Page 35 of Unchain the Highlander's Heart

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

The waistcoat fitted perfectly. Kin looked at himself in the mirror of his chambers, doing up the top button and checking his sleeves. His old traveling clothes lay in a heap on the floor, and he had bathed and washed his hair, a smell of soap and rose water hanging pleasantly in the air. From the window of his chambers, he had watched many of the guests arriving in the courtyard below, where a great bonfire had been kindled, and flaming torches had been placed in brackets on the wall.

Cillian was waiting for him outside–like a constant shadow–giving little opportunity for Kin to slip away. The thought of escape had been playing on his mind, and he hoped to find a way by which he might slip away from the feast–with or without Murdina at his side. His situation was precarious, neither friend nor foe, and while his feelings for Murdina were very real, the thought of remaining at the castle to await his fate–for good or ill–was far from pleasant.

“Are ye ready?” Cillian asked, opening the door a few moments later.

Kin turned and nodded. Cillian was wearing a white shirt, black breeches, and blue stockings. There was a sash across his chest and a bonnet on his head. He carried a sword on his belt, and the buckle, in silver, displayed the clan's crest. He looked every bit the servant of his master, and Kin wondered where his loyalties would lie if forced to choose between Murdina and the clan. Cillian clearly held strong feelings for Murdina, and if he knew of the kiss they had shared, trouble would surely follow.

“Yes, though it is still a mystery why the laird wishes me to dine with him at the high table,” Kin replied.

“He is interested in ye–he thinks it will bring back memories,” Cillian replied, beckoning Kin to follow him.

The castle was busy–servants hurrying back and forth and clansmen and guests milling around. The great hall doors stood wide open, and the trestle tables had been laid for the feast. The smell of roasting meat and baking bread wafted from the kitchens, and to the side, there stood four great barrels of ale recently tapped. Cillian led Kin along the edge of the great hall to where the steps led up to the dais and high table, waiting to gain the attention of the laird who was talking to Ella and Freya.

“It seems I am to be the entertainment,” Kin said, feeling the eyes of many of the guests on him and hearing his name whispered across the great hall.

At that moment, Murdina entered the great hall, dressed in a beautiful gown–trimmed with lace and open at the neck, a low decolletage exposing the tops of her breasts. She wore a necklace which caught the candlelight and sparkled, and for a moment, all eyes turned to look at her.

“Ye look… beautiful, Murdina,” Cillian stammered as she approached them with a smile.

“And ye look very handsome, Cillian,” she replied, glancing at Kin, who could not help but smile.

There was no doubting her attraction–though this was the first time Kin had seen Murdina so attired. The evening before, she had been wearing a simple shirt with breeches and sword belt and had appeared far more like one of her father’s soldiers than his daughter. But now, with her hair tied back and the wide skirted dress flowing down her slender figure, compacted by a tight-fitting bodice, there was no doubting her attraction.

“Murdina, ye will sit here,” the laird said, calling out from his place at the high table.

Murdina nodded, giving Kin and Cillian a look of resignation, and she took her place, as the laird now beckoned Kin to join them.

“Go,” Cillian hissed, pushing Kin forward.

He climbed the steps of the dais and made his way along the backs of the chairs, feeling the eyes of the guests on the tables below following him. An empty chair lay between Murdina and her father, and it seemed this place of honor had been reserved for Kin himself.

“We still await the Murgotts and the Mckins, but perhaps they are too far delayed. We cannae keep the rest waitin’–tis’ hungry work the journey here,” the laird said, half to Kin and half to himself.

“You do me a great honor,” Kin said, though he would have far preferred a different place to sit.

Still, he was glad to have Murdina’s company on his left, even if his thoughts were preoccupied with the possibility of escape. The feast was surely his best chance, and he would wait for an opportunity to slip out. Cillian had taken his place with several of the clansmen at a table below, and already they were sharing tankards of ale between themselves, laughing, and telling stories.

When he grows drunk, my opportunity may come, Kin said to himself, as the laird rose to his feet.

“I greet ye, friends, in the name of our noble cause,” he said, banging his fist down on the table for silence.

“And God help our cause if this is its finest,” Murdina whispered, causing Kin to smile.

“I have invited ye here in celebration –for though we fight a mighty enemy, we have much to hope in. The Hanoverian cause is failin’ to prove its claims to the throne, and our noble king lies waitin’ to take his rightful place. We come together in a spirit of friendship and fraternity, and also,” and here he turned to his three daughters, “that my three daughters might be introduced to those among ye who still look for wives.”

At these words, a ripple of laughter ran through the great hall, and Kin felt Murdina stiffen at his side. He knew this moment was difficult for her, that she had no desire to marry any of the men who now looked up in interest at the high table, where Freya and Ella rose to their feet and giggled.

“And fine daughters ye have, laird,” one man called out, banging his fist down on the table.

More laughter ensued, and while it was clear that Freya and Ella were enjoying the attention, Murdina was growing ever more uncomfortable at Kin’s side.

“You will not have to endure it for long,” Kin whispered, and Murdina seemed angered by his words.

“I… tis’ a fond thought. Tis’ a lifetime I must endure if one of these men decides I am to be his,” she said, shaking her head.

The laird now took his seat, calling for the feast to begin and more ale to be served. Wine was brought, too, and it was not long before the great hall descended into raucous laughter and bawdy storytelling. Kin tried to ignore it, his thoughts preoccupied with how he might enact his escape–he was watching Cillian carefully, waiting for his moment.

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