Page 41 of The Devil in Plaid
Father Peter moved quietly to her side and made a cross with his thumb on her forehead. “May God bless ye and watch over ye.”Then he turned and left the room, his deacon following close behind. Scented smoke coiled behind them in thick ribbons.
Matthew smiled at her. “I shall also take my leave while ye finish readying yerself for the morning meal. We await ye in the great hall.” With a bow, he turned and left.
As the door closed behind Matthew, his words echoed in her mind.We await ye—she knew that meant his kin.
Fiona faced her maid. In Julia’s hand she saw a white piece of linen with lovely embroidered edges. Smiling, she asked, “Is that my kertch?”
“Aye, my lady.”
Fiona sat in the chair by the hearth while Julia brushed the tangles free from her thick, black hair. After her maid finished tying her new kertch in place, she turned and produced a small mirror from her sack.
Fiona studied her reflection, running her hand over the linen head covering. “When I think of a kertch, I see my mama’s face.” She took a deep breath. “Now, I am a married woman.”
And lady of CastleLàidir.
Her heart started to pound again. It was time to take her place at the high table. She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking and stood facing the door, willing her feet to move.
“Are ye ready, my lady?”
Fiona winced. “Ye’ve asked me that before, haven’t ye?”
A kind smile curved Julia’s lips. “Aye, my lady. Ye’ve been staring at yer chamber door for some time now.”
Fiona took a deep breath, wishing Esme and Abby would suddenly appear. Then she looked at Julia. “Will ye come with me?”
The maid curtsied. “Of course, my lady.”
Fiona straightened her shoulders, prayed for courage, then swung open the door.
While they wound through long corridors, she tried to imagine she was at Castle Creagan. It was a day no different than any other. Soon, she would be sitting down at the high table beside her father. The great hall would be filled with familiar, loving kin who would greet her warmly. Holding tight to the love flooding her heart, she stepped out from behind the screen onto the high dais.
A moment later, her heart sank. No amount of pretense could have made her believe she was home.
The great hall of CastleLàidir was full. All eyes turned toward her when she entered, but no one smiled. Just as she had glimpsed in the chapel the day before, people’s expressions held only suspicion and hatred. Dropping her gaze to the ground, she hastened to Matthew’s side.
“Welcome, my lady,” he said, sliding out her chair. “Do not show them yer fear,” he whispered in her ear as she sat down.
Forcing a smile to her lips, she gazed out, pretending not to see the villagers’ hostile glares.
Julia set a trencher in front of her. “Laird MacLeod told me to bid ye not wait for him.”
Her hands tightly clasped in her lap, Fiona swallowed hard and smiled at her maid, nodding her acceptance. But despite Jamie’s wishes and the hunger gnawing at her stomach, she could not even think about eating.
“Tell me of yer family,” Matthew said casually at her side.
She appreciated the captain’s effort to put her at ease, but she could hardly draw breath. Making conversation was out of the question.
Just then the door swung wide, and Jamie strode into the great hall. Her mouth fell open as she watched his approach. His hair, which hung in smooth, clean waves past his shoulders, shone golden in color. His face was clean shaven. She was struck by the strong lines of his jaw. He wore a crisp linen shirt under his plaid. Her gaze was drawn to his broad shoulders and confident stride. Sweet Lord above, but she had never seen a man as handsome as Jamie MacLeod.
He climbed the stairs to the high table, his smile making her heart race. She griped the edge of her seat when he bent to place a kiss on her cheek. His full lips warmed her skin and shot a delicious shiver up her spine. She met the honeyed warmth of his amber eyes and gasped. He smelled clean and masculine.
“Good morrow, wife,” he said for her ears alone.
She blushed. “Good morrow, husband.”
Then to her surprise, he did not take the seat at her side. Instead, he straightened and outstretched his arms to his people.
“Clan MacLeod, I stand before ye a man contrite. Prejudice has colored my judgment, leading me to chastise and cruelly treat the woman who I am now grateful to call wife. In these days of war and threat, our clans have united. Our very survival rests in the strength of my bond with this woman, which we have made unbreakable with our vows.” He placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “Yesterday, I should have presented her as yer lady. But I failed ye, and I failed her. But I do this now. Open yer hearts. The feud that has brought only suffering to our people is over. This is the way forward, and I ask ye to stand with me as I present to ye, Lady Fiona MacLeod—she is yer lady and due every respect.”
