“I do plight thee my troth,” she said, sinking into the safety of his gaze and pushing all else from her mind.
He leaned toward her, pausing the span of a heartbeat right before brushing his lips across hers. His mouth still within a hair’s breadth, he paused again as though warring with indecision. The chaste kiss had held unimaginable power, making it difficult to reason. She had felt it, too. With a hushed groan, he claimed her with a proper kiss, a fiery seal fueled with the loneliness and need they shared.
The crowded hall echoed with cheers. Those sitting at the tables against the walls banged their tankards and stomped their feet. The place shook with their thundering.
Still recovering from the kiss, Gretna heard nothing. All she knew was the man’s touch. The heat of him so close. His taste. May God have mercy on her soul. What had just happened?
“Music!” Alexander shouted, clapping his hands overhead. Chanters, bagpipes, bodhráns, and fiddles came to life.
With a gentle tug, Ian led Gretna back to their table placed adjacent to the chieftain’s in their honor. Evander, Rory, and Finn sat grinning as though they’d just received extra treats for Yule.
Before they took their places, Sutherland met them with a silver, two-handled cup held high so all could see. At his nod, the musicians halted their song.
“A drink to bless this union! A drink from the quaich for protection.” He lowered his voice so only they could hear. “And an oath from me to support ye in any way I can instead of nettlin’ ye with my poorly chosen jests. My apologies again, cousin. I want all to be right between us, aye? A blessing to ye both.” He took a quick sip from the vessel and held it out.
Confused, Gretna looked to Ian. “What does he mean?” Sutherland had always been an annoying tease and the first to make a jest. Everyone knew that and ignored him.
“I’ll explain later,” Ian said as he took the quaich and offered it first to her. He gave her a reassuring smile. “To our adventure, aye?”
“Aye.” If he were determined to make the best of it, then so could she. She took a sip of the fine MacCoinnich whisky, smooth but fiery. “To conquering beasties,” she added with a side-eyed glance over at her sons. She offered the vessel back to Ian.
“Aye,” Ian agreed with a wink. “To conquering all the beasties.” He drained the quaich, then gave it back to Sutherland.
Cheers shook the rafters again, and a lively reel filled the air.
“Shall I remove the bindings of yer vows so ye might dance?” Magnus asked from behind them, shouting to be heard.
Ian gave her a worried look and leaned in close, sending a shiver down her spine as his warm breath tickled her ear. “I dinna do that well when it comes to the dancing. If ye value yer feet, I dinna recommend it.”
She guided their bound hands closer to Magnus and gave him a nod to free them. Watching as he unwound the sash, she smiled. “I’d like to sit with the boys for a bit first. We’ll attempt a dance later.” They had to dance. It would be expected. The perfect plan came to mind. “We can dance as a newly formed family. With the boys, ye ken?” She watched to see if Ian would realize that the sight of her three boys hopping along with them would draw the attention away from any missteps or stumbles he might make.
He brightened and gave a quick nod. “Aye. That’ll do nicely.”
Magnus pulled away the last of the sash, then escorted them to their seats.
Ian nudged Magnus aside and held the chair for Gretna. “My dear one.”
My dear one. The sentiment stirred long ago memories of Coire and the closeness they’d shared. She shook free of the foolish spell. Ian was acting for the crowd’s sake, and so should she. She gave him a regal nod as she seated herself and scooted closer to the table. “Thank ye, kind sir.”
Servants hurried to refill their glasses and replace the remnants of the dinner feast they had already enjoyed with fresh bread, cheeses, and fruit.
She glanced down the table at the boys. All three sat with their cheeks stuffed full as they reached for more. “Dinna make yerselves sick,” she admonished. “And mind yer manners, aye? Ye act like ye’ve been starved for a month of Sundays.” She sidled a look at Ian deep in conversation with Magnus and Sutherland, then turned back to the lads. Thank goodness for her three sons.
With them in their quarters, there’d be no privacy that might make Ian feel as though their oath should be consummated. She looked at him again and swallowed hard. Surely, he’d not feel such. A mixture of disappointment and lost wishes fluttered across her. What in heaven’s name was wrong with her? If she wished this handfasting to be just for show, then she shouldn’t hope for Ian in her bed.
