Page 62 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
Murdo helped Clara out of the carriage. She glanced about, her eyes bright with fear.
Callum lowered his voice. “Ye’d best tell the laird before comin’ in with yer bride, Master Murdo. It’ll come as a shock, and Dr. Munro said we mustn’t—”
“Hush!” Murdo said, but the damage had already been done. Moisture gleamed in Clara’s eyes as she took in every word.
Murdo took her arm. She had naught to be ashamed of, and he’d be damned if he couldn’t march her into his home with pride as generations of McTavish men had done so in years gone by.
“Lead the way, Callum,” he said. “I wish to take my bride over the threshold.”
Callum muttered something that sounded very like “let the wrath of the devil fall on yer own head,” then retreated through the main doors, through which Murdo could hear excited chatter.
He squeezed his wife’s hand. “All will be well, lass. Ye’ve naught to fear.”
“What do you think I am—a weak-bellied debutante?” she bit out.
Her defiance was tempered by the tremor in her voice. Tightening his grip in a gesture of reassurance, he led her through the doorway.
Da stood at the foot of the stairs with James. Surrounding them were the tenants of the estate—young Braeden and his five brothers with the eldest brothers’ wives, wee Struan McTavish, and his wife and mother. Parson and Mrs. Stewart stood halfway up the stairs, as if to affirm their moral superiority over the party by their elevated position. Joan stood flanked by Elspeth and Marsaili, the redness in her cheeks evidence that even she had taken a nip of whisky in celebration.
There had to be at least fifty people. But a McTavish marriage was a rare occurrence. The last had been Da’s over thirty years before. They’d not need to wait so long for the next one—when James wed the McCallum lass.
Murdo’s father stepped forward, coughing, and Clara shifted toward Murdo in an almost instinctive need for protection.
“Welcome, son—and yer bride. At last, ye’ve honored the name of McTavish by…”
Da paused, then let out a deep hiss.
“Master Angus?” Joan said. “Are ye—”
“Devil’s cursed cock!” Da cried. “What are ye doing with that…that spawn of a whore!”
A collective intake of breath rippled over the company.
“Sweet Lord Almighty!” Joan said. “Master Murdo, do my eyes deceive me?”
“They don’t, Joan,” Murdo said. “Forgive me if—”
“There’s naught to forgive.”
“Thereis,” his father growled. “Didn’t I say I’d not have ye bring a whore into my house again?”
“Master Angus, ye can’t speak to yer son like—”
“I’ll speak to him as I see fit!” Murdo’s father said. “I’m head of the clan. I should have known that slut would trick ye into marriage. What did she do, offer her cunny to—”
“Da! This isn’t the place to discuss the matter,” Murdo said. “Everyone, go to the great hall.”
As the company dispersed, Clara addressed Murdo’s father, her eyes flashing with fury. “Do you think I’d willingly returnhere?” she said. “The thought of being in the same room as a creature such as you repulses me!”
“Wife, that’s enough!” Murdo said. “Joan, take my bride to the great hall and make sure she’s ready.”
The housekeeper took Clara’s hand. “Come, lass. This is no place for women.”
“What, this hall,” Clara said, “or the whole godforsaken house?”
“Why, you little…” Da began.
“Get her inside, Joan,” Murdo said. “Now!”
