A SUDDEN SHOCK
“My lords! My ladies! The castle is being attacked!”
Broderick MacConnaway, seated on the dais, heard the shout somewhat dully through the fog in his brain. He shook himself, trying to drag his gaze from the woman opposite him. From the moment he had seen her, he had not been able to look anywhere else.
Her rosy, glistening mouth, her wide, gray eyes, her sweet body. She stood there like the sweetest images of his dreams and looked at him, pink, plush lips parted. From the moment he had seen her, everything else had disappeared.
I didnae think I would ever feel this way. The strange tightness in his chest, his dry mouth... All thoughts of meeting his new wife had been of duty and vengeance, not... whatever this was. Her uncle had not yet introduced them, but he recognized her from a small portrait her kinsman, the Duke of Athol, had shown him. It had been he who suggested the match when Broderick went to him asking for assistance. All he could say was that the colors and lines, while capturing the outer semblance of her, did not come close to showing her in her true form. She was overwhelmingly beautiful, and he had not expected it.
As he sat there, fighting to control the fire that she lit inside him, the shouting finally registered. “My lord! The castle is under attack!”
Broderick turned to the man in the door, chain-mail damp from the drizzle, eyes wide.
Lord Brien was already standing.
“Explain this disturbance,” he demanded, eyes blazing.
“Lord, the sentry! He saw raiders.”
Lady Amabel. She could be in danger. Without any further warning, Broderick walked briskly from the dais. He went straight toward her and grabbed her wrist.
Her bones are as slender as withies. He could feel the pulse below the pearl-pale skin. Her eyes widened in shock. This close, they were blue and gray mixed, the lashes long, dewy lips enticing.
“Lord Broderick?”
“Hush,” he said briskly.
He dragged her with him as he ran to the doorway, the one behind her. He reached it and pushed her through.
She stared up at him, face flushed, lips parted. She was angry. “What do you think you are doing?”
“Saving your life,” he said grimly. She spun round angrily, red hair whirling as she did so. He kept his grip on her wrist and the soft flutter of her pulse reached through his fingertips to stir something in his heart.
“I don't need you to save me,” she said angrily. “Not in a castle full of soldiers!”
He sighed. “My lady, soldiers can be overpowered. Yer best hope is to run, now. Take a horse and leave.”
She turned back and glanced into the hall. Broderick looked with her.
All around them, the hall had erupted into noise, men asking what the matter was and ladies standing from their places, some gathering smaller children. Servants running, panicked, to the doors to the courtyard. Screams and shouts and feet on flagstones, slipping on the rushes in their haste to escape the hall.
Broderick leaned toward her in the archway. He felt her slim thigh against his and stiffened, trying to control his raging thoughts. Stop it! Ye just met her. He had never felt such an instant connection to anyone. He fought to control himself.
It must be her hair. It reminds me of Aisling. Aisling had died and this time, he had a chance to save her.
“Run,” he whispered. “My lady, for yourself and for me. Do not stay. Run.”
She turned toward the door.
“Run!”
As she ran, he heard her uncle shout.
“I demand an explanation. What is the meaning of this?”
Amabel stopped running. Everyone in the hall froze where they were, waiting to hear whatever he had to say. Broderick wanted to scream. She had almost run away! A pox on her uncle.
Amabel had hesitated where she was in the hallway, red-gold hair swinging as she turned, a wing of tawny satin. Even though he wanted to grab her hand, pull her through the door, he felt rooted to the spot. He could look nowhere else.
She was beautiful. Caught in that moment of hesitation, hair loose, slim body framed in the red cloud. She was so beautiful. Her finely-chiseled face, wide blue-gray eyes, pale skin all struck him the instant he had seen her. Not to mention her body! He had been alone for five years now and the sight of her slender form was setting a fire in his loins.
“Run,” he whispered, fighting his own desires. Now, while there is still time! She took two steps and then stopped once more. Her uncle had shouted again.
“Broderick MacConnaway! Why have you run away with my great-niece?”
