Chapter Twenty
In the morning, Fiona awoke feeling better than she had in days. She stretched her arms above her head. Then she sat up on her side and looked expectantly toward the hearth.
The chair by the fire was empty.
Relief and disappointment battled for domination in her mind. She laid back and stared up at the high ceiling while the events of the day before raced through her thoughts.
She had started the day a terrified bride, but by nightfall she had become a hopeful wife.
A new world had emerged, one where reason revealed the hollowness of their clans’ mutual prejudices—but had it all really happened, or had she dreamt their truce?
She glanced down and saw the blood mark on the sheet, drops from a cut Jamie gave himself, and knew it had all been real. But then she drew in a sharp breath, remembering it was the morning after her wedding. Soon, the priest would come to examine the sheet. She sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed the instant before a soft rapping sounded at the door.
A groan fled her lips. “Please, I need more time,” she called out.
Julia peeked into the room. “’Tis only I, my lady.”
Fiona expelled the breath she’d been holding. “Thank God.” She motioned for her maid to enter. “Please, do come in and hurry!”
Julia bustled through the door with a sack in hand.
Fiona stood and seized her crumpled tunic off the floor. “Will ye help me dress before the priest arrives.”
“Of course, my lady, but leave those garments. Our laird would like ye to wear what I have in here.” The maid held up the bundle she carried and plopped it down on the chair by the hearth. After she stirred the embers, rekindling the flames, she motioned for Fiona to join her. Then Julia fished inside the bundle and withdrew a lavender brocade surcotte.
Fiona’s eyes widened in surprise. “’Tis lovely,” she gasped.
Julia smiled. “The underdresses are silk. Look,” she said, pulling out a kirtle and tunic, both a lovely shade of buttery yellow.
Warmth flooded Fiona’s heart. She viewed the fine garments as another testament of Jamie’s newfound consideration for her wellbeing. He had made certain she had attire fit for the lady of the keep before having to, once again, face his kin.
And the priest…
“We must hurry,” Fiona gasped.
No sooner did Julia finish tying her surcotte, when a sharp rapping sounded at the door.
“That will be Father Peter,” Julia said.
Fiona held her breath as the priest entered, followed by his deacon who carried an incense thurible, and Matthew, Jamie’s second.
Straightaway, Matthew crossed to her side and in a hushed voice said, “Our laird had a dispute to settle this morrow. He asked me to accompany Father Peter to ensure yer fair treatment and to provide ye with whatever comfort is in my power.”
Fiona nodded gratefully and placed her hand on Matthew’s offered arm.
Father Peter did not glance in her direction but went straight to the bedside. She blushed at the sight of the blood stain. For a moment, she feared God might strike her and Jamie down for the lie, but then she remembered the spirit in which they chose to deceive the priest. They wanted time to form a bond that would benefit and strengthen their union; thus, bringing their clans closer together.
She watched nervously as Father Peter muttered a blessing and made the sign of the cross over the sheet. Then he stepped back while his deacon swung the incense burner over the blood—Jamie’s blood that he spilled to safeguard her honor.
“He isn’t a bad man, is he?” she said in a low voice to Matthew.
“Father Peter?” he whispered.
She shook his head. “Nay. I meant our laird.”
“The good Lord has not seen fit to make a better sort of man than Jamie MacLeod.”
Fiona looked in Matthew’s eyes and saw only truth.
Father Peter moved quietly to her side and made a cross with his thumb on her forehead. “May God bless ye and watch over ye.” Then he turned and left the room, his deacon following close behind. Scented smoke coiled behind them in thick ribbons.
Matthew smiled at her. “I shall also take my leave while ye finish readying yerself for the morning meal. We await ye in the great hall.” With a bow, he turned and left.
As the door closed behind Matthew, his words echoed in her mind. We await ye—she knew that meant his kin.
Fiona faced her maid. In Julia’s hand she saw a white piece of linen with lovely embroidered edges. Smiling, she asked, “Is that my kertch?”
“Aye, my lady.”
Fiona sat in the chair by the hearth while Julia brushed the tangles free from her thick, black hair. After her maid finished tying her new kertch in place, she turned and produced a small mirror from her sack.
Fiona studied her reflection, running her hand over the linen head covering. “When I think of a kertch, I see my mama’s face.” She took a deep breath. “Now, I am a married woman.”
And lady of Castle Làidir.
Her heart started to pound again. It was time to take her place at the high table. She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking and stood facing the door, willing her feet to move.
“Are ye ready, my lady?”
Fiona winced. “Ye’ve asked me that before, haven’t ye?”
A kind smile curved Julia’s lips. “Aye, my lady. Ye’ve been staring at yer chamber door for some time now.”
Fiona took a deep breath, wishing Esme and Abby would suddenly appear. Then she looked at Julia. “Will ye come with me?”
The maid curtsied. “Of course, my lady.”
Fiona straightened her shoulders, prayed for courage, then swung open the door.
While they wound through long corridors, she tried to imagine she was at Castle Creagan. It was a day no different than any other. Soon, she would be sitting down at the high table beside her father. The great hall would be filled with familiar, loving kin who would greet her warmly. Holding tight to the love flooding her heart, she stepped out from behind the screen onto the high dais.
A moment later, her heart sank. No amount of pretense could have made her believe she was home.
The great hall of Castle Làidir was full. All eyes turned toward her when she entered, but no one smiled. Just as she had glimpsed in the chapel the day before, people’s expressions held only suspicion and hatred. Dropping her gaze to the ground, she hastened to Matthew’s side.
“Welcome, my lady,” he said, sliding out her chair. “Do not show them yer fear,” he whispered in her ear as she sat down.
Forcing a smile to her lips, she gazed out, pretending not to see the villagers’ hostile glares.
