Authors: Connie Mason
Highland Warrior (5 page)
“ ’Tis not about happiness; ‘tis about saving MacKay lives: Tearlach explained. ”Stop and think about it, lass. Your bairn with MacKenna, my grandson, will become laird of Ravenscraig. Isna that what we have always wanted? To regain Ravenscraig for our family? You are the only one who can do that for us without resorting to bloodshed. ’Tis the perfect solution, Gillian.”
“For everyone else,” Gillian groused. “You are not the one who has to lie with the Viking, bear his child, and suffer his abuse.”
“There will be no abuse; he gave his word. I swear, if he abuses you, you can return home and the feud will continue.”
“Do you mean it, Da?”
“Aye, daughter, I wouldna want you hurt. But for the good of our clan, I beg you to give the MacKenna no reason to abuse you. Make your peace with him and mayhap you will find happiness.”
“The only way I will find happiness is if you let me wed Angus.”
“Angus had all the time in the world to finalize the betrothal. He didna want you badly enough, lass.”
“Not true!” Gillian cried, though she suspected her father was right. “I willna marry the MacKenna! I willna!”
Turning on her heel, she stormed off. But she found no peace, not even in her own chamber. She kept picturing the dark-haired, blue-eyed devil her father wanted her to wed. He exuded power, from his broad shoulders and thick warrior muscles to the brawny body that could have belonged to some long-ago Viking.
Gillian recalled the fire in his eyes when she had challenged him. His fierce gaze would inspire fear in lesser men. But Gillian did not fear the MacKenna. She loathed him.
Despite her violent protest, her raging anger, Gillian realized her entire clan would suffer if she did not wed the MacKenna. Gillian had known for a long time that Clan MacKay was being decimated by constant feuding. Now she’d been told that only she could save her father and brothers from falling beneath MacKenna swords.
It wasn’t fair. Why were women expected to mindlessly obey, as if they had no opinions of their own, no feelings? If she had to wed Ross MacKenna, she was going to make sure she wasn’t the only one made to suffer.
Ravenscraig Tower“You heard what I said, Gordo: I am going to wed the MacKay lass.”
“Aye, I heard, but I doona believe you. Isna she the lass who flew at you with her sword?”
“The verra same.”
“I doona ken why MacKay would offer his lass to you.”
“MacKay has lost two sons, Uncle, and we, too, have lost loved ones. He wants the feud to end in order to save his surviving bairns. I canna blame him. He offered his daughter as a means of uniting our clans.”
“Wheesh, lad! Seana is going to throw a fit. She had her heart set on marrying you.”
Ross stiffened. “Seana knew I had no intention of making her my wife. Forget her. I am to wed Friday next, and on that day the feud between the MacKays and the MacKennas will officially end. Will you notify our allies and invite them to the wedding? I want every clan chieftain to witness the marriage, and to be aware that as their overlord, I will tolerate no breaking of the peace.”
“Aye, Ross, I will see to it, though it doesna give us much time to prepare. You had best speak to Cook and ask Donald to organize the servants. You should do the wedding up right; ’tisna every day that the laird of Clan MacKenna takes a wife.”
“Aye, Gordo, we will make my wedding a celebration of magnificent proportions.”
“Who is getting married?” Seana asked as she sauntered over to the two men.
“Ross. Congratulate him, Seana,” Gordo said. “He is marrying the MacKay’s daughter.”
Seana tilted up her head and laughed raucously. “Stop jesting, Gordo. Ross would never wed the daughter of his enemy.”
“ ’Tis true, Seana,” Ross confirmed. “MacKay offered his daughter to me as a means to unite the clans and end the feuding, and I accepted.”
“You accepted? Where does that leave me? I have given you two years of my life.”
“Aye, you have, but you were free to leave at any time. I promised you naught, if you recall. And did you nae make yourself available to others when I wasna in the mood?”