Broderick stared. He had been so intent on his prospective bride that he had not noticed that the guests and servants were now slowly returning to the table. He felt his cheeks burn.
He bit his lip, feeling ashamed. What have I done?
Amabel had stepped back into the hallway. Her face was neutral but those blue-gray eyes scalded him. Strangely, she directed all the blame to him.
Her uncle laughed. “You laid harsh hands on my niece without permission. And then you ran from the hall with her, as if you plan to carry her off? Is this the sort of dealings we can expect with the MacConnaway clan?”
Broderick gasped. Of all the things that could have happened, this was the worst. He could see how the man could interpret his actions like that. But that really was not his intention!
“Lord Lochlann,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “My lord, I can explain.” He looked around the hall. “But should we no' first vacate the hall?” He was baffled. “Have we forgotten the threat of the attack?”
Her uncle smiled thinly. “It was a false alarm, my lord. I questioned the sentry more closely as you fled. The guards are overly-excited following raiding at the border post. The man will face the consequence of my wrath for disturbing our repast. As will you, doubtless.”
Broderick stared at him. That was too much. He felt as if he had been slapped. He had been offered a rebuke a child might warrant. And yet he could not insult Amabel's uncle! His prospective bride was already looking daggers at him, a mixture of shock and disgust on her face, and the whole hall was staring at them both.
“My lord.” His voice was hoarse with emotion and he winced, clearing his throat. “I can offer no explanation tae match to the charges ye have laid on me. But allow me to say only this. I didnae intend to carry away your niece.”
Someone tittered. Amabel's eyes blazed. Broderick saw angry tears form in her eyes. She was clearly embarrassed. He wanted to reach out to comfort her but she had turned away from him. She looked at the ceiling, her body stiff. He turned from her and sought the group who was laughing and stared them down. Slowly, they stopped.
Good.
He felt utterly reduced and was glad to see, despite the horror of what had just happened, he was still Broderick MacConnaway. He was still granted some little respect.
“Well, that's what it looked like,” Amabel's uncle said roughly. The whole hall laughed.
Amabel looked down. A tear did trace her cheek, then, and she raised a hand to stifle it. Seeing her cry loosened the last edges of Broderick's anger.
“My lord,” he cried. “I acknowledge what I did was wrong in this matter. But let us end this now.”
“How do you propose to do that?”
Broderick wished the floor would open and swallow him but he held his ground. “I will make what amends you ask for my actions. But now we should either settle down to eat, or end this dinner. I am sure we would all welcome a moment to calm ourselves.”
The old laird blinked at him. “I put the decision to the hall. Shall we leave to calm ourselves, as our lordling requires, or shall we stay and eat?”
As the hall exploded into happy laughter and cries of “Dinner!” Broderick closed his eyes. He had tried.
Beside him, he heard Amabel suck in a breath. Evidently, he had failed. He had hoped to recover the situation, reduce her shame. But somehow, he had made matters worse. Silent and regal, she turned and walked from the hall, leaving the shouts and laughter behind her.
Broderick felt absolutely miserable. He had humiliated her and clearly, she held him responsible.
Even if her uncle still agrees to the wedding, I have made certain that my bride hates me.
Still wishing the hall’s floor would open and send him tumbling into the blackness underneath, Broderick walked across the rushes and took his place at the table. It was, unfortunately, just along from the high seat of Laird of Lochlann. He resisted the urge to glance at him, knowing that if he did, it would be a glare, and mumbled something to the servant who served venison stew. The man filled the trencher before Broderick, who felt his mouth water. He was hungry after a day of riding, but he could barely bring himself to eat now. His throat was stiff with sadness.
Ye want her to like ye, do you not?
He sighed. He was being a fool. A shameful fool. He was not here for love but for revenge. That was all that mattered. Aisling owned his heart. She always had done, and she had taken it with her into the ground. He could not love again. He would not. All he had was vengeance.
But she did, in that glance, remind me of Aisling.
