Page 69 of The Outlaw's Bride
Adaira raised a hand and waved at them, although she couldn’t summon the energy to call out a greeting.
After what she’d just endured, she felt utterly exhausted.
Caitrin was putting on a special nooning meal for their father’s visit. They would all be gathering in the Great Hall for it soon. Adaira was tempted to retire to her chamber and hide away, yet she knew she and Lachlann would have to join them for the feast.
Her father had swallowed his pride and given them his blessing. But his acceptance was brittle. She couldn’t risk offending him.
Adaira glanced across at Lachlann. “Are ye happy to join the others in the Great Hall now?”
He made a face. “As long as ye are sure yer father won’t try to gut me with a carving knife.”
Adaira favored him with an arch look. “Not today, he won’t.”
“Then, aye, I’ll join yer kin for the feast, although I can’t say I’ve much appetite.”
Adaira linked her arm through his. “Me neither.”
He placed a hand over hers and squeezed gently. “I wanted today to be special for ye. I’m sorry it wasn’t.”
She glanced up at him. “Itwasspecial.”
Lachlann snorted. “Until yer father barged in.”
“Thank the Lord, Da didn’t interrupt us sooner.”
He smiled, and the expression released the last of the lingering tension within Adaira. Lachlann Fraser had a smile that could warm the coldest day of winter.
The smile turned wicked then. “Does this mean ye promise to obey me from now on …wife?”
She jabbed him in the ribs with a sharp elbow. “Not at all …husband.”
The aroma of rich boar stew filled the Great Hall. Lachlann dug a spoon into the dumpling that floated in the wooden bowl before him. The meal smelled incredible; a pity then that with Malcolm MacLeod glowering at him at the head of the table, he didn’t feel like eating. The healer had splinted MacLeod’s broken finger, and his right arm now hung in a sling.
The table before them groaned under the weight of the feast Caitrin had put on for them. There were huge tureens of stew and dumplings, baskets of breads studded with walnuts, wheels of cheese, and a divine-smelling apple pudding. MacLeod had the look of a man who enjoyed such fare regularly. However, he ate soberly, his storm-grey gaze never leaving Lachlann.
A lilting harp melody accompanied the meal. A young woman with dark hair sat by the nearby hearth, a serene expression on her face as she played a soft tune.
It did little to ease the tension in the Great Hall.
Lachlann raised his cup of ale to his lips and glanced at Adaira. She sat beside him, silent and watchful. Like him, she ate slowly.
“A delicious meal, Caitrin.” Rhona broke the ponderous silence with a forced smile. “Yer cook could teach Fiona and Greer a trick or two.”
“Don’t ever mention such to them,” Taran replied with an arched eyebrow. “Fiona prides herself as Skye’s best cook.”
Una huffed at that. Seated at MacLeod’s side, the woman wore a petulant expression. “She over-salts her stews, and her bannocks are too heavy,” Una said sourly.
The comment earned her a dark look from her husband. “Fiona serves me well, wife,” he grumbled. “If ye think ye can do better, maybe I should sendyeto toil in the kitchen.”
Lachlann hid a smile behind his cup. Although he bore his father little good-will these days, he knew that Una had been the cause of much of Morgan Fraser’s bitterness and hate. She sailed through life, taking what she wanted and leaving wrecks behind her. Una had broken off a long-standing betrothal to wed Morgan Fraser. But she’d met her match in Malcolm MacLeod.
The clan-chief shifted his gaze to Lachlann then, pinning him with a hard stare. “How is it ye managed to escape Dunvegan?” His voice was low with a threatening edge. “The guards at the Sea-gate swear they never saw ye.”
“Do ye remember how I loved to explore when I was a bairn?” Adaira spoke up before Lachlann had time to ready a suitable reply. “Ye were forever telling me off for wandering through the dungeon?”
Her father nodded, his expression wary.
“Well, one day I discovered a hidden passage there … it leads out to the woods north-east of Dunvegan.”