Julia set a trencher in front of her. “Laird MacLeod told me to bid ye not wait for him.”
Her hands tightly clasped in her lap, Fiona swallowed hard and smiled at her maid, nodding her acceptance. But despite Jamie’s wishes and the hunger gnawing at her stomach, she could not even think about eating.
“Tell me of yer family,” Matthew said casually at her side.
She appreciated the captain’s effort to put her at ease, but she could hardly draw breath. Making conversation was out of the question.
Just then the door swung wide, and Jamie strode into the great hall. Her mouth fell open as she watched his approach. His hair, which hung in smooth, clean waves past his shoulders, shone golden in color. His face was clean shaven. She was struck by the strong lines of his jaw. He wore a crisp linen shirt under his plaid. Her gaze was drawn to his broad shoulders and confident stride. Sweet Lord above, but she had never seen a man as handsome as Jamie MacLeod.
He climbed the stairs to the high table, his smile making her heart race. She griped the edge of her seat when he bent to place a kiss on her cheek. His full lips warmed her skin and shot a delicious shiver up her spine. She met the honeyed warmth of his amber eyes and gasped. He smelled clean and masculine.
“Good morrow, wife,” he said for her ears alone.
She blushed. “Good morrow, husband.”
Then to her surprise, he did not take the seat at her side. Instead, he straightened and outstretched his arms to his people.
“Clan MacLeod, I stand before ye a man contrite. Prejudice has colored my judgment, leading me to chastise and cruelly treat the woman who I am now grateful to call wife. In these days of war and threat, our clans have united. Our very survival rests in the strength of my bond with this woman, which we have made unbreakable with our vows.” He placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “Yesterday, I should have presented her as yer lady. But I failed ye, and I failed her. But I do this now. Open yer hearts. The feud that has brought only suffering to our people is over. This is the way forward, and I ask ye to stand with me as I present to ye, Lady Fiona MacLeod—she is yer lady and due every respect.”
His words brought tears to her eyes. She looked up at him, struck by the hope she glimpsed in his own gaze. Then, she looked out over the room. No one moved or spoke. She held her breath. Suddenly, an older woman with a gnarled back stood up at one of the tables near the front. One by one, people began to stand, and then more people joined. Somewhere in the back, someone began to clap.
“Stand with me,” he said, drawing her gaze. She took a deep breath and nodded, slipping her hand in his. When they stood together as husband and wife, the room erupted into cheers. Her heart swelled. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she smiled through them as she looked at the people now applauding her. The same joy which burst within her heart, she saw on the face of every man, woman, and child in the hall. And she knew in that moment, that they cheered not only to honor the wishes of their laird or to welcome her into their clan—they cheered for the hope Jamie had given to them: hope for peace. She turned to look at him, struck by the admiration she suddenly felt in her heart, for she knew he had done what a laird was meant to do. He had raised his people up—her included.
“Thank ye,” she whispered.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her forehead. “Thank ye,” he responded. Then he helped her sit before claiming the seat beside her. “I was detained, forgive me.”
She smiled. “There is naught to forgive.” She squeezed his hand, her heart full.
“Ye must be half starved,” he said, reaching for a bannock which he tore in half.
She met his tender gaze and accepted the offered bread. “I am,” she admitted before taking a bite, savoring the flavor and warmth. She looked at him sidelong.
“What is it?” he asked, smiling. “I feel there is something ye wish to say to me.”
She lifted her shoulders. “Ye look different. Yer hair is lighter than I thought. ‘Tis golden, and yer face…I mean…ye’re…so…”
His smiled widened. “Ye mean I don’t look like a filthy barbarian?”
She laughed. “Aye, that is exactly what I mean.”
“Thank God, ye two have resolved yer differences,” Matthew interjected. “Because his stench was beginning to turn my stomach.”
She turned to face Jamie. “Wait. Were ye refusing to bathe just to get under my skin.”
He shrugged and popped a piece of bannock in his mouth. His cheeky grin was answer enough.
Fiona gazed out over the full trencher tables. There was an ease about the room now. Many people had turned their attention to the high table, but the animosity had fled their expressions. Now, they eyed her with curiosity. She smiled, wanting to show them that she was a kind and honorable lady. In return, several of Jamie’s kin smiled back.
“Ye’ve championed me,” she said, turning to look at her husband. “Thank ye.”
He smiled down at her. “Had my opinion of ye not changed, I still would have championed ye today. As yer husband, ‘tis my duty to protect ye, whether from my clan or even from yerself.” His lips curved in a sideways smile that made her knees weak. “My speech would have been different, however, had we not reconciled as we did last night.”
“I awoke this morrow, and for a moment, I feared it had all been a dream. I cannot wait for Esme and Abby to arrive so that I can tell them ye’re not the devil we believed ye to be.”
“Yer maids fear me as well?”
Fiona nodded. “Every MacDonnell maid has been taught to fear the MacLeod men. I can remember having nightmares about yer sire as a child.”
Jamie shook his head. “Like my grandfather, my da was a fierce warrior, but he was a gentle father and a loving husband.”
“My maids will need convincing.” She glanced at the doors anxious for their coming. “Is there still no word on their progress?”
“I have sent out riders to track them and report back to me. I would expect them no later than tomorrow. Remember, their way is a difficult one for wagons.”
She felt her heart quicken. “I pray they will not encounter the trouble we endured.”
Jamie squeezed her hand, wanting to soothe away her worries. But her reminder of their attack set his thoughts racing. For the life of him, he could not reason how Ranulf MacKenzie had known his course home. Matthew had already pointed out that it was likely the MacKenzie warriors had spotted them by chance and circled around them to get in front of their path, but Jamie was unconvinced. Despite the logic of Matthew’s council, he could not help but believe that someone had betrayed their route to the enemy. But whom?