Page 69 of The Wrong Bride
Lady McCallum stiffened, but didn’t answer.
Riona knew that discovering the truth wasn’t going to be that easy. “Whatever it was, holding a grudge for ten years is a long time. You can try to work things out.”
“Then ye don’t know my son very well,” she said bitterly.
“No, I don’t. And yet you, and everyone else, think I should marry him.”
“Think?” Lady McCallum turned to meet her eyes at last. “I don’t just think it. ’Tis your duty to marry him, to do as both of your fathers wished. Have ye not seen how lucky a lass ye are?”
“Did you think yourself lucky when you married his father?”
“’Tis not the same at all.”
“No? It feels it to me.” When Lady McCallum looked as if she’d continue defending her son, Riona raised a hand. “I’m not here to argue with you. I just wanted to invite you to celebrate tonight.”
“He doesn’t want me there.” Lady McCallum spoke with sad conviction.
“Maybe not, but no one can change that but you.”
Those eyes, so like Hugh’s, now met hers in fear. “What has he told ye?”
Riona frowned. “About what?”
Lady McCallum’s gaze studied her face so intently that Riona almost felt touched.
“Never mind,” the woman whispered. “I—I need to rest.”
Riona saw herself out, but now she was even more puzzled than before. Whatever had happened between Lady McCallum and her son, it was certainly not a typical argument. Riona was still surprised by her own need to help Hugh come to peace with the past. But it was something she could do, and living among the enemy had taught her to take her small successes where she could.
But the chief’s mother did come down for the ceremony that night, and Riona stood with the family in the crowded great hall. She was surprised and moved by the formal splendor of it, the robing of Hugh all in white, the granting of a white rod of lordship and the ancestral sword of his clan. Theclan chaplain, from nearby Sula, gave a blessing. The entire hall processed out onto the torchlit courtyard, where Hugh stood above his people on the stone carved with the McCallum animal, a wolf, while a long oration began of the exploits of their ancestors, and a recitation of their names for generations. Riona was told all of this by Maggie, and even caught a few words here and there herself.
“Ye know, as Hugh’s wife, ye’ll have to learn the list of McCallums,” Maggie told her, smiling.
Riona gave an exaggerated shudder. “In English, I hope.”
But it might be Cat learning about the McCallums, not her. And she looked at Hugh and tried to imagine her cousin standing at his side, but couldn’t.
They all returned to the great hall for a feast that lasted long into the night. Songs were sung in Hugh’s honor, and Riona heard a few words calling him their “secured fortified rock,” their “defensive shield,” their “noble hawk.” No wonder some chiefs considered themselves a god.
But not Hugh. He accepted the honor with utter gravity and solemnity, performing each part of the ritual with focus, standing at attention during all of the oration. Riona couldn’t help being impressed by how seriously he took his part in the clan—but then she already knew what lengths he’d go to to ensure that his people thrived.
But he’d made a terrible error with her, and they would all find out someday soon. She swallowed back the feelings of grief and fear over what might happen. If Cat could be persuaded to continue the betrothal, all might yet be well. Perhaps that’s who Riona should appeal to. Appealing to Aberfoyle himself, who’d deliberately tried to ruin the contract, might be the worst thing she could do.
And then she heard her thoughts, and realized she was thinking about appealing on behalf of the man who’d kidnapped and frightened her. But her feelings, everything, had changed . . .
ITwas almost dawn by the time Hugh entered his rooms, swaying and humming to himself. It was done—the clan approved of him and he was their official leader until he died. Dermot had organized everything himself, and it felt good to know that at last he’d won the man’s approval.
But would he earn his betrothed’s approval?
He went through both doors between their rooms and found her asleep, the bed curtains open as if she’d been anticipating his arrival. He laughed a bit in triumph, imagining being with her again. He lit a candle from the embers of the peat fire and brought it to the bed table to look upon her. Resting a hand for balance on the frame of her box-bed, he just stared at her, the way the candlelight seemed to shimmer through the golden strands of her hair.He’d been so proud to have her at his side for the inauguration. She’d listened as intently as if she’d understood every word, although he’d seen his sister translating for her.
Better than Samuel doing it all the time, Hugh told himself. He didn’t want people thinking his bodyguard coveted his betrothed—though he knew Samuel would never betray him. But would Riona use Samuel to get what she wanted?
He frowned down upon her, the sweet pinkness of her cheeks, her softly parted lips, the beauty of her curves, most of which he’d touched, and some of which he anticipated tasting at last. Every time with her was another lesson for them both. When he’d last enjoyed her bed, he’d been stunned at her need to share pleasure with him, grateful she’d wanted to touch him so intimately. Even a normal bride could have fears, but when one has been forcibly kidnapped—Riona could have been in fear of him forever.
Yet . . . when he’d returned from the cattle raid, she’d still said she had no official place in the household. She was the future bride of the chief, who willingly kissed him and pleasured him. Surely he’d won her over; it was time to plan the wedding.
He dropped a kiss on her head—he’d meant to be gentle about it, but almost fell over instead. She gasped and pushed until she realized who leaned over her in the dark.
