THE NEXT MORNING, Fiona rode away f

THE NEXT MORNING, Fiona rode away from the only home she’d ever known.
Her green cloak dulled the wind’s fierce bite, but did nothing to ease the cold piercing from the inside out, like icy waves breaking on the shores of Moray Firth. Her good-bye with Margaret had been cut brutally short by Cedric’s declaration that they must depart after the morning meal. But perhaps, after all, that was best. She sought to show only a brave face to her little sister, but the effort had drained Fiona like a bloodletting.
The brevity of her farewell to Simon and John troubled her less. Their inquisitive, falsely sympathetic gazes stirred no forgiveness within her, nor did it bring moisture to her eyes. She did not weep when her brothers and the Campbell chief examined the bedsheets, seeking evidence of her lost virginity. But now, outside the village walls, away from her people, she let the tears flow, hot and bitter, scalding away her Sinclair identity. She was a Campbell now, wedded and bedded, and all but banished from her homeland by her brothers’ shortsighted cowardice.
How long would this truce hold? A week? A month? A year, perhaps? Simon and John were gullible as sheep if they thought peace would spread as easily as her thighs. How long before Cedric’s lust for twisting his blade into a Sinclair heart surfaced and the feuding erupted once more? In the end, she would have been sacrificed for nothing.
The wind spun again, sending up the musky scent of horses on the move. The steady clip-clop of their hooves mixed with the chatter of the traveling party. Both man and beast seemed glad to be heading homeward. Of course they were. They left satisfied, having obtained what they came for. She left as nothing more than spoils to the victor. The gray-speckled palfrey she rode upon held more worth than she in these men’s eyes.
She rubbed away those tears at last and stared ahead, for there was no looking back now. She was a fallen leaf, adrift upon a sea of Campbells. At the front of the procession, Myles and his father rode side by side, their equally broad shoulders swaying in unison with the tide of their men. When father turned to son, their profiles were so physically alike her gut gave a violent churn. That face—Cedric Campbell’s face, so much like her own husband’s—was the last vision her mother had ever beheld.
Yet last night, Fiona had lain beneath Myles, timid as a field mouse when she should have roared like a lion. The memory of her acquiescence—nay, her encouragement—scorched in the light of the day. A true warrior would’ve faced the morning with a bloodied lip and blackened eye, for if she’d fought as a Sinclair should, surely he would’ve struck her and she could parade her injuries, bold and proud, before her brothers. But she had not fought back.
No, far worse than that. She’d quivered and sighed like one of his paid whores, and today, shame burned her at its stake.
“I’ve little fondness for riding, miss. You tell that graceless brute to find me a cart.” Bess rode up beside her, on a nag so old and rheumy they nearly looked related, both swaybacked and toothy.
“You should not have pleaded so to come, Bess. You sacrifice too much. You were supposed to stay and care for Marg,” Fiona said to her old nurse. “And what good will come of it? You think you can protect me with those scrawny arms of yours?”
Bess held out one arm to examine it. “No, but I can bear witness to all I see. And they know that.” She nodded, triumphant at her faulty wisdom.
“You’ll see nothing but the inside of a pit if you cross them.”
The woman’s well-intentioned meddling had gone too far. This morning, the sweet, old ninny had knelt at the foot of the Campbell himself and asked if she might come along to see to her mistress. She’d nearly tripped him with her eagerness.
“Don’t be peevish, girl. ’Twas your welfare I was thinking of. Margaret will be fine. She’s stronger than you give her credit.”
“She’s a child.”
“But she’s not your child. You’ve coddled her too much since your mother died, and it’s no wonder. But soon you’ll have a babe of your own to care for, and you’ll realize Marg can fend for herself.”
A child of her own? Her senses reeled, nearly toppling her from the saddle, and for the second time in as many days, she fought to keep her breakfast. With a fist pressed hard against her belly, she sent up a silent prayer to the God who had forsaken her, begging for a barren womb.
A Campbell babe inside her? How could she not despise it? Just one more thing tying her to Myles. And to Cedric Campbell.
As the traveled distance grew, so burgeoned Fiona’s nauseating fear and the certainty that destiny was hers alone to shape. Like a tiny seed, an idea germinated. As the miles passed, she nurtured it, as she would never nurture any child of the Campbell bloodline. And as they stopped in a glen next to a stream to make camp for the night, Fiona knew what she must do.

