The Raid of Balvenie and the Maiden Who Survived
Page 8
The Great Hall of Dunnottar’s manor house was filled with people who had come for the festivities to celebrate the recent birth of William Keith’s newest son. William and Margaret had opened their fortress to the citizens of Stonehaven, and the townsfolk had turned out in droves for the celebration. The food was nearly gone when Jean entered the hall, having delayed her attendance as long as possible, frightened for what she’d agreed to.
Musicians were playing a reel while groups of dancers held hands in circles while turning round and round. Jean watched from just inside the door wondering how long until MacKay appeared and began acting like he owned her. She’d told him she would attend after all, so she knew he’d be waiting and watching for her.
“Where have you been?” he said into her ear from behind. His voice snarled and bit.
Jean turned and with the movement put distance between them. She ignored his exhibited vexation, reminding herself what she was about, and spoke in as pleasant a voice as she could command.
“Hello, Gus. I’m sorry I’m late. Was the food any good? The dancing is nice.”
“What does it matter about the food?” he snapped. Then he seemed to realize he was being testy. He watched the dancers a moment like he needed the time to rein in his frustration.
“Shall we join the circle?” he finally asked.
“I don’t really like dancing.” That wasn’t completely true. She’d liked it before. But she couldn’t see herself dancing ever again, not when she couldn’t even smile.
“You will dance with me.” The edge was back in his words. He tossed back his yellow hair.
They locked eyes. Jean struggled with her will and pride, trying to stamp them down and find a way to act like a submissive lover. Her father’s face floated into her mind, and her resolve rallied. She placed her hand on his chest.
“Okay,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on his. A marriage to this one would be hellacious, she thought as he finally broke off his stare. He looked down, snatched up her hand, and led her into the revolving circles of dancers.
Jean’s heart wasn’t in the dance at all, and she blocked her feelings, deadening her emotions so she wouldn’t painfully remember the dances from her past that had been full of joy and laughter. She marked out the steps, spinning with MacKay, and then the other men in the circles as they came around, but her face remained set. She could not even pretend to smile.
After four dances, MacKay finally pulled her from the floor and led her to the side of the room where others were clapping along with the musicians and shouting out to the dancers. MacKay found a spot behind a group, next to a window, and he turned and took Jean’s upper arms into his hand and pulled her closer to him.
“Jean, I want you to be my wife. I will rule Balvenie for you. Laird Keith has given his blessing on this. You are to marry me.” No preamble, no declaration of feelings. But Jean didn’t care. He was fulfilling the next step of what she required.
“All right,” she answered.
His expression melted and he looked at her in amazement.
“Truly?” he gasped.
“Aye, Gus,” she stated without emotion.
Before she could blink, his mouth was pressed hard against hers, his fingers digging painfully into her upper arms. She wanted to scream. She pulled back her foot to kick him in the shin, but then she remembered. She returned her foot to the floor and waited for him to take his horrible mouth off hers. His eyes were tight, and she stared at him, enduring his abuse bravely.
When he ended the awful kiss, her lips throbbed and felt hot with swelling. His grin spread wide and he looked around haughtily, as if to check who might have seen him claim his woman. But Jean didn’t care. What did it matter? What she needed had been accomplished.
That done, Jean was suddenly spent beyond reason. She desperately needed to be away by herself, away from the noise, the gaiety, and especially MacKay. And to wash out her mouth.
Gus searched around, looking for a group of his mates, surely to boast of his conquest. Jean was of no concern to him now.
“I’m tired. I’m going to go,” she said.
He was already trying to work his way into a conversation with the group of lads next to them where his friend Seamus and several other young men were lusting after the dancing lasses. Jean simply turned and went out the door. MacKay didn’t even notice. She was relieved. She despised him. She didn’t know how long she could pretend to tolerate him. She wiped her lips, hoping to erase the feeling of him pressing his mouth so forcefully against her own. Hopefully, the time to act would be soon. Before she went to bed, she would find Panahasi and tell him MacKay had asked for her hand. Maybe the news would bring forthwith the plan to do whatever it was they were going to do.
BETROTHED