Pledging Vengeance
Ewan vaulted onto the trestle table in the hall for the second time in as many days with a sinking feeling all might not go as well as he hoped. But then he hadn’t really expected to be warmly welcomed as the interim laird. Discontented grumbling among the folk who’d gathered indicated they’d already heard the news and weren’t happy about it.
He was glad of David’s presence beside the table, and proud of his demeanor. The youth stood resolute, legs braced, head held high, but there wasn’t a trace of fear on his face. Ewan hoped the same could be said of him.
He breathed more easily when Fynn entered with Shona and her maid. Clad in a simple linen frock, his betrothed seemed to bring a breath of fresh air into the stale heat of the hall. David’s ruddy complexion flushed when Moira sent him a little wave.
It occurred to him Fynn didn’t look pleased, but a member of a Mackinloch sept was perhaps entitled to feel uneasy in a MacCarron gathering. His attention was distracted from his kinsman when Walter strode in with several of the men who’d accompanied them on the rescue. Shona hurried over when she noticed one of them carried Ruadh.
Ewan chuckled inwardly. The lazy hound was making the most of the attention being lavished on him, but he was relieved to see the dog had survived his injuries.
The crowd turned its attention to the wounded warrior. Murmurs replaced grumbling. Taking advantage of the distraction, Ewan drew his sword and held it high. “Aonaibh Ri Chéile,” he shouted, recalling Walter’s earlier plea for unity.
If the squeal of metal hadn’t drawn attention, his war cry caused every head to swivel in his direction. A moment of stunned silence followed, so he plunged on. “Yer laird, The Camron, lies gravely injured, and canna lead the fight against a dire threat to all MacCarrons.”
He scanned the faces, deciding to appeal to those who looked puzzled rather than angry. “Aye. Give full rein to yer anger when I tell ye the accident was no such thing. His horse was deliberately spooked by someone who wanted him dead.”
“Nay!”
“Who was it?”
“Mayhap a Mackinloch.”
David moved closer to the table, but Ewan refused to acknowledge the accusation. Some of the angry faces now look puzzled. Walter had hoisted Robbie onto his shoulders. Encouraged by the lad’s smile, he searched the crowd for Shona until their eyes met. He lowered his voice and his sword. “Ye all ken I came here to wed Lady Shona MacCarron,” he said softly.
An eerie silence fell as folk strained to listen.
“I hafta admit, I didna want to wed a MacCarron lass.”
There was muttered acknowledgement. Clan rivalry and long-standing hatreds were something every clansman understood.
Ewan grinned. “Until I set eyes on her beauty. Then I couldna think of aught else but a wedding…” He risked wiggling his eyebrows… “and a bedding.”
Laughter and some cheering ensued. His gamble that all men understood lust for a beautiful woman had hit the mark.
He held out his hand to beckon his betrothed to his side. She came with a smile on her lovely face that gave him strength. Eager hands helped her up onto the table. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Here and now I pledge to her my undying love and fidelity.”
She turned wide eyes to him. “Ye love me?” she whispered.
He kissed her, murmuring Aye into her mouth.
The cheering increased as he lingered over the kiss, but then he schooled his features into a frown as he broke them apart. “But I also pledge to avenge the wrongs done to my bride.”
Shona tensed in his arms, but there was no time to tell her he didn’t intend to reveal she’d spent time with Mungo in dubious circumstances. “I told ye already of our suspicions about Kendric’s injuries. Let righteous anger erupt when I reveal that Beathan MacCarron was murdered, pushed from the top of the tower.”
Pandemonium broke out. Shona clung to his arm and laid a hand on his chest. “Ye didna give me a chance to reply, but I love ye too.”
Feeling like the King o’ all Scots, he smiled, brandished the sword once more and shouted over the noise. “Kendric has honored me. I am yer laird until he recovers. I pledge to do all in my power to bring the murderer to justice.”
Confused shouts resulted, but the fury wasn’t directed at Ewan. The demand was for the name of the traitor.
Walter nodded.
“Ailig Morley,” Ewan bellowed hoarsely from his dry throat.
Outrage swept through the hall; more questions were raised, but pride heated his blood. He was confident he’d successfully established himself as laird, albeit temporary, of a hostile clan and he held the woman he wanted in his arms.
A scowling Fynn beckoned him.
“What’s amiss?” he asked, bending to hear over the hubbub.
“I canna find Lady Jeannie.”