Page 25 of The Wrong Bride
Every pair of eyes was focused on them, and the expressions ranged from curious to worried to skeptical to hopeful. A clan chief was the focus, and from him radiated prospects for the future. These people didn’t know if they could trust McCallum, absent so long from their lives, beginning when his mother hadn’t trusted his father. Did the clan worry he would be just another drunkard? Or would he be weak because he’d been raised by one for the formative years of his life?
And then Dermot rose to his feet on the dais, and lifted a goblet of wine toward his cousin. “The McCallum!”
A sudden roar of welcome made her start. Only when she felt the release of tension in McCallum’s arm did she realize how tense he’d truly been. He did not grin, for he wasn’t a man given to easy amusement, as she already knew. But his expression was proud and gratified, even as he led her to the dais and up the short staircase. She stood to his right and stared out at the curious crowd.
McCallum raised both hands and began to speak, and she realized she could understand none of it. Whatever he said to his people, they nodded or smiled or looked solemn. Many snuck glances at her, and she knew it must be easy to tell that shedidn’t understand a word. Some would look down on her now as a Duff who wanted so little to do with their homeland that she hadn’t learned the language. Her father and uncle never spoke it in front of her, and her mother was English. It had never even been a consideration as she learned French and Latin. Now she felt guilty, as if she should have known, at eight years of age, to find a Scottish tutor.
And then she heard her name in the midst of the Gaelic words, and Hugh lifted her hand up as if presenting her. No one booed her as a Duff, but the applause was only scattered and dutiful. She looked speculatively at Dermot, but when her gaze met his, he glanced pointedly away. Hugh released her hand and went on speaking.
“Good evening, my lady,” whispered a man to her right.
She turned quickly, only to find herself relaxing with relief. “Oh, Samuel, you startled me.”
He bowed his head, even as she considered her reaction. He’d been complicit with his chief in capturing her, yet she almost felt him some kind of ally, which was ridiculous. He would never be the man she might beg to help her. She’d already tried that. He’d seen her terrified and afraid, and he’d done nothing to help her escape, simply hid her rebellion from McCallum after the highwaymen attacked. But at the moment, he was a sympathetic face, the only man who spoke to her in English.
Samuel held up a hand, as if he understood her confusion, and they both waited while McCallum finished speaking. When at last he sat down, voices rose again, the musicians started playing, and serving men and women appeared from a far corridor carrying wooden platters above their heads. A burly man came to stand behind Hugh, bristling with weapons, and giving everyone a menacing stare of warning that their chief would be well protected.
“Ye look well, Lady Catriona,” Samuel said.
“Thank you. It is good to feel clean again.”
He grinned. “Aye, I understand the feeling well.”
“What did your chief just say?”
“The right thing, I believe,” Samuel responded, looking out over the relaxed crowd. “How glad he was to have returned, and how he looked forward to proving himself as their chief.”
“Proving himself?”
“Aye, he hasn’t been inaugurated yet,” Samuel said, wearing a small grin. “Not that I’m worried about such formalities.”
She glanced at McCallum with interest, but he wasn’t looking at her.
The platters were brought to the dais first, and McCallum and Riona were presented with the choicest lamb, chicken, and trout. She was surprised by her wooden trencher, but it was finely crafted and rimmed with silver. Using a drinkingbowl that Samuel called acuachwith handles covered in silver, McCallum drank a large mouthful, gave an appreciative nod, and passed it along to Dermot.
“’Tis our famous whisky,” Samuel told her, “the makings of which your family coveted for generations.”
“Which led to the infamous betrothal,” she said, keeping her expression neutral. “Are these people angry that your precious land has been shared with the Duffs these last twenty years?”
“Impatient, perhaps, for the day their generosity would pay off with the generosity of the earl and the tocher offered on your behalf.”
There was nothing she wanted to say to that. That contract was the reason she’d been stolen away and most likely ruined in the eyes of Society. Hugh had probably ensured that his people would never have the tocher they expected.
She glowered at her food, but forced herself to eat. Someone began to speak as if to entertain, and she recognized the lilting tone of a poet or bard, which Samuel confirmed for her.
“He speaks of the ancient deeds of our people,” McCallum added from her left.
She turned to face her captor. “Perhaps much of it in battle against my people?”
His faint smile contained real amusement and his silver gray eyes glittered. “Some, yes, but there’salways a Campbell to be angry with in every generation.”
He and Samuel looked at each other with understanding, and she barely resisted rolling her eyes. Men and their feuds and their battles. If women ruled the world, things would be different. Of course, Queen Anne had ruled Great Britain until just over ten years ago, and nothing much had changed. In fact, most in Scotland would deem her rule, during which Scotland had become united with England, as a detriment to them all.
To change the subject, she asked Samuel, “Do all of these people live within the castle?”
“Some of these men are chieftains with their own lands who owe fealty to the McCallum. They traveled to Larig upon hearing that Hugh was approaching.”
She hadn’t even known McCallum had sent word ahead, but of course, he’d often been apart from her in Stirling.
