Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

" W hy, melady, ye look very fine!"

Beaming, Beattie held the looking-glass for Dahlia to see herself before she ventured into the great hall to meet with Bairre and appear before his clansmen as his betrothed.

She was dressed in dark blue silk, her favorite gown. It hugged her slender waistline and the floor-length skirt embroidered in gold, moved sinuously with every step she took. With its long sleeves trimmed with white fur it was a gown for a grand occasion. When the dressmaker at Castle MacLeod had presented it to her a year past, she'd never dreamed that the first occasion on which she would don the beautiful garment would be her betrothal to a man she detested.

"Ye've done a marvelous job, Beattie. I dae, indeed, look fine this evening."

Beattie had spent a great deal of time and patience taming Dahlia's wild, silvery-fair mane of hair. First, she had washed and rinsed it in rose-petal scented water, brushing it dry in front of the fire so that it fell in glossy waves to her waist. She'd braided it and wound it about her head in a manner that accentuated Dahlia's heart-shaped face with its high cheekbones. The blue ribbons Beattie had woven through the braids matched the cornflower-blue of her new mistress's eyes.

It was too bad, Dahlia mused. At another time and in any other place she would have admired her appearance and reveled in the attention that would come her way. But tonight, she would draw the attention of Bairre Mackinnon, the very man whose admiration she fervently wished to avoid.

She fastened on the precious sapphire ear-bobs that had once belonged to her mother, inhaling a deep breath to calm herself and steady her shaking hands.

"I'm ready," she signaled to Beattie, who scurried over to the oaken door and hauled it open. Outside, one of Mackinnon's men in his tartan and great kilt was waiting.

"On the orders of me laird, I am tae escort ye tae the great hall where the guests await ye." She took his proffered his arm and he walked her along the passageway and down the stairs to stand at the entrance to the hall. She hated every second of it. There, he took his leave and moved away, and she was alone.

As she waited, all eyes were on her. The hall, which had been filled a moment ago with the hubbub of voices, yells and calls, hurrying servants bearing jugs of ale, mead and wine, dogs and children scampering to and fro across the rush-covered stone floor, grew silent.

At the far end of the hall Bairre caught sight of her and rose from the high table, holding aloft a golden goblet.

"Melady is here to join us at last. On yer feet lads and lassies and raise yer drinking vessels. Let us make a toast tae the happy arrival of me beautiful bride-tae-be. Slàinte mhath. "

All eyes were on her as the assembled guests rose and raised their glasses and tankards to drink her health. Dahlia could feel her cheeks flushing with heat as, by herself, she walked slowly forward. Seated at the center of the long refectory table, Bairre was flanked by Craig Donald on his right-hand and Arran Mackinnon on his left.

Her heart bounced at the sight of Arran, splendid in his great kilt, the tartan across his shoulder, his freshly laundered shirt laced to his neck. His long, fair hair was combed and smoothed over his collar to touch his shoulders. His head high, he was truly leonine and magnificent as he met her gaze.

Bairre left the table and walked to meet her. He grasped her arm and tucked it into his as the guests resumed their seats and the babble of voices recommenced. Craig Donald stood and offered her a courtly bow, then moved aside to allow her to be seated at Bairre's right, a position befitting her status as the Laird's betrothed.

It was impossible for her not to seek out Arran. She swiveled slightly and met his gaze, snatching in a deep breath. All at once she was aware that having him close meant a great deal.

Serving maids appeared with lavish platters piled high with roasted venison, wild boar and wild duck, salmon, eels and crayfish. Although she'd had nothing to eat since the bowl of porridge at Abigail's cottage, breaking her fast, the delectable feast held no appeal. Aware that Bairre was watching, she made a show of forking in a mouthful or two. But she found the meat tasteless and difficult to swallow. It was a battle to suppress the impulse to retch as the food hit her stomach.

"Ye're nae eating, Lady Dahlia?" Bairre enquired, his eyes searching hers.

