Page 61 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
“What else?”
“There’s nothing else.”
“I can read ye like a ledger, lass,” he said. “What is it?”
“Wh-what’s happening tonight?”
“It’s a clan tradition.”
“What is?”
“The consummation,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning forward. “The moment ye truly becomemine.”
Chapter Thirteen
By the timethe carriage reached Strathburn, Murdo’s bride had fallen asleep. She’d spent most of the journey with her eyes closed, but the tension in her body told him that she was awake, and alert—like a rabbit attempting to remain still before a predator in the hope she could escape unobserved and unscathed.
Only Clara wasn’t unscathed. Outwardly she bore the scar of her past, the ugly red mark on her upper arm that elicited in Murdo the desire to rip apart the limbs of those who’d hurt her. And inwardly…
Inwardly she carried the scars of a broken heart. Scarshehad inflicted.
But how could he help her to heal when she looked at him with such fury?
When the tension left her body, he knew she’d fallen asleep. Only then did he retrieve the blanket that had slipped to the floor and place it over her sleeping form. Holding his breath, he placed his palm on her cheek, and his heart swelled at the smile curving her lips.
Whom did she dream of? Was it him? Or, perhaps, the man she had thought he was—a man of honor, not the sorry creature who’d betrayed her?
The carriage drew to a halt and a manservant rushed toward it. Murdo leaned out of the window and glanced at the mountain dominating the horizon.
Beinn Urraim—Mountain of Honor.
“Master Murdo, welcome!”
“Hush, Callum. My bride’s asleep.”
“We’ve been wanting to take a look at her. The laird’s in a right fine mood, and Morag’s been cooking all day for the celebration.”
“And my brother?”
“H-he’s well. Been taking too much of yer da’s whisky, if ye don’t mind my saying.”
“Is Duncan with him?”
“They were on the hills today, but Master James sent Duncan to the kitchens as soon as he heard the carriage. Everyone’s gathered in the hallway.”
Murdo turned to Clara and placed his hand on her cheek again, tracing the outline of her mouth with his thumb.
“Mmm…” She caught his hand and curled her fingers around his wrist, a smile of contentment on her lips. Then she opened her eyes. The contentment—and the smile—died.
“We’re home,” Murdo said.
She tensed and sat up.
“Devil’s arse!” Callum cried. Then he blushed. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Miss—I mean, Mrs. McTavish. W-welcome to Strathburn.”
“Callum, isn’t it?” Clara said.
“Aye. We all…” Callum glanced at Murdo. “We’d best get ye inside. Everyone’s waiting.”
