can still see the garden.
Mairead has gathered the children on a blanket now, reading to them from a book. All three are settled against her, listening with varying degrees of attention.
Tavish leans into her side. Lachlan fidgets with a blade of grass. Fenella stares at the book like she's trying to memorize every word.
My children. My family. The life I didn't know I wanted until I found it.
And my mother will destroy them the moment she discovers the truth. Just like she destroyed Sorcha. Just like she'll destroy Elspeth. Just like she destroys anything that threatens her control.
I sink into my chair with the weight of understanding pressing down on my chest.
My mother will never let me choose. Not my wife. Not my life. Not anything that matters.