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 de
vil 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?
Chapter 21
Fiona spent most of her day meeting clan members and learning her way around Castle Làidir. Làidir was not as large as Castle Creagan, but she was beautifully imagined with four towers surrounding the keep, connected by bridges, complete with parapets. The chambers were all generous in size. Many boasted glazed arched windows. The woven rushes throughout the hall and family rooms were fresh enough, but, as far as she could tell, they had never been sprinkled with herbs. It was natural for her to address such issues, and it had been a challenge to hold her tongue throughout the day. Jamie had yet to establish her role at Làidir, but that would have to wait. Having glimpsed her laird from a distance throughout the day, she knew his attention was where it should be—helping the recent victims of the MacKenzie raids and planning their clans’ counter attack.
At nightfall, Julia came to her in the solar.
“Come with me, my lady. I will take ye to yer room so that ye might settle in for the night.”
Fiona had yet to view the lady’s quarters, and so she eagerly followed. But when the maid swung open the door to Jamie’s chamber, Fiona hesitated. “Is this right?”
“Excuse me, my lady?”
“I mean to say, are ye certain our laird wishes me to sleep here, in his chambers?”
“Aye, my lady. The wardrobe over there is empty. There will be plenty of space when yer clothing and affects arrive. Is there something wrong?”
“Nay, ‘tis just…I am just surprised.”
“Isn’t it obvious,” Julia said with a coy smile. “He wants ye close to him.”
Fiona blushed, pleased by the idea of Jamie wanting to keep her close, but then she frowned.
“What is wrong, my lady?” Julia asked before circling around her to untie the laces of her overdress.
Fiona shook her head. “Nothing,” she lied. A tightness filled her chest. What if Jamie wanted to keep her close because he still didn’t trust her? What if it was all a lie—the truce, his kindness, his vow never to hurt her.
“Enough!”
“Forgive me, my lady. I’m nearly finished,” Julia exclaimed, her fingers working at a sudden frenzy.
Fiona turned and gently clasped the maid’s hands. “Ye must forgive me for startling ye. I was admonishing myself, not ye.”
Slowly, the tension eased from Julia’s shoulders. “For a moment, I thought ye might not be as kind as I’ve judged ye to be.”
Fiona smiled to put her maid at ease, but then she expelled a slow breath. “Trust is a funny thing, isn’t it? Ye can’t trust someone a little. Either ye trust them or ye don’t. Ye must leap with yer whole heart to escape the trap that is suspicion.”
Julia eased Fiona’s surcotte down her arms. “I don’t ken much about leaping, and I’ve never given my heart away. But I do know what I saw today—a hall filled with MacLeods cheering for a MacDonnell.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “My mother used to pray for such a day, may God rest her soul.”
“May God rest her soul,” Fiona repeated.
After Julia helped her remove her tunic, the maid curtsied and started to leave, but she whirled around when she reached the door.
“If I may be so bold, my lady,” Julia blurted.
Fiona smiled. “Ye can always speak yer mind with me.”
The young maid held her gaze, her eyes bright. “Trust is earned, and ye have mine, my lady.”
Fiona’s heart swelled. She pressed her lips tight against the sudden rush of emotion. “Thank ye, Julia,” she choked out. “Yer words mean more to me right now than ye could possibly know.”
Julia smiled, dipping into a deep curtsy. Then she turned and left.
In that moment, Fiona resolved not to give herself over to false imaginings. There was no reason to doubt Jamie. He had earned her trust the moment he championed her to his people.
Fiona wandered about the room while she ran a comb through her hair. She studied the tapestries, which appeared no less gruesome than they had the night before. She could only assume the violent subjects were chosen for the same reason the demons had been carved into the hearth—to frighten away the fairfolk. Her gaze scanned the laird’s dark chamber. She imagined what she would do to brighten the walls. The idea thrilled her. With her laird’s permission, she could bring new life to the MacLeod fortress.
