Page 21 of Awoken
“So, the priest has returned?” she asked finally, hating the slight tremor in her voice that betrayed her fear.
Drew nodded. “Aye … Father Athol is readying himself as we speak.”
“Has he told ye of Kyleakin … of the sickness?” Tyra asked, her chirpiness fading.
Drew frowned. “He tells me that things are grim there,” she admitted. “A handful of folk died during his visit … he administered their last rites.”
“Did he speak of how the sick are afflicted?”
Drew’s mouth flattened. “No … and I didn’t ask.”
“I was speaking to a cloth merchant at market yesterday.” Tyra’s voice developed a shrill edge as she continued. “He’s come from the mainland, where smoke stains the sky each night from dozens of funeral pyres. He says the illness is punishment from God. We are all wicked and must pay for our sins.” The handmaid glanced at Leanna then, her eyes wide. “Ye are a nun, Lady Leanna … do ye not agree?”
“I … I don’t know,” Leanna stammered. “I don’t think that God wishes for—”
“Enough,” Drew cut in, her tone sharp now. “Lady Leanna isn’t a nun anymore, Tyra. Please don’t ask her such things.”
The handmaid flushed. “MacKinnon should close the gates to travelers, milady. In my opinion, the priest shouldn’t have come back to Dunan. We cannot let the sick infect us here.”
Drew snorted. “I saw Father Athol earlier, and he seemed perfectly healthy to me.” Her tone was hard, yet worry now shadowed Drew’s grey eyes. “Ye are not to run off and start frightening folk, Tyra … is that clear?”
The maid lowered her gaze, jaw clenching. “Aye, milady.”
Drew’s attention then returned to Leanna. She smiled, although the expression had a brittle quality to it. “The ceremony will take place at noon,” she informed her briskly, returning to the wedding. “And a feast and dancing will follow.”
Leanna didn’t reply. Instead, her gaze dropped to her slippered feet. How she had once loved attending weddings. She’d adored the gaiety, and the chance to dine on rich food and dance the evening away with handsome young men.
After today, she would never see these occasions in the same way.
“Yer betrothed is not a happy woman.” Drew’s voice made Duncan MacKinnon open his eyes. He reclined upon a chair in his solar while his manservant shaved his chin with a blade. Hume, a lean man with thinning dark hair and a nervous manner, but a steady hand, always did an excellent job of shaving him. Letting the servant scrape off the last of the stubble, MacKinnon took the cloth he passed him and dried himself off.
“And why should that concern me?”
“It doesn’t have to at all,” his sister replied. She’d entered the solar and taken a seat, uninvited, by the hearth. Despite that it was a mild spring morning outdoors, a lump of peat glowed there. Even during the hottest days of summer, the damp stone of Dunan broch always held a chill. “But how content will ye be, wedding a lass who isn’t willing?”
Duncan snorted before waving to Hume that they were done. Picking up the bowl of water and retrieving the drying cloth, the man left with a nod.
Once they were alone, he fixed his sister with a level look. “Extremely content … I’ve wanted Leanna MacDonald for years. I care not if she’s willing.” His mouth curved then. “If I’m honest, it adds to the excitement.”
Drew stared back at him. She was adept at hiding her feelings; she always had been. Even when he’d bullied her during their childhood, she’d been tough. He’d used to pinch her under the table during mealtimes, but she’d never squawked, never let on to their parents. She was the hardiest person he’d ever met, and yet in those cool grey eyes, he saw something this morning.
Was it disgust?
“She’s not like Siusan,” Drew said after a lengthy pause. Once again, her voice was cool, expressionless. She spoke as if she cared little about the subject matter, and yet the very fact that she’d brought it up was telling; it told Duncan that his sister wasn’t as cold as she liked the world to believe. “Yer last wife was quiet and compliant. Lady Leanna isn’t like that … she will fight ye.”
A grin stretched across Duncan’s face. Bending down, he ruffled Bran’s ears. The wolfhound lazed upon the deerskin rug before the hearth. “Then I will enjoy breaking her.”
10
Fight to the Last
LEANNA STEPPED OUT of her chamber to find both Ross Campbell and Carr Broderick awaiting her. Campbell wore a sash of his clan’s plaid—green and blue crisscrossed with charcoal—while Broderick, who hailed from Éire, had donned the MacKinnon colors for this special occasion.
Swallowing hard, Leanna noted that her mouth tasted sour. Despite that she’d spent all morning trying to stave off her fear, the sight of the men who’d escort her up the aisle of the kirk made the full reality of the situation hit her.
Broderick wore a stony expression, while Campbell was frowning. However, his gaze was hooded and angled at a point beyond her right shoulder. Ross was deliberately avoiding her eye. Both warriors carried dirks and claidheamh-mors at their sides. She had no chance of escaping them.
Wordlessly, she made her way down the hallway toward the stairwell, where Drew MacKinnon waited.