He let the rage at Aisling's death slowly fill him. He heard a cough and looked up. His eyes met the eyes of the lady opposite him. He guessed she was Lady Amabel's sister. They looked alike enough, though there were subtle differences.
“You're very... quiet, my lord.”
The woman's damask-dark lips were compressed in a thin line. Her eyes challenged him, as if to say, “Have you no manners at all?” She looked deeply disapproving.
Broderick flushed. He realized he had been sitting in utter silence, while all the hall talked.
She only held his gaze a second before she turned away. She addressed the man on her left and seemed to decide to ignore Broderick entirely.
Now I made her sister hate me, too. Can I no' do anything right? I will be lucky if Lady Amabel does not refuse my hand after all this.
He decided to take Alina's hint and glanced about, looking for someone he could talk to but every guest near him was talking to someone else. He felt out-of-place in this company as it was, with his different speech and his rougher ways. He looked for someone who might not mind so much.
There was no one else to talk to. Alina was talking to the man who sat beside her, and the earnestly-sweet young girl beside her was talking cheerfully with a thin-faced young man across the table. The seat beside Broderick was empty, and the lord on his right was relating some tale to a companion. No one seemed to be interested in him.
I really am a complete fool.
He glanced down the table. Lord Brien was looking at him. The older man had a strange expression on his face. Oddly enough, it was appraising, not belittling, which gave Broderick some hope. There was a smile lurking there, though why Broderick could not guess.
If there is to be only one person at this table who does not despise me, I would no' have expected it would be him.
As abruptly as he had looked at him, Lord Lochlann broke the connection, turning to talk to someone on his right.
Broderick shook his head, feeling hope grow inside him for the first time that evening.
One good thing about being ignored was that he was free to imagine Lady Amabel. He imagined her with her long, loose hair cascading freely about her shoulders, her pale skin exposed. He winced as his loins ached. He was shocked at himself, and flushed, embarrassed.
You cannae think that way about her. She's a lady, wed for alliances. That was not all. You love Aisling. You will never love anyone again.
Before he forcibly erased the topic from his thoughts, he remembered how Amabel's gray-blue eyes had softened in that moment in the doorway when he had bid her run.
Perhaps she does no' really hate me after all?
He hoped he would have the opportunity of finding out.
“My lord?”
Broderick jumped. The laird was staring at him.
“Yes, my lord?”
“After the dinner, meet with me in the solar. I have something I wish to impart.”
Broderick spent the rest of the dinner tense and edgy. He could not participate in the river fish, mutton, ham, a stew of wild mushrooms – endless courses that seemed to flow from the kitchens like an unstoppable tide. Everything sat like lead in his belly and he did not want to contemplate what would happen after. When he faced Lord Lochlann alone.
He's probably going to send me packing like the shameful wee beggar he must think I am.
By the time the dinner ended, Broderick still had no idea what Lord Lochlann planned.
Heart thumping in his chest, he headed through the dark hallways, trying to guess where the solar might be. After asking directions from a household guard, he finally reached the place.
It was dark. He slipped in through the door-arch, expecting that Lord Lochlann had not yet arrived.
“My lord?”
“Yes?” A harsh voice spoke from just behind his left shoulder
He whipped round to find the old man in the dark on his left. The old man smiled.
Broderick let his hand fall from his side, where he had reached on instinct for his sword. He was not wearing it, of course – they had disarmed at the feasting hall doorway for politeness.
The laird laughed softly.
“I called you here on business, MacConnaway.” He paused. “And I am surprised to see you jumpy. Am I so deeply a threat to you?”
“No, my lord!”
The old man smiled thinly. “Good. Because I do not ally myself with people who fear me.”
Broderick blinked. “My lord?”
He stared at Lord Lochlann. The old man grinned at him, a skull-like grin with his eyes that sparked warmly.
“You needn't stare so. You are surprised? I do not know if that is good or bad. In any case, I do not rescind my first impressions. I decided to accept you as an ally. Welcome to my family.”