“Mama.” Evander tapped her elbow.
She leaned closer to hear him over the din. “Aye, my lad?”
“Lady Catriona and Lady Mercy said they made us our verra own barracks in the guard tower for tonight. William and Ramsay, too. Willa might even be there, ’cause she swears she’s better than her brother with a sword and the bow. I dinna ken. I dinna know them that well. Master Graham said the lot of us would be the keep’s special guard for the feast tonight. He’s clan war chief. He’d be there for a while, too.” He stared at her in earnest. “Can we do it? They seem like they want to be our friends.”
Gretna bit back the coarse words she’d forbidden her sons to use. Catriona and Mercy were more meddling than any pair of sisters she never wanted to have. The marrow of their thinly laid plan knotted in the pit of her stomach. She emptied her glass, glaring at the women over its rim. The conniving wenches would stop at nothing.
“Can we, Mama?” Evander repeated.
“Can we?” Rory chimed in as the current song finished and made talking a bit easier. “We’ve never done nothin’ like that before. And in the guard tower itself. They dinna allow just anybody in the guard tower.”
She leaned to see Finn. “Well, Finn? Do ye wish to go, too?” She wouldn’t force her meek lamb to do it if he didn’t wish. He was also her last hope for a shield against her own scandalous stirrings.
Wide-eyed and resembling a frightened hare, Finn gave a quick nod. “Aye, Mama. I dinna want them thinkin’ I’m a wee bairn too scairt to leave ye for a night. I can do it if’n ye’ll let me try.”
Aye, well, he might be brave this time, but she wasn’t. The boys were her skirting wall in case Ian decided to storm her keep, and she weakened enough to lower her drawbridge. At least there would still be Mam Hattie. The old woman had already moved her things into the north wing. Surely, Hattie hadn’t had time to move back to the home they’d shared since Colin drowned. She looked closer at her three wee beasties. She loved them so, and they dearly needed acceptance and friends. “Ye may go. As long as ye swear to take care of each other and mind yer manners. Ye must heed what Master Graham and the guards say—like good MacCoinnich warriors, aye?”
The three lit up with wide smiles, bouncing on the bench to be off and join the other children.
“Master Graham said we could go any time now. The guards are a waiting for us,” Evander said as he swung a leg over the bench. “Can we go now?” Rory and Finn followed suit.
She couldn’t bear to tell them no, even though she’d promised Ian their diversion during a dance. He’d just have to be brave and get through it as best he could. After all, that’s what both of them were doing. She nodded. “Ye may go now on one condition.”
All three flinched in unison, waiting for her to name it.
She held out her arms. “Yer cost is a hug for yer mother.”
Evander jumped into her embrace and squeezed her hard. “Thank ye, Mama. Thank ye ever so much.”
Patting his back, she hugged him harder. “I love ye, Evander, and I want ye happy. I know it doesna seem that way at times, but I do.”
He pecked a quick kiss to her cheek. “I’ll even give ye extra payment. A kiss!”
Not to be outdone, Rory and Finn did the same.
“And where are my wee dance partners going?” Ian asked
as the boys bounded away.
“It appears our matchmakers have outdone themselves.” She waved her empty glass at a passing maid.
“Let me fetch the wine pitcher, miss,” the girl said with a polite bob.
“Whisky, if ye please, Anne,” Gretna corrected.
Anne grinned. “Lady Catriona said to bring ye the bottle when ye asked. I willna be but a moment.”
“Whisky?” Ian arched a brow. “It must be serious. What else have they plotted? We’re handfasted, as they wished.”
“They’ve tempted the boys away for the night. Playing MacCoinnich warriors with their verra own barracks in the guard tower.”
Both of Ian’s dark brows rose. “I see,” he said. He reached for the bottle as the maid sat it on the table along with two glasses. “Definitely a call for whisky.”
At least he felt the same. “Dinna worry. Yer favorite person in the keep should still be there as moral guardian,” she promised as she accepted the glass he’d filled.