“I willna make your wife welcome,” Seana replied, refusing to answer Ross’s accusation. She sidled close to him and lifted her face. “A marriage between a MacKay and a MacKenna is a marriage made in hell. Never fear, Ross. I will be here to pick up the pieces.”
The two men watched her flounce off.
“She is right, you know,” Gordo warned. “I hope you enjoy taming wildcats, because you are going to have one in your bed, if you can get the lass there at all. I wish you luck, lad—you are going to need it.”
Chapter Three
Ross arrived at the chapel well ahead of the ceremony. The day was cool and oppressively dismal, with dark clouds hovering on the horizon. Not an auspicious day for a wedding, even though it was a Friday.
Ross waited at the altar of the tiny chapel, which was filled to bursting with allies of Clan MacKay and Clan MacKenna. Outside the door the cotters stood in the cold, waiting for the bride to arrive.
Ross watched in consternation as the elderly sexton made his way to the bell tower. The hour of sext was approaching with nary a bride in sight.
“This could be a trap,” Gordo whispered in Ross’s ear.
“Nay, Uncle, mayhap the bride got cold feet. I doubt Gillian is eager to wed me.”
The bell began to peal. Ross counted beneath his breath. One, two, three, four, five ... Just as the bell tolled the final time, the chapel door opened, blowing the bride and her family inside in a gust of frigid air. Gillian paused regally in the doorway, her head held high.
Ross gawked like a green lad when he saw his betrothed standing in an errant patch of sunlight that had suddenly and mysteriously split the dark clouds. For a moment it looked as if her head had burst into flame, and he blinked.
She was still standing there when he opened his eyes. He noted that she was wrapped in the MacKay plaid, to annoy him, he supposed. But Ross was far from annoyed. His breath hitched, and his heart began to pump furiously in his chest.
Her head was uncovered; her red hair flowed down her back and framed her face in living fire. Ross saw naught else, not the ancient chapel awash in flickering candlelight nor the people gathered inside.
He saw tongues of flame. He blinked again, and when he opened his eyes the flames had disappeared, and in their place stood his redheaded bride-to-be. Suddenly he recalled Gizela’s words and made a vow he intended to keep: He would not let the life force of Gillian’s spirit devour him.
Ross’s eyes narrowed on Gillian as she slowly started down the aisle with her father. Halfway to the altar her steps faltered; at one point she stopped and looked beseechingly at Tearlach. His face set in grim lines, the MacKay tugged Gillian forward, until they reached the place where Ross awaited.
Gillian was good and truly caught. She had tried every delaying tactic she knew of to stall the nuptials, but naught had worked. As a final act of defiance, she had wrapped herself in a MacKay plaid. Let Ross MacKenna make what he wanted out of her attire. With her father all but dragging her to a fate worse than death, Gillian knew there was no escape.
Finally she found the courage to look directly at the MacKenna, and the rawness of shock made her heart constrict. She remembered his fierceness on the battlefield, but she had never seen him like this. Though his face was impassive and difficult to read, the intensity of his blue eyes made her flinch. Did he hate her as much as she hated him? Was he marrying her against his will? Did he want peace badly enough to take a wife he could never like, much less love? Did she want his love? That thought startled her.
The expression in his eyes was a contradiction. She saw wariness, and beneath that a hint of admiration. For her? She doubted it. Then suddenly she was standing alone beside him. The priest cleared his throat.
Taking her arm, Ross pinned Gillian to his side. Gillian flinched away from his touch and bared her teeth at him. Another act of defiance, she knew, would get her nowhere.
She saw the MacKenna’s kinsman lean toward him and heard him whisper, “Did you see that, lad? Tis a match made in hell.”
“I assure you I am up to the challenge, Uncle,” Ross whispered back.
Ross glanced down at Gillian. While Gillian tried to ignore his handsome face, the compelling authority emanating from him directed her gaze to his other attributes. His broad shoulders and muscular torso stretched the material of his white shirt and black jacket, and his legs, sturdy as rowan trees beneath his tartan, were muscular extensions of his powerful body. His fancy sporran and the silver brooch studded with gemstones that held his plaid in place were tangible evidence of his high rank.