"Och, mayhap me belly is nae well after the long ride."

He raised a dark eyebrow. "Oh? Methinks ye had rested well enough. Did ye nae break yer journey last night?"

Her stomach lurched. This was the moment she'd been dreading.

Now he will question me about the journey.

Resisting the urge to glance at Arran and wishing she knew what he may have told Bairre about last night and this morning, she smiled faintly.

"Indeed, me laird. While Arran Mackinnon lay injured in the house of an ancient healer-woman, I spent the night on a peasant's hard earthen floor."

Bairre nodded, a glimmer of suspicion twisting his mouth. She guessed her story was not too far distant from what he'd been told by Arran.

"And, pray, what injury did Arran sustain and how did it come about?"

She sucked in a breath at the ugly glint in her so-called fiancée's cold eyes. She knew at once, regardless of his fine manners and the newly decorated castle, that Laird Bairre Mackinnon had not changed. He was every bit as cruel and dangerous as his brother James had been.

She must think carefully about whatever explanation she made for their delay.

"Arran rushed tae rescue a poor man who'd fallen from his roof and was trapped under a heavy beam. While he was releasing the man's crushed legs, a further section of the roof collapsed, dealing Arran a mighty blow tae his back, rendering him senseless fer quite some time."

"Hmm," Bairre took in this information while Dahlia prayed silently it would be sufficient to calm his suspicions.

"Yet, ye were little more than an hour's ride from the castle. Why didnae ye ride on after he recovered his senses?"

"Arran wasnae in a fit state tae ride. His wound was deep and bleeding freely. The blood flow had to be staunched and then the injury needed stitching by the healer. We made a slow start this morning as Elspaith, the healer, insisted on placing a new dressing on the wound before we could travel."

"In which village would I find this healer?"

"Is this an interrogation, me laird?" Dahlia could feel her blood boiling and couldn't help but spit the words at Bairre.

"Of course nae, melady. ‘Tis a simple question."

"'Twas nae a village but a small group of cottages. Mayhap nae more than four or five clustered together, about an hour's ride tae the north."

She held her breath. Would Bairre send one of his scouts to find Elspaith and the others, seeking to verify this story? Bastard.

He nodded slowly. "It seems I have nay option but tae believe yer story, me Lady Dahlia. Although I'm nae happy ye spent the night in the company of Arran Mackinnon. Regardless of his injury."

"Please…" she felt her cheeks burning at his audacious words. "D'ye wish tae insult me Laird Bairre? I speak truth and 'tis unseemly fer ye tae disbelieve me."

At once he shot her a smile and patted her hand. She wanted to slap him with it for feeling free to touch her without her consent. "Dinnae fash, melady. Of course I believe yer tale."

Dahlia allowed herself to breathe again. Yet, despite, Bairre's reassuring words, his smile did not reach his eyes and she was left uncertain as to whether he'd been convinced by her story. It came as a great relief when a tall man appeared beside them, seeking Bairre's attention.

She recognized him as one of the scouts who had met them on the road earlier.

After the man had whispered a few words in his ear he got to his feet, grim-faced, excused himself from her company and followed the man. As he passed Arran, he reached over, tapped him on the shoulder and gestured for him to accompany them.

Arran shot her a concerned look as he rose to his feet.

Had Bairre's scout been sent tae seek out Elspaith? Was he reporting back to Bairre?

She could hardly breathe as the three men disappeared along a small passage leading from the hall. Moments later she got to her feet, determined to follow.

Fortunately, amid the feasting, the surge of activity in the hall and the music of the troubadours, she went almost unnoticed. Only one head turned in her direction as she rose. Craig Donald looked up from his meal and drew his brows in a puzzled frown.

She paused briefly as she passed by him. "I am needing tae relieve meself," she said in a hushed tone.

He hesitated, and for an instant she feared he would leave the table and accompany her, but he only nodded and turned back to his heaped platter leaving her to slip along the passageway in pursuit of the three men.

I must hear what is being said.