He gave her a strange look. “’Tis my understanding that Mam Hattie has already been moved back to the village. Said they didna wish yer place left empty.”
She nearly choked on the sip she’d just taken. With a hard swallow, she patted her chest. “Surely, ye jest? They havena had time. They just fetched the rest of her bundles up here yesterday.”
“And they carted them right back. Graham told me earlier.” Ian downed his glass, refilled it, then waved the bottle toward hers. “Top ye off, aye?”
Without a word, she plopped her glass on the table and slid it toward him. “Aye.” There was not enough whisky in the keep tonight.
The music grew louder, increasing to a thunderous roar with everyone’s clapping and stomping. All eyes were on them. Apparently, the crowd had waited as long as they would for the newly united couple to dance.
Ian rose and held out his hand. He had the expression of a man headed to the gallows. “Hopefully, they’re too drunk to notice how I step. Mind yer toes, aye?” he shouted.
She forced a smile. The simple reel was the least of her worries right now. She took his hand and allowed him to lead her into the first set. They stepped and spun, then stepped and spun some more. As they linked arms and whirled around in a circle, she became more aware of just what a handsome man Ian Cameron was.
It wasn’t just his braw, muscular stature that caught her attention most. Nor the way his waistcoat and kilt outlined his trim waist and powerful legs. It was his kindness, the understanding in his eyes, and a lingering sadness shadowing his smile. This fine Highland warrior tied to her for a year and day always looked as though he’d grudgingly resigned himself to his fate. She knew that feeling well. It came upon you when life stole away your dreams and turned them into nightmares. She felt a kinship with Ian. They had both lost so much.
Arms crossed at the wrists, they linked hands and spun around some more. Thank the Lord she’d not had enough time yet to drink all the whisky she intended to consume before they retired to their quarters. But the longer they spun, the more she realized that Ian seemed to be enjoying himself. She loved his deep laugh as the tempo increased, and they whirled faster. The longer they danced, the more she found herself laughing along with him. This was not so bad at all. It had been a long time since she’d let go and felt this lighthearted.
Much to every dancing couple’s relief, the reel finally ended and allowed them the chance to catch their breath.
Gretna gasped for air, “Mercy sakes! I’m winded.”
“I, too,” Ian laughed as he led her back to their table. “I dinna remember it being so hard to last the length of the song before. I must be getting old.”
They drank a while, then danced some more, unable to carry on even half a conversation due to the boisterous festivities. Even though pleasingly light-headed with drink, Gretna kept an eye on the trio of feast candles burning on the chief’s table. Alexander had established a practice long ago when he’d first become chieftain. When the row of tapers at the head table burned out, the revelry ended. At that time, the hall would be cleared, and all merrymakers were sent to their beds. She’d always felt it a good practice—until now. Now the flames ate up the wax entirely too fast.
As they finished another dance, Ian tugged her to the side of the room, behind the privacy of one of the thick stone pillars. With a covert glance around, he took both her hands in his. “We should go upstairs now whilst everyone is busy with their own merriment.” He looked around again. “If we wait until the end, they’ll all be deep in their cups, and several of them will more than likely be a damn sight cruder and more worrisome to us.”
The thought made her heart pound, but he was right. They needed to go now. She pulled away, wove through the revelers, and snatched up a fresh bottle of whisky and wine from the cabinet behind the chief’s table. She’d not retire to their rooms without extra fortification for their decanters.
Ian waited beside the stair, standing watch as though they were thieves. Thieves, indeed. More like horses attempting to escape their master’s stable. She prayed that after today, their matchmakers would find another way of amusing themselves.
He nodded his approval as she swept past him and hurried up the stairs. The closer they drew to the second floor, the more her steps slowed. She pushed on, attempting not to dwell on it. As they entered their quarters, the first thing she noticed was the silence. Compared to the uproar they’d just left, the place was quiet as a tomb.
“My goodness.” She eased deeper into the room. Even her footsteps seemed muffled as her shoes sank into the rug. “After the noisiness of the hall, I feel as if I’ve been struck deaf.”
