Page 41 of The Outlaw's Bride
The comment was unexpected, and Adaira tensed. She glanced at him, and he snared her gaze, holding it fast. Adaira swallowed. She wanted to look away but found she couldn’t.
“My first wife was sweet tempered but plain-faced,” the Fraser chieftain said, his voice barely above a whisper so that none but Adaira could hear him. “She bore me four sons, but I found her company irksome. I was relieved when she died.”
Adaira drew in a sharp breath. She didn’t want to know all this. She wished he’d cease this tale, but he did not.
“But then Una came into my life. She was Una Campbell then: small, dark-haired, and wild.” He paused, his eyes turning a murderous shade of green. “We had barely a year together before yer father stole her from me.”
Adaira’s pulse fluttered in the base of her throat. He made Una sound like the passive recipient of her father’s affections, when in fact it had been her step-mother who’d taken the initiative and fled.
She wasn’t about to point this out to Morgan Fraser though. He’d likely draw that dirk at his side and stab her through the throat with it.
She saw the promise of vengeance, of violence, in his eyes, and a shudder went through her. She knew then with certainty that he’d never treat her gently.
He would make her suffer.
Adaira tore her gaze away, breathing quickly, and stared down at the platter of food before her.
“Ye are afraid,” Fraser noted. “Good. I want to see fear in yer eyes every time ye look at me.”
Heaven knows what would have happened then, what more he might have said. But at that moment, the sound of a commotion from the far end of the hall drew the chieftain’s eye.
A tall man clad in leather armor, a travel stained cloak billowing behind him, strode down the aisle between tables. He wore a weary, hard expression. His dark eyes were riveted upon Morgan Fraser.
“Marcas,” Morgan greeted him. Adaira forgotten, he rose to his feet. “What news from the mainland.”
The man, who had dark-auburn hair and a chiseled jaw that reminded Adaira of Lachlann’s, pursed his lips, his eyes glittering. “Ill-tidings.”
A hush settled over the Great Hall.
“Tell it then,” Morgan Fraser commanded.
“The battle,” the newcomer spoke once more, his gaze never leaving the chieftain’s face. “The English crushed us.”
The silence grew chill. Adaira glanced across at her betrothed’s profile and saw that his face had turned hawkish. “What happened?” he demanded, his voice cracking like a bull-whip across the hall.
“Twelve thousand of us crossed the border,” Marcas replied. “We marched south to Durham and faced them there.” He broke off, a nerve flickering in his cheek, before pressing on. “And though their army numbered only half the size of ours, they bested us.”
The news, humiliating for their people, echoed across the silent hall. However, Marcas wasn’t finished.
“We had no choice but to retreat.” His face turned stony. Adaira could see that he was a proud man, and each word cost him. “Scotland has lost many men, including a number of clan-chiefs and chieftains. Yer brother Seumas was among them.”
Morgan Fraser’s face showed no emotion, no reaction to the news. After a heartbeat he leaned forward, his fingers clenching around the handle of a bone-handled knife before him. “And the king?”
The warrior held his gaze. “David was injured in the fighting. He and a few others were taken prisoner. I know not if any of them still live.”
Adaira stood within the tower chamber that had been her prison for over the past two moons, and stared at the kirtle the maid had just hung on the wall.
It was exquisite, made of a shimmering lilac material. It glowed in the light of the lantern that burned on the table.
“The handfasting will take place mid-morning tomorrow,” the maid told her. She’d brought up jeweled slippers and a gauzy shawl that Adaira would wear for the ceremony.
Adaira tore her gaze from the kirtle, focusing upon the scowling girl.
The maid boldly looked Adaira up and down, her eyes cold. “I will come up shortly after dawn to get ye ready. It’s not enough time to make a MacLeod slut presentable though.”
“Get out,” Adaira said softly.
The maid huffed. “When I’m ready.”