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

KEESOKAN PAGINYA, Fiona rode dari satu-satunya rumah yang dia pernah dikenal.Jubah hijau nya tumpul angin sengit menggigit, tapi tidak untuk memudahkan dingin menusuk dari dalam ke luar, seperti es ombak memecah di tepi Moray Firth. Selamat tinggal nya dengan Margaret telah dipotong pendek brutal oleh Deklarasi Cedric's bahwa mereka harus berangkat setelah makan pagi. Tapi mungkin, setelah semua, itu terbaik. Ia berusaha untuk menunjukkan hanya wajah yang berani untuk adiknya, tetapi upaya telah dikeringkan Fiona seperti darah katarsis itu.Singkatnya dia selamat Simon dan Yohanes bermasalah kurang. Mereka ingin tahu, palsu simpatik memandang ke diaduk ada pengampunan dalam dirinya, atau apakah itu membawa kelembaban ke matanya. Dia tidak menangis ketika saudara-saudara lelakinya dan kepala Campbell diteliti seprai, mencari bukti keperawanannya hilang. Tetapi sekarang, di luar dinding desa, dari bangsanya, dia membiarkan aliran air mata, panas dan pahit, panas dari identitasnya Sinclair. Dia sekarang sudah Campbell, menikahi dan tempat tidur, dan semua tapi dilenyapkan dari asalnya oleh saudara-saudara lelakinya rabun pengecut.Berapa lama akan memegang gencatan senjata ini? Seminggu? Sebulan? Setahun, mungkin? Simon dan Yohanes adalah mudah tertipu seperti domba jika mereka pikir perdamaian akan menyebar semudah paha. Berapa lama sebelum Cedric's nafsu untuk memutar nya pisau ke jantung Sinclair muncul dan bermusuhan meletus sekali lagi? Pada akhirnya, dia akan dikorbankan untuk apa-apa.The wind spun again, sending up the musky scent of horses on the move. The steady clip-clop of their hooves mixed with the chatter of the traveling party. Both man and beast seemed glad to be heading homeward. Of course they were. They left satisfied, having obtained what they came for. She left as nothing more than spoils to the victor. The gray-speckled palfrey she rode upon held more worth than she in these men’s eyes.She rubbed away those tears at last and stared ahead, for there was no looking back now. She was a fallen leaf, adrift upon a sea of Campbells. At the front of the procession, Myles and his father rode side by side, their equally broad shoulders swaying in unison with the tide of their men. When father turned to son, their profiles were so physically alike her gut gave a violent churn. That face—Cedric Campbell’s face, so much like her own husband’s—was the last vision her mother had ever beheld.Yet last night, Fiona had lain beneath Myles, timid as a field mouse when she should have roared like a lion. The memory of her acquiescence—nay, her encouragement—scorched in the light of the day. A true warrior would’ve faced the morning with a bloodied lip and blackened eye, for if she’d fought as a Sinclair should, surely he would’ve struck her and she could parade her injuries, bold and proud, before her brothers. But she had not fought back.No, far worse than that. She’d quivered and sighed like one of his paid whores, and today, shame burned her at its stake.“I’ve little fondness for riding, miss. You tell that graceless brute to find me a cart.” Bess rode up beside her, on a nag so old and rheumy they nearly looked related, both swaybacked and toothy.“You should not have pleaded so to come, Bess. You sacrifice too much. You were supposed to stay and care for Marg,” Fiona said to her old nurse. “And what good will come of it? You think you can protect me with those scrawny arms of yours?”Bess held out one arm to examine it. “No, but I can bear witness to all I see. And they know that.” She nodded, triumphant at her faulty wisdom.“You’ll see nothing but the inside of a pit if you cross them.”The woman’s well-intentioned meddling had gone too far. This morning, the sweet, old ninny had knelt at the foot of the Campbell himself and asked if she might come along to see to her mistress. She’d nearly tripped him with her eagerness.“Don’t be peevish, girl. ’Twas your welfare I was thinking of. Margaret will be fine. She’s stronger than you give her credit.”“She’s a child.”“But she’s not your child. You’ve coddled her too much since your mother died, and it’s no wonder. But soon you’ll have a babe of your own to care for, and you’ll realize Marg can fend for herself.”A child of her own? Her senses reeled, nearly toppling her from the saddle, and for the second time in as many days, she fought to keep her breakfast. With a fist pressed hard against her belly, she sent up a silent prayer to the God who had forsaken her, begging for a barren womb.A Campbell babe inside her? How could she not despise it? Just one more thing tying her to Myles. And to Cedric Campbell.As the traveled distance grew, so burgeoned Fiona’s nauseating fear and the certainty that destiny was hers alone to shape. Like a tiny seed, an idea germinated. As the miles passed, she nurtured it, as she would never nurture any child of the Campbell bloodline. And as they stopped in a glen next to a stream to make camp for the night, Fiona knew what she must do.