Ian went to the wide wall of windows and pushed one of them open, lifting his face to the fresh air like a hound seeking a scent. Without looking away from the night sky, he shook his head. “Aye. The quiet here is better.” A weary chuckle escaped him as he turned and gave her a lazy smile. “Reckon our keepers are happy now?”
“Who knows?” She poured them some whisky, moved to the pair of plush chairs angled in front of the hearth, and held up his glass. These seats would be less suggestive than the couches. “Ye do want this, aye?” She set it on the small table between them and made herself comfortable.
“Most definitely.” He sauntered over, scooped up the glass, and held it high. “To my lovely partner and helpmate.”
She looked at him sharply. Had he said that as a resentful jest? She lifted her glass. “And to the braw, handsome man saddled with my family and me for a year and a day of his life that he’ll never get back.”
“I’m not bitter, lass,” he said quietly, then put his glass on the table as he took a seat. Brow furrowed, he studied her until she felt the need to fidget.
“I must look a fright after whirling about like a leaf caught in the wind.” She patted her hair and yanked at her bodice. How long had it been since a man’s perusal had made her feel so unsettled?
“I never appreciated just how lovely ye were until this day.” He tore his gaze away and stared at the flames dancing in the hearth. Eyes narrowing, he kept his focus on the fire as he lifted his glass for another drink. He turned and faced her. “Ye’ve always been here, Gretna, and yet today is like the first time I’ve ever truly seen ye.” He shook his head, speaking barely above a whisper that tickled across her like a caress. “Damnedest thing I’ve ever felt. I’ve known ye so long, and yet I dinna know ye at all.” His smile seemed thoughtful. Almost shy. “Ye were married to Colin when first we met. After Glencoe.” A scowl swept his contented look aside. “Then ye became his widow in the summer after Graham and Mercy’s son came.” He emptied his glass and took hers, then crossed the room and refilled them. “Ye mentioned earlier that ye didna wish another loveless marriage. Said ye were tricked into marrying Colin. How so?” He held out her freshened drink. “If ye dinna mind speaking of it.”
“I dinna mind.” She accepted the whisky, but put it on the table for later.
The memories seemed
like so long ago. Another lifetime, really. She never spoke about it, but Ian deserved to know the story from her lips. “Coire, my first husband, my true love, his dying was not easy nor quick.” She paused and steadied herself. The dark memories of her dear one’s suffering still pained her even after all these years. “He wasted away for weeks before passing.” She clasped her hands in her lap and watched the fire. The flames helped her handle the troubling memories. “I was huge with Rory, and Evander was but a wee bairn. Just a little over a year old. Coire knew he was going to die, but he didna fear it nor ever complain of his pain. The only thing that worried him senseless was leaving us behind. Me. His bairns. Leaving us with no means to get by.”
“Sounds like he was a good man.” Ian placed his glass on the table beside hers and leaned forward with his hands clasped, watching her, waiting.
“He was a good man,” she said softly. The senseless grudge she bore gave her strength to continue as the darker memories surfaced. “Coire was a much better man than his shiftless twin brother.” She’d burn in hell for the malice she still held for Colin and all the troubles he’d caused her. “Coire promised to give Colin all we had if he’d marry me and provide for our children.” She met Ian’s gaze, not flinching against the hatred she heard in her own voice. “He agreed, and the priest heard our vows in front of Coire right when he died to send him on his way in peace.” Her hands tightened into fists. “Thank God I was only married to Colin a scant three years before the bastard did me the courtesy of dying, too.”
“And how did he die?”
She almost laughed. Ian sounded as though he feared she had killed Colin. She’d already told him she had planned to do it. Bitterness filled her. Calmed by the candlelight’s reflection in her swirling whisky, she forced a civilized tone. “Drowned.” She paused for a sip of her drink, wickedly tempted to toast the statement. “He and a few others had been charged with taking several MacCoinnich horses to their new owner in Glasgow. They stopped in Finnich Glen to water the stock, but rains had flooded the gorge and made it too dangerous. At the Devil’s Pulpit, the fool stepped too close, and the ground gave way. The waters took him. They never found his body.”
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