Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

E nya stared at her reflection in the looking-glass with the kind of satisfaction that only came after a job well-done. A pleased smile spread over her lips as she regarded herself, hands smoothing the fabric of her dress over her torso.

She had never looked worse.

The dress she had chosen was one she had packed in her belongings in a whim, thinking that perhaps at some point in her stay in Jura, she would have to do something that involved a lot of mud, a lot of saltwater, or a lot of both. The weather was bound to be miserable most days, after all, and so any task that involved being outside for a long time—even horse riding—required a dress that she didn’t mind ruining.

This was such a dress. The plain, brown fabric sagged around her shoulders and waist, giving the sense that she was rather oddly-shaped under her clothes. There was nothing on it to suggest she was of noble blood—no intricate details, no embroidered decorations—nothing but a stretch of muddy brown, covering her from head to toe.

She had allowed the maids to braid and pin up her hair, though, thinking that perhaps it would only add to the effect. Not only would she look even stranger, but she could also feign innocence once Laird MacDonald questioned her on her sartorial choices—and he was bound to question her. He had specifically instructed her to wear something nice, something flattering that would impress the elders of the clan. Enya doubted he would let it go without berating her for it. He was not the kind of man to fear confrontation.

Luckily for Enya, neither did she. Though she didn’t seek it, she had no problem putting the laird in his place. After all, he had been rude to her first, and terribly so.

After this, he will certainly hate me.

With one last look in the looking-glass, Enya left the room and headed down to the great hall, where the dinner would be held. When two guards opened the doors for her, she saw that everyone else was already there, standing in small groups near the table, and every single one of them turned his head to look at her the moment she stepped inside.

Enya froze under their stares. She had thought it would be easy, walking in, taking her seat, and being as annoying as possible to all these men, but under their sudden scrutiny, her first instinct was to flee.

But no, she thought. She would not rest until her task was over.

Taking in a deep breath, Enya plastered her most charming smile on her face and walked into the room, where the air seemed more oppressive than on a summer afternoon. She was not used to such an atmosphere. Back home, every dinner table was filled with her family, with not only men, but also with women she knew and loved. Here, she knew no one. Here, she seemed unable to find a single friendly face in the crowd.

But then her gaze fell on Archibald and Duncan, the only two people who had shown her some, if not quite kindness, then interest. Though Duncan, too, was staring and his gaze seemed even more piercing to Enya than anyone else’s, there was an amused smile on his lips as if to say he knew precisely what it was Enya was trying to do. Archibald, on the other hand, was the only one who wasn’t staring at her, but was rather looking around at the men surrounding him with such concern Enya feared he would faint on the spot.

Poor Archibald. Tonight will be difficult fer ye.

“Lady MacLeod!” called Duncan as he clapped his hands together, effectively drawing everyone’s attention. It was at that point that the laird said with an icy tone “Welcome Lady MacLeod, now that ye are among us, we can all take our seats.” Turning to one of the servants standing near the far wall, he said, “Let dinner be served.”

As everyone else shuffled over to the table, Enya glanced over to the chairs, knowing Laird MacDonald would sit at the head and she would be seated next to him. Not only did she not feel like sitting next to the man, though, but disregarding the seating arrangements also seemed like a good idea, another way to anger the elders.

Just as Archibald and Duncan headed to the table, Enya rushed over to them as covertly as she could, situating herself between them. When Archibald looked at her, she only smiled and made no effort to move, hoping he would say nothing on the matter.

“Lady MacLeod, yer seat?—”

“Please, allow me,” said Duncan as he pulled the chair out for her to sit, interrupting Archibald. It was the seat she would have chosen, the one between the two men and two whole seats down from where Laird MacDonald would sit. Enya took the seat with a smile, though this time she ignored the stares she received from the men.

If they wish tae stare, then they can. The more they disapprove o’ me, the better me chances o’ ruining’ this marriage.

As she sat between Archibald and Duncan, though, she couldn’t help but wonder why the latter was helping her. Perhaps he truly did find it amusing, Enya thought. She hardly knew him, but he gave her the impression of the kind of man who would be against the entire council, simply because he found them too traditional.

Or perhaps he, too, had something to gain from this. Enya couldn’t imagine what that could be, though.

As he and Archibald took their seats, the glance they exchanged didn’t escape Enya’s attention. Despite Archibald’s blatant disapproval, though, he said nothing. It seemed to her that he knew how to pick his battles.

Laird MacDonald said nothing either as he sat at the head of the table, but his glare told Enya everything she needed to know. He was anything but pleased by her behavior and though he said nothing now, his stare was a promise that he would have much to say to her later. If she were honest with herself, a part of her looked forward to it. Would this be enough for him to send her away, she wondered? Could it all be over so easily?

As the servants began to serve the dinner, the elders were quiet, nothing more than a few whispers reaching Enya’s ears. She couldn’t decipher their words, but she didn’t need to; the dirty looks they gave her spoke clearer than any words.

Enya took a moment to observe them all, her gaze passing over them as though she was merely glancing around, but it was enough for her to know which ones were shocked the most by her appearance and behavior. The majority of them seemed disturbed by her presence, but very few looked at her with any real anger, and she thought it was time to change that.

As she was served, Enya tucked into her roasted meat instantly and with gusto, disregarding—admittedly with some difficulty—every lesson her governess had ever taught her. She gripped her cutlery as though it was a pair of swords, her knuckles going white from the pressure she put as she carved into the meat and then stabbed it onto her fork and brought it to her mouth, inhaling the food as fast as she could. She let the juices drip from her lips and coat her chin, some of it even dripping down to her dress as she ate.

