Page 19 of The Devil in Plaid
“Silence,” her father shouted. He stood and addressed his people. “Do ye forget yer fellow clansmen and women who even now lay cold in our chapel? Have ye forgotten what the MacKenzie has done to our stores, our crops?”
Fiona glanced at her father who looked once more upon the MacLeod. Shifting her gaze forward, she realized Jamie still stared only at her.
“How do ye propose we heal the rift between our clans?” her father asked
The intense hostility emanating from the MacLeod’s gaze was too much to bear. She could take it no longer. She lunged to her feet. “If ye will excuse me, father.”
“Sit,” the MacLeod shouted at her. His voice echoed off the high ceiling and blasted through her, making her legs weak.
Her father slammed his fist on the table, causing her to jump. “Ye will not address my daughter in such a way!”
The MacLeod at last shifted his gaze away from her to her father. “I do not trust ye, old man,” he began.“If ye want to make an alliance, then I need to be certain ye won’t turn on me in the end.”
Her father took a deep breath, clearly trying to regain his calm. At length, he asked, “What do ye propose?”
A look of disgust flashed across Laird MacLeod’s countenance. His lip curled when he spoke. “If ye wish our clans to ally against the threat of the MacKenzie, ye must give me yer daughter.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Nay, father!”
“Ye have heard my request,” the MacLeod said and started to turn on his heels.
Gordon’s face reddened. His fists clenched, betraying his anger. Fiona knew he was going to tell the MacLeod exactly where he could stick his demand, but then his shoulders sagged. Slowly, he turned to face her. “Forgive me, my child,” he whispered.
Her eyes widened. She frantically shook her head, but her father released a heavy sigh. She knew then that he had come to the same conclusion as she—the MacLeod was their only hope. Without an alliance, the MacDonnell clan would fall. Tears flooded his faded blue eyes before he turned away from her. “MacLeod,” he barked.
Jamie turned back around, an expectant look on his face.
Her father frowned. “So be it.”
Terror shot through her. “Nay,” she cried.
~ * ~
Jamie could not believe he was standing in the great hall of the MacDonnell proposing marriage with the laird’s daughter. It was all too clear what she thought of the match. She had nearly fainted at the idea.He resisted the urge to shrug. Let her writhe with displeasure. She would find no quarter in his keep. He would offer her his protection but never his heart.
A murmur of unrest grew throughout the hall. Some of the villagers glared at him while others shed tears on behalf of their lady—as if marriage to him was some kind of death sentence. The protests began to grow louder.
“Spare yer daughter, my lord,” a man shouted from one of the trencher tables in the back of the room.
“We do not need them. We can fight the MacKenzie ourselves!” another voice cried out.
“Enough,” Gordon MacDonnell shouted, silencing his people. “I am yer laird.”
Then Jamie watched as Gordon turned and cupped his daughter’s cheek and leaned close. They whispered together. Jamie did not doubt she likely sought a bargain of her own, something she could squeeze from her beleaguered father—clothes, baubles, or other such frivolities.
But when she turned and faced Jamie, unshed tears shone in her gaze.For a moment, his conscience panged him, but then he remembered her haughty appraisal of his appearance. Their clans were under the threat of annihilation. The blood of his people smeared his skin. He hardened his heart against her emotion and stood his ground. “We leave for CastleLàidirat first light.”
His statement was met with wide eyes by both his betrothed and his soon-to-be father in-law.
“I would prefer if the ceremony happened here,” Gordon said quickly.
“I’m sure ye would,” Jamie replied, although he gave no quarter. “But we leave at dawn.”
Fiona’s hand snaked out, grabbing her father’s arm. She looked up at him with beseeching eyes.
Gordon patted her hand and appealed to Jamie again. “She will need more time to prepare. We ask for at least a fortnight.”
Jamie stepped forward. “The MacKenzie breathes down both our necks, and ye want to dally for a fortnight? Mayhap, ye want to post the banns so that he knows of our alliance and has time to forge a plan of his own.”