Catching sight of them at the end of a long corridor she took care to keep a safe distance. But they were out of earshot and she needed to be closer if she was to catch their words. To her relief they entered a room on the left of the passageway and she was able to hasten to crouch outside it. The door was slightly ajar and she could not only hear what was being said but see the men standing in the room.

She listened as Bairre's scout told his story.

"I found the woman, Elspaith. She is, as was said, a healer. She recalled with great clarity an accident that had befallen Arran Mackinnon when melady and he had passed a wee while nearby, tae rest their horses."

Bairre was standing, arms crossed, a look of deep suspicion on his face. She was alarmed to see his dirk at his belt, certain it had not been present when he'd been at her side at the table. He must have concealed it in his boot and now it was close by.

She closed her eyes, silently praying that Elspaith's story matched that of hers and that Bairre's suspicions would not find their mark.

The scout continued. "According tae her, a roof had collapsed, pinning a man, and Arran came tae the man's rescue." He turned from Arran to Bairre, who stood scowling, his eyes on Arran.

"She was full of praise fer Arran's bravery and lack of concern fer his own wellbeing. It seems all the villagers owe him a great debt."

Bairre huffed impatiently. "I dinnae care tae hear of the good will of a bunch of ignorant peasants. I'm concerned tae hear what kept Arran Mackinnon overnight with me betrothed." His voice was an ominous growl that caused Dahlia a ripple of fear. It was clear he was still unconvinced there'd been nothing between herself and Arran that night.

"…she tended Arran's wound. According tae her he'd taken a deep gash across his back and hip and some of the stones and timber had fallen, injuring his back, hitting his head and rendering him senseless. She stitched his wound and swore he was nae fit tae sit on his horse as he'd shed a great deal of blood and the blow tae his head had left him scarce able tae think straight."

So far, so good . Dahlia held her breath waiting for the man's next words.

"He stayed at Elspaith's house and the Lady Dahlia was housed overnight with another woman and her two children. In the morning Arran was well enough tae travel. Some lass had laundered his bloody clothes and after Elspaith changed the dressing on his wound the two of them rode off."

Dahlia slowly released the breath she'd been holding, as the scout, having told his story, took his leave of the laird and left the room to Bairre and Arran. She disappeared into a shadowy recess a few steps away, containing brooms and buckets and he passed her without glancing her way.

Once he had disappeared down the passageway Dahlia crept back to the open doorway of the study determined to hear what the two men were discussing.

Bairre was speaking, his voice loud enough for her to hear without missing a word.

"…I ken ye have great love fer her Arran Mackinnon and she's more precious tae ye than anything. But if ye wish tae see her again ye'll obey me commands. Ye'll dae all in yer power tae ensure her wellbeing."

Dahlia froze. Who is this woman Bairre speaks of? Arran has a wife?" In that instant her heart seemed to fall to her feet. The thought of Arran in love with another lass, married, caused a sharp stabbing pain in her belly and a dull ache in her chest. It was only then she understood how much he'd come to mean to her.

She'd stayed close to his side when he was injured, not only because of her kind heart, but because she wanted him. It was his arms around her and his kiss she craved. She could never give herself to Bairre Mackinnon because Arran was the one she was interested in being with.

And now, it seemed, he loved another.

The blood pounding in her head, she turned her eyes and ears back to the conversation between the two men.

Arran grunted. "Ye're a right bastard Bairre, naught better than a sheep-maggot." An unholy growl issued from his throat; his mouth twisted in a snarl. "If ye so much as touch a hair of her head, if she's hurt, I swear yer life will come tae a quick end at me hand."

Bairre gave a mirthless laugh. "Until that time, ye'll follow me orders. As ye ken, ‘tis only yer obedience tae me that keeps her alive. Ye've been fortunate this once. It seems there are witnesses tae vouch fer ye. But never forget, I will be watching. Just keep yer thoughts on yer precious Emilia and naught else. Now get out of me sight."

Arran spun on his heel and strode from the room.