She was standing in front of the hearth when Jamie walked in. Smiling, she turned and started walking toward him, but then she remembered that she was clad in naught but her sheer kirtle. The comb slipped from her fingers when she crossed her arms over herself, hiding her body. He hastened to the bedside, grabbing one of the smaller furs before he moved to her side and wrapped the soft blanket around her shoulders.
“Ye seemed cold,” he said, smiling knowingly.
A tingling of warmth spread throughout her body. “Thank ye,” she said, gazing up at the masculine contours of his perfectly chiseled jaw. His golden hair gleamed in the firelight, making his amber eyes shine. He strode to the basin and splashed water on his face.
“Ye’re weary,” she observed.
He pulled his plaid from his shoulder to wipe his face. Then he let the fabric hang over his belt, leaving his chest bare. Her gaze followed the sinewy lines of his stomach and the corded ridges of muscles across his shoulders and arms. Then she shifted her gaze back to his face. Again, she glimpsed his weariness.
“I saw ye today meeting with the grieving families in the hall,” she said. “Yer tenderness moved me.” Her gaze dropped to the ground. “I’m so very ashamed for having thought so ill of ye.”
“Nay, lass,” he said, coming forward and taking her free hand. “My thoughts were no better, but we both must turn our gazes forward. We’ve cast off the wearisome cloak of hatred. Now, better days are ahead of us.” He kissed the back of her hand. “Look forward with me.”
She smiled. “Not too far forward. This is the first chance I’ve had to speak with ye all day.”
He took her hand. “Join me a while,” he said, leading her over to the bed.
Clutching the fur close with her free hand, she followed and sat beside him.
He shifted to face her. Slowly, he reached out and tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, causing her breath to hitch. She swallowed hard.
“As I was going about my day, ye never strayed far from my thoughts,” he said, his voice low and familiar. “I’m sorry we did not have more time together.”
“No matter,” she said, breathlessly. “There is much to be done to safeguard our clans.”
Dear God above, but he was so close now!
She breathed deep his masculine scent. He grazed his fingers down her cheek, sending a shiver coursing up her spine.
His hands were so big and strong. Just one day ago, she had feared his
strength. Never could she have imagined him capable of such tenderness.
“Why are ye blushing?” he asked softly.
His gaze held hers captive. She swallowed hard as feelings, unfamiliar and intoxicating, coursed through her. She lifted her shoulders in answer. “I…I don’t know what to say or think. I can barely breathe.”
He drew closer, resting his hand on her lower back. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Ye’re not still afraid of me?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Nay, ‘tis just…I…I’m barely clad, sitting next to ye on the bed, and…yer hands, yer touch…”
“I am yer husband. Is it not natural for me to touch ye?”
Her blush deepened. “Aye, ye’re my husband, but for some reason I’m trembling, and my heart is racing.” Her hands flew to cover her face. “I’m making no sense. Ye must think me mad.”
Gently, he tugged her hands away. She met his gaze.
“We are married, but ye’re still a maid. Yer response to my touch is natural and pleases me enormously. But do not fret. Remember, we are just getting to know each other.” He cupped her cheek. “Right now, I’m learning that yer skin is as soft as silk.” He leaned close, breathing deeply. “Yer hair smells of lavender and honey.” A smile tugged at his lips. “That I already knew.” He pressed a slow, soft kiss to her cheek, his lips full and warm. She closed her eyes against the rush of feeling that shot through her. Her heart quaked. She dropped her gaze. His scent surrounded her. She wet her lips and clutched the blanket to keep her hands from shaking.
“I can’t breathe,” she blurted.
Brows drawn, he crooked his thumb under her chin, gently forcing her to meet his gaze. “Mayhap, we should just talk for a while.”
She expelled a long breath and nodded.
He scooted back, lying on his side with his head propped up on his hand. A lazy smile tugged at one side of his lips. “Let’s start with a simple question. How old are ye?”
Captured Hearts and Stolen Kisses Page 117