The priest cleared his throat again, waiting for a sign to begin the nuptial Mass. She saw the MacKenna nod, and when the priest turned toward the altar, Gillian whispered, “I hate you, MacKenna.”
Though the MacKenna appeared not to have heard, Gillian could tell by the spark of anger in his eyes and the sudden tightening of his fists that he had. Good! Now he knew exactly where they stood and how their marriage would proceed. No matter what her father had promised, she would never be a true wife to Ross MacKenna.
The priest’s voice droned on. Gillian was wound so tight, she felt ready to explode. This couldn’t be happening to her. After what seemed like an eternity, the priest asked if she took Ross MacKenna as her husband. Her mouth clamped shut.
“Answer him, lass,”Tearlach hissed from somewhere behind her.
Gillian was aware of the MacKenna watching her, of her father and brothers behind her, and then she heard a voice at the back of the chapel shout, “Stop the wedding! Gillian MacKay is my betrothed; she canna legally wed another.”
His eyes bulging, the priest looked up from the holy book. “Who challenges the legality of this marriage?”
Gillian nearly fainted in relief when Angus Sinclair strode down the aisle. She would have run to him if the MacKenna hadn’t anticipated her and circled her waist to hold her in place.
“Let me go!” Gillian hissed. “You heard Angus; I canna wed you. The marriage wouldna be legal.”
“What say you, MacKay?” Ross asked as the MacKay laird rose from his seat to intercept Sinclair.
“No betrothal took place. No papers were signed. Sinclair is wrong.”
“ ’Twas a verbal agreement between friends,” Angus insisted. “Ask Gillian—she will tell you the truth of it.”
“There was no verbal agreement!” MacKay roared. “Sit down and let the good father continue.”
When Sinclair continued to sputter and protest, he was forcibly escorted from the chapel by MacKay’s three sons. Angus stopped short of the door, then turned and shouted, “You havena heard the last from me; this I swear!”
“Good riddance,” MacKay muttered as Angus stormed off.
Gillian searched her father’s face, sending him a silent plea, but Tearlach remained resolute.
“Continue the ceremony Father,” Ross ordered. “There will be no more interruptions.”
The priest sent Gillian a pitying look. “Tell me the truth, lass: Did Angus Sinclair sign a marriage contract? Was there a betrothal?”
Gillian wanted to lie, but when she looked up and saw the statue of the crucified Christ staring down at her from the altar, the words refused to leave her lips.
“Nay,” she whispered.
With a sigh, Tearlach settled back onto the bench, smiling benignly at his daughter.
The priest continued where he had left off. Though Gillian saw naught but darkness in her future, she mumbled through the rest of the ceremony and stumbled from the chapel on the MacKenna’s arm, her only consolation the knowledge that her marriage would save MacKay lives.
Icy sleet hit her face like tiny needles. Numb and dazed, she felt naught as the MacKenna lifted her onto his magnificent stallion, mounted behind her, and grasped the reins. They were off to Ravenscraig Tower amid a chorus of cheers.
Ross felt the weight of Gillian against his thighs and tried to ignore the instinctive tightening of his loins. Though her weight wasn’t substantial, the heat emanating from her was nearly unbearable. He was amazed at how good she felt in his arms. His hands tightened convulsively on the reins, which only brought her closer against him. She began to squirm, exacerbating Ross’s condition.
“Hold still,” he ordered.
Gillian turned her head to look at him. “Why did you do it? Why did you wed me when ’tis what neither of us want?”
“Did your father nae explain?”
“Oh, aye, he explained, but I doona ken why you would want to end the feuding. Our clans have always feuded. ’Tis a time-honored tradition.”
Ross gazed into her green eyes and saw naught but anger shining from them. “What a bloodthirsty little wench you are. The killing canna go on forever, lass. Your da and I wish to have done with it.”
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