A polite cough sounded from her left and Enya looked up to see Archibald offering her a napkin without any comment. Laughing awkwardly, Enya took it and dabbed at the juices, looking around at the elders with the most innocent look she could muster.

They were neither amused nor impressed by her behavior. In fact, some of them looked on in horror, their mouths hanging open in shock and their eyes comically wide.

“Lady MacLeod, were ye nae meant tae come here with yer sister?” Duncan asked, and just like that, the tension over the table lessened, as though a spell had been broken, though the elders didn’t quite stop with their scrutiny. “How come ye are alone?”

“Me sister wasnae feelin’ well,” Enya said around a mouthful of food for good measure. She took a moment to swallow before continuing. “An’ the travel was long an’ difficult in such a storm, but since I was ordered tae come here, I had nay other choice. She will be joinin’ us in a few days.”

“Ye were invited here,” Laird MacDonald said, giving her a sharp look. “Ye could have declined the invitation had ye so wished.”

“I’m sure what Lady MacLeod is sayin’,” interrupted Archibald before Laird MacDonald could say anything else, “is that the king’s orders came at an inopportune time, considerin’ the weather. But surely, she enjoys bein’ here, isnae that so, Miss MacLeod?”

“Och aye,” said Enya drily, making it clear that she didn’t enjoy it at all as she met Laird MacDonald’s challenging gaze. “I am enjoying it very much.”

“If ye dinnae enjoy it?—”

“Then we will dae our very best tae rectify that,” said Archibald before Laird MacDonald could finish his sentence. “Anythin’ ye desire, we can provide. Laird MacDonald would be more than happy tae help make this transition in yer life as pleasant as possible.”

This transition, he says… so he is certain the weddin’ will happen.

As Laird MacDonald’s right-hand man, Archibald was bound to know more than Enya did. Was Laird MacDonald determined to see this through, even if he didn’t like her? Would he still marry her even if he despised her? Or was it all for the sake of the council, and in reality the laird had different plans behind closed doors?

For a long while, neither she nor Laird MacDonald looked away, as though it was a contest of will and they were both eager to win. The more Enya looked at him, though, the more she noticed about the man—the golden flecks in his grey eyes, the few threads of silver among his ink-black hair, the pearled edges of the scar that ran over his eye. With great regret, it was then that Enya fully realized for the first time that Laird MacDonald was infuriatingly handsome.

So handsome was he, in fact, that Enya found herself glancing away first, losing this battle of will as her cheeks heated uncomfortably and a frown knitted her brows together as confusion settled heavy in her mind. She had met handsome men before; in fact, both Archibald and Duncan were rather handsome and neither of them was as beastly or rude as Laird MacDonald. And yet, Enya had not once blushed like this when looking at them nor had she ever felt the need to look away, as if she had been caught stealing bannocks from the kitchen.

What has come over me? Why cannae I even look at him?

Enya was quick to chase those thoughts out of her mind. She had a task on which she had to focus, one that was far more important than whatever had just happened to her to confuse her like this.

Instead of giving Laird MacDonald any more attention, she looked around the table to find those men who had seemed most irritated with her, and her gaze fell on the two right across from her.

She had disliked them instantly, and though the mere thought of engaging in conversation with them was as appealing as being trampled by a horse, Enya knew they would be the perfect targets for her next trick. The more she listened to them speak, though, the more her plan stopped revolving around a mere trick and began instead to weave itself out of pure rage.

“The villages have enough resources,” the stocky one said, pointing at the other with his fork. “I can only imagine they are hidin’ some o’ the grain. Accordin’ tae our estimates, they should be producin’ much more than what they report.”

“Aye, so I thought, but we have sent men tae search the storages,” said the other man. “They have found naething.”

“Or they ken how tae hide it well.”

“Or they are starvin’,” said Enya, loudly enough for the whole table to hear. Silence stretched over them all, heavy and suffocating, but Enya was undeterred. “Have ye ever considered that? Have ye ever considered perhaps they have had tae consume all the grain already? Or that if they are, indeed, stealin’ as ye say, they steal because it is their only choice?”

The two men glared at her, making no effort to disguise their contempt. It was a delicate balance, the one they were called to keep. On the one hand, they didn’t look like they wanted to let this go. On the other, they couldn’t say anything that would offend her, since not only was she their guest, but also the woman who was meant to become the Lady of the Clan.

“Even if that is so, they have nae right tae withhold resources from the laird,” said the stocky one, eyes narrowing as he regarded Enya. “We are the ones who decide the distribution o’ the goods.”

“Enough.”

Laird MacDonald’s voice echoed loud and clear over the table and his piercing gaze found not only Enya’s, but the men’s as well. Enya stared right back at him this time, defiant, but when she parted her lips to speak once again, the laird’s sharp look made her fall silent.

“This isnae a discussion suitable fer the dinner table,” Laird MacDonald said. “But I will require a report on the state o’ the villages in me study later.”

There was a lot more that Enya wished she could say. There was a lot she wanted to share with those two men about the way they seemed to handle clan matters, but she decided to remain quiet this time, even as the conversation around her picked up again—whispers at first and then full-blown, drowning out the sound of the cutlery as the men ate.

Enya couldn’t stomach another bite.

“He isnae angry with ye.”

Archibald’s voice was barely a whisper when he spoke to her and Enya turned to look at him with a small, confused frown.

“I mean, perhaps he is irritated by the way ye spoke out o’ turn,” Archibald amended, “but he is concerned fer the villagers. That disregard fer them is what angers him.”

As Archibald spoke, Enya glanced at Laird MacDonald to find him silent and deep in thought as he stared at the two men and she thought that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as bad as she had first thought.