Page 21 of The Groom Wore Plaid
“Aye, my lord,” Martin said. “I never believed what the old chief tried to do—peace! With the McCallums!”
The entire hall had gone silent now as the old man’s ringing voice echoed up to the cavernous beamed ceiling.
Martin raised a fist. “None of ’em are worth lowerin’ ourselves. I bided me time, but I always thought ye’d see the truth and refuse this foolhardy plan. But here she is, a McCallum, and ye cannot take yer eyes from her, when there are plenty of good lasses from yer clan, like me own daughter.”
“Da!” The woman practically screeched now, and took her father’s arm and began to pull. “I’m beggin’your pardon, my lord,” she beseeched Owen. “He’s addled with drink. Let me get him home, please.”
“Take him and go,” Owen ordered.
He nodded at the guards near the door who strode forward, sword sheaths jingling against their belts. Martin looked briefly surprised at the escort, but he said nothing else, only shot a bitter glower over his shoulder at the dais, before his daughter pulled him down the side aisle.
Whispers became conversation soon enough, as neighbors leaned toward each other to talk. Maggie remained still, chin raised in defiance against each curious glance from members of the clan.
CHAPTER5
Owen stared hard as the doors closed behind Martin Hepburn, then turned an angry glare over the whole hall. Dozens of pairs of eyes focused on their own plates, and the conversation sounded closer to normal rather than salaciously whispered.
He looked at Maggie, whose face was pale, though her eyes glared at him with defiance. He was surprised at the urge to pull her into his arms and promise to keep her safe. It was an emotional response, not a practical one. But he couldn’t promise such a thing, not when she was a McCallum on Duff lands. She wouldn’t want his help anyway. She was a woman who preferred to stand on her own, to defy the promise they’d just made for the benefit of their clans. She confused him and irritated him and enraged him—all emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time.
But he never allowed emotions to interfere with his decisions, especially where his clan was concerned.Maggie changing her mind and now this act of arson occurring at the same time made him suspicious. His concern about her brother’s involvement only increased. He would send someone to Stirling to look into the McCallum finances and dealings, to see if they were more desperate than he knew.
He sat down and glanced to each side of him, where his mother gave him an arched brow that silently said,You should have known this was going to happen.His sister’s glance was sympathetic, her eyes shining with tears she tried to blink away.
Owen leaned toward Maggie and spoke quietly. “Ignore the old man. He grew up on hatred, whereas we grew up knowing that peace was at hand. We’re going to change things between our clans.”
She spoke in a murmur. “We will, but not the way you think.”
“Maggie,” he began irritably.
“’Tis strange to be the object of someone’s hatred.”
Her change of subject made him grit his teeth. “He has a stubborn need to cling to the past. Having someone to hate doesn’t have to be a reason to live.”
Maggie eyed him and lowered her voice even more. “If he hates me, Owen, could he have started the fire?”
Owen frowned. “I cannot believe he’d damage clan property in a fit of anger—he’s spent his life right here in the village. But I’ll look into it.”
They were silent as they were served oysters in a butter sauce. Owen insisted on filling Maggie’s platefor her, and she didn’t object. He didn’t mistake her passivity for surrender.
What he’d meant to portray, a celebration of his betrothal, now felt subdued and darkened by both Martin and Maggie’s new rebellion. Pipers and harpists played merry songs, and when the whisky flowed, people even danced. But Maggie kept surveying the crowd, as if wondering who harbored the same ugly feelings as Martin did.
Later that evening, he walked at her side after forcing Fergus to go back to the hall.
“’Twill be difficult to rid yourself of your shadow whenever ye want,” Maggie said.
“Fergus and I will have to come to an understanding.”
He steered Maggie past her own door.
“Where are we going?” she asked warily.
“I’d like you to see something—and it’s not in my room.”
He led her up several levels by the circular staircase and eventually out on the walkway behind the battlements. Though a chill wind blew, she shrugged off his attempt to put his arm around her shoulder. Moonlight etched her creamy skin with shadows.
They walked to the edge and looked down to the courtyard below. Torches rimmed the interior of the walls, and a line of lanterns showed where the last stragglers headed for the village. Across the courtyard, the barracks housing clansmen still had lights inmany windows. Off in the west, the sky glowed with the faint gray above the mountains, the last bit of light before darkness shrouded them all.
“It’s peaceful up here,” he said. “I come to stare out over the land that has been in our clan for centuries. I wanted to show you that I don’t take my place here for granted; I don’t takeanythingfor granted. I made the choice to take you as my bride, and you will not be able to dissuade me. I choose to look upon this marriage as a destiny that began when we were young.”
