Page 22 of Awoken
MacKinnon’s sister watched her approach, her expression keen. Her gaze then slid past Leanna to the men following her, and her mouth quirked. “MacKinnon colors suit ye, Broderick.”
“Not as well as the blue of yer kirtle looks well on ye, milady,” the warrior replied gruffly.
Drew’s smile widened. “What’s this … a compliment? I never thought I’d see the day.”
Broderick didn’t respond to this teasing comment, but this didn’t seem to bother Drew. Still smiling, MacKinnon’s sister turned away. She then led the way down the stairs without another word.
Leanna had no choice but to follow her.
The journey down to the ground level of the broch, and out through the bailey below to the South Gate, seemed to be over all too quickly. Unlike the exit near the stables, which led down through the surrounding village to the fort’s North Gate, this way out was for the clan-chief’s use only. The walk took them around the back of the broch, across a cobbled yard, and under a stone arch. Before Leanna knew it, they were walking through the kirk yard toward a pitch roofed stone building.
The sight of the cross at the roof’s peak, silhouetted against blue sky, made Leanna’s belly twist. How she wished she was back at Kilbride with Mother Shona, Sister Coira, and the other nuns. She’d even welcome Sister Elspeth’s acid tongue.
To think that she’d once chafed at the confines of the abbey.
Right this moment she’d give anything to be back there. She’d never again complain about the heavy habit that made her skin itch in the summer. She’d never bother about the numerous prayers every day, or the hours of back-breaking work looking after the fields and the livestock within the abbey walls.
Mother Shona will be worrying about me … and so will Coira. The thought rose unbidden, and Leanna’s throat thickened. Coira hadn’t wanted her to leave Kilbride. She should have heeded her friend’s advice.
The kirk doors were open, and Leanna entered the building behind Drew MacKinnon to find that rows of retainers and clansmen packed the low bench seats either side of the narrow aisle. And standing at the foot of the altar, at the far end, stood Duncan MacKinnon.
Her already knotted stomach tightened further. This man’s behavior was reprehensible. There had been no betrothal—she had never been promised to him.
Once again, MacKinnon cut a handsome figure dressed in chamois braies, a fine snowy white léine, and his clan sash. His brown hair fell in smooth waves almost to his shoulders, and his lantern jaw had been freshly shaved.
He tracked her progress down the aisle, while behind him a dark-robed figure also waited: Father Athol.
Leanna tore her attention from MacKinnon and focused upon the man who’d wed them.
The priest looked to be around a decade older than MacKinnon. He was a tall, lean man with a stern face and dark eyes. A large iron crucifix hung about his neck, glinting in the hallowed light of the guttering banks of candles behind him.
As she neared the altar, Leanna started to feel sick. Her skin under her wedding garments felt clammy, and her legs trembled. Her ears started to ring, and she wondered if she might faint.
Up ahead, Drew stepped neatly to one side, allowing Leanna to draw close.
Heart pounding, Leanna stopped next to MacKinnon. She dared glance back then, at where Campbell and Broderick now moved to take their places in the wings, Campbell at MacKinnon’s right-hand, and Broderick next to the clan-chief’s sister. Ross Campbell’s face was a blank mask.
Look at him,she thought bitterly. He’s partially responsible for this mess, and he can’t even look me in the eye.
“Are ye ready?” Father Athol’s low voice echoed through the kirk.
“Aye, Father,” MacKinnon replied. Leanna heard the tension in his voice, the excitement. “Begin the ceremony.”
Leanna turned back to the altar, her pulse tripling when she saw the priest approach them, a ribbon of MacKinnon plaid in hand. “Take each other’s hands, please,” he said quietly.
Benevolent Lord, please save me … this can’t be happening.
Never had she prayed so fervently. The night before she’d prayed beside her bed until her knees throbbed. She’d promised to be especially diligent in her devotion, if only He would return her to Kilbride. However, God wasn’t about to save her it seemed.
Leanna stared at the ribbon as if it were a serpent about to sink its fangs into her. She didn’t want to touch his hand, to be bound to him forever. Tearing her gaze from the plaid, Leanna looked at the priest once more.
This close, she could see that his eyes were the color of peat. They were kind eyes.
Leanna’s pulse started to gallop, sweat now trickling down her back. She couldn’t do this; she wouldn’t stand here meekly, like a sacrificial lamb, before MacKinnon and his retainers, and pretend she was happy about this union.
With Father Athol’s absence from Dunan, she’d been given a little time and now it had run out. Arguing hadn’t worked, and neither had pleading.
Leanna’s hands balled into fists at her sides.
