To Love a Highlander (34 page)

“So you are MacNab.” It was all he could think to say.

That was a fine thing, because surely the hoarse, full-of-emotion voice wasn’t his own, especially when he added, “I’ve aye hoped to meet you.”

That was true enough.

But he meant the words much differently now, little as he could believe it.

“You do me honor, lad.” Archibald’s voice quivered and he cleared his throat, noisily. As Sorley had done a moment before, he lifted a hand and swiped at his cheeks. Only unlike Sorley, Archie was unable to stem the flow of tears spilling from his eyes.

He waved away the crummock when Mirabelle, equally damp-eyed, tried to thrust it at him. Instead, he gripped Sorley’s hands, met his gaze. “I ne’er kent who you were, or where, or if you even lived,” he said, his voice shaky. “No one told me, and I didn’t dare come seeking you. Those were bad times, lad, another world. I’ve regretted the loss all my days, ne’er dreamt to someday meet you.” He glanced down, fished beneath his plaid to withdraw a small piece of linen, blew his nose.

Sorley swallowed hard, blinking as well.

He was not going all misty-eyed.

This man meant nothing to him. But his heart pounded more strongly, more joyously with every beat, proving him a