Keeper of my Heart (13 page)

Màiri had never been happier.

She sat at the long table on the dais next to Iain with Donald and Conan on her left and Lochlan and Rauri on Iain’s right. The clan elders and a number of MacAlisters boasting some importance also sat at the table on either side of them, but Màiri could hardly remember all their names. Only Roderick’s place sat empty and Màiri noticed Iain’s gaze move to the doorway again and again in anticipation. She could not wait to meet Iain’s brother. From the softened look on her husband’s face when he talked about him, she knew the two were close.

From the back of the room, a young MacAlister warrior with fire-red hair and beard to match raised his cup of ale in a toast to his laird’s new bride. Màiri smiled as the young lad teetered back and forth while he slurred his words of congratulations. She doubted any saint had ever been given such exalted praise as she. When he finished, the room exploded in uproarious cheering. Màiri lowered her head demurely as she gratefully accepted the toast.

Iain placed his hand atop hers and wrapped his fingers around hers. “Congratulations, milady,” he said when the warrior sat back in his seat. “You have already found a place in the hearts of my people.”

Màiri turned her face to him. She saw the pride in his eyes and her heart swelled in her breast. “If I have, it is because your people have such a love for their laird they would develop a fondness for me even if I had a face that frightened children.”

“I think not. I think perhaps they too can see the gentle heart that beats in your breast.”

Màiri turned her head to hide her burning cheeks. “I am sure the ale helps. Don’t you think so, Donald?” she asked, needing to include someone else in their conversation.

Donald laughed. “I think the night is young yet. When they start toasting old Granny Farlane as a sweet young lass, then I will know it is the ale talking.”

Just then another MacAlister warrior stood to toast his mistress. Twice during his overly-flattering ovation, his friends on either side of him had to reach out to steady him. When he finished, Màiri gave both Iain and Donald an I-told-you-so look. Donald leaned back in his chair and laughed.

“I think we will concentrate only on practicing archery tomorrow,” Donald said as concession. He had to shout to be heard over the din of laughter and revelry coming from the growing number of MacAlister men and women squeezing into the great hall. “It is doubtful the warriors will be able to even find the practice area in the morning, let alone hit a target, but it will be less dangerous than broadswords. We can at least point the arrows away from each other.”

Màiri looked at Iain and smiled at the grin lighting his face. Many of the older warriors sat in groups, loudly relating long-ago feats of valor and heroism that still enjoyed the embellishments of exaggeration, while lasses wended their way among them, laughing, and joking, keeping everyone’s cups filled with ale. A few of the younger, less experienced drinkers already lined the walls, sleeping off the effects of too much ale. “I fear, milady,” he said, leaning closer so she could hear him, “you will na be remembered so fondly in the morning.”

She laughed out loud, then reached for a piece of candied fruit on the platter before her. She popped it into her mouth then reached for another. She had never tasted anything like it before.

“I am glad to see you like the candied fruits our women prepared for this evening. No one makes them better than our Ada.”

Màiri reached out and picked up another piece of fruit and held it between her thumb and finger. The thick, syrupy juice from the fruit ran down her hand and she popped a candied pear into her mouth, then licked the sticky liquid from her fingers. It was delicious.

She reached for another piece then looked up to see her husband staring at her with a sly grin on his face. “What?” she asked, watching his grin open to a broad smile.

“Nothing, wife. I did not realize you had such a taste for sweets.”

She felt her cheeks warm. “I have made a glutton of myself, haven’t I?” She moved her hand away from the platter and put it in her lap.

Iain laughed. “No one is counting how many of the sweets you have eaten, although I don’t remember anyone ever eating as many as seven before.”

“I have had that many?” she asked, feeling her cheeks warm even more.

He laughed even louder and picked up the discarded fruit and brought it to her mouth. She opened when the sticky liquid touched her lips and ate it.

“Aye. Now you have eaten eight. It will be the talk of the keep for days.”

“Will it really?” she asked trying to decide if he was teasing her. She wasn’t quite sure. She was not used to such teasing. “It is just that I had never tasted anything like it before and—”

“Are you telling me you have never tasted candied fruits before?”

“We did na have them in my father’s keep.”

“Then I will make sure you find some before your plate at every meal. You can eat them to your heart’s content.”

“If I eat them at every meal, I fear I will na fit through the doorways in your keep, milord.”

“Then I will build another keep with bigger doorways.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward at his teasing remarks. She had never enjoyed herself so much in her whole life. She was living a fairy tale, each experience more enjoyable than the last. How was it possible that a husband could laugh and joke with his wife? She had never heard her father say even as much as a pleasant word to her mother. She had never even seen him look at her with anything but hatred in his eyes.

Because of the gift.

Iain smiled at her again, the look in his eyes filled with warmth. Could it be possible to live her life being so happy?

Her heart skipped in her breast at the thought. Perhaps it was.

She looked around the room and noticed that everyone seemed content. Living a life of such bliss was beyond her wildest dreams.

She vowed again to do whatever she must to hide her gift.

Another warrior rose to toast his laird’s good health and make the prediction that his new bride would bless him with a strapping young son to carry on the MacAlister name within a year’s time. Loud cheers echoed throughout the hall, and Màiri’s face warmed in embarrassment.

“Little do they know, milady,” Iain whispered in her ear, “that if they do na cease their endless well-wishes and give us time to be alone, there will be little chance that I will ever get that son.”

Màiri knew her face turned ten shades of red, and when Iain placed his arm around her shoulder, a fiery brand burned her flesh. To appease the ribald shouts demanding that their laird kiss his bride, Iain turned her face toward him and pressed his lips against hers. The deafening roar that echoed in the hall was almost as loud as her heart pounding in her head.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, holding her closer in a most possessive manner.

“Aye, milord, but I am still waiting to glimpse the handsome warrior Hector I have heard so much about,” she said, searching for something to say that would take her mind off his nearness.

“Very well, wife, I will point him out to you, but remember you are now a married woman.”

“I will try, milord,” she said, looking as sincere as she could on such a festive occasion.

He dropped his head back on his shoulders and laughed, then searched the room, looking for the warrior Hector. Iain found him and motioned for Hector to come forward.

Màiri couldn’t believe her eyes. She’d thought from the start that her husband was the most handsome warrior in all of Scotland and she still did, but by the saints, the warrior walking toward her was a close second.

His shoulders were broad and muscular, his magnificent stature surpassing almost every MacAlister in the hall. His towering height came near to matching Iain’s while his features were strong and noble. Every detail of Hector’s remarkable physique, from the dark, wavy hair on his head to the muscled calves of his bare legs, was flawless. She could understand the attraction every MacAlister lass had for him. She could not wait to meet the one he had chosen as his bride.

“Hector,” Iain said, “I hear you are to wed.”

The young warrior smiled shyly then answered. “Aye, milord. We are only waiting for the priest to return.”

“Is your future bride here?”

“Aye.”

“Then bring her over so she can meet her mistress and receive my congratulations.”

Hector’s face lit up as he bowed slightly then crossed the room to find the lass Agnes. In no time he came back with her. She was just as Janet had described her. Small and shy and plain to look upon, with eyes that held more warmth and passion than Màiri had ever seen before. She seemed remarkable in her own quiet way, and even though she did not request it, Màiri’s gift came to the forefront to show her what it sensed for the couple. Màiri felt the love they shared for each other, then she quickly pushed it away. From now on, she would not allow her gift to reveal truths or falsehoods or honesty or deceit, but would deal with each blessing or tragedy in the same manner as everyone else.

“You remember the lass Agnes, milord?” Hector said, standing close beside her. “Her father is your tanner Finlay.”

“Of course. My most sincere good wishes, Agnes.”

“Thank you, milord.” She looked at Màiri and bowed respectfully. “Welcome, milady. We are overjoyed our laird has brought you to us.”

“Thank you, Agnes. I am the one blessed to be here.”

Agnes smiled a shy smile and Màiri saw Hector reach for her hand and hold it. The gesture touched her. She did not need her gift to tell they were in love.

“As soon as the priest returns from the MacDuff’s,” Hector said, “our wedding will take place. We would be honored if you would join our celebration.”

“We will look forward to it,” Iain answered.

Hector and Agnes bid their farewell and walked across the hall. It was not long and Màiri saw them go outside. Agnes left first and Hector followed. When she looked at her husband, she saw that he noticed too.

“At least Hector is lucky enough to be able to find some time alone with his Agnes,” he whispered in her ear, touching the side of her neck with his lips. “Do you think anyone would notice if I left with my bride for a while?”

A shiver raced up and down her arms. “I think I could guarantee we would be missed.” She knew it was not right to feel this way, but she would like nothing more than to be alone with Iain again.

“Why do you think our Hector chose Agnes, milady?” he said, wrapping his fingers around the back of her neck and rubbing gently. “She is not the most beautiful lass in Scotland.”

His touch sent a warmth surging through her body. “I think to Hector she is. And the beauty he sees is not only on the outside.”

“You must be right, wife. Even a blind man could see how much he cares for her.”

He locked his gaze with hers, and Màiri saw a strange hunger in his eyes. Just when she was sure he was about to lean down to kiss her, another MacAlister stood to offer a toast. A few words echoed in the hall, but before he finished even the first sentence, a much deeper voice interrupted him.

The look on Iain’s face widened in surprise and his lips broadened into a smile. Màiri followed his gaze to the entryway where a slightly smaller version of her husband stood at the top of the stairs.

“A cup of ale!” the stranger demanded, holding out his hand while a pretty lass rushed forward with a goblet. He stood with his feet braced in a regal stance and held the cup high in the air. He made almost as magnificent a figure as the man she’d married. He was nearly as tall, his shoulders nearly as broad, his smile nearly as bright, and the way he carried himself nearly as imposing.

“A toast to my brother, the MacAlister laird, and his bride.”

All the MacAlisters in the room stood and held their cups high while they saluted their laird.

“May you and your bride enjoy only blessings and happiness, and find God walking at your side for all your days.”

The room echoed with the loud cheers.

“May you be blessed with a long and healthy life, and a dozen sons to fill your keep.”

The cheers grew louder.

“And may you always find a fire blazing in your hearth, passion in your bed, and desire in your wife’s eyes.”

An unbelievable eruption of shouts and cheers echoed in the hall as the MacAlisters raised their cups then drank their toasts.

The man in the doorway lifted his cup to his mouth, then raised his broadsword high in the air. He placed his hand over his heart and in a loud, booming voice swore fealty to his laird, and to the mistress of clan MacAlister.

Another loud cheer erupted.

Iain stood at his chair. “Come here, Roderick, and meet my wife.” He held out his hand for Màiri to rise beside him.

Roderick crossed the great hall and stood before them. “Milady,” he said, taking her hand in his. “You are even more lovely than I had heard.”

The sensation that surged through her was as intense as any she’d ever felt. A chill as frigid as a Highland blizzard washed through her veins. Gnarled fingers wrapped around her heart, squeezing the air from her body until she could not breathe. She willed her gift to remain silent but could not stop it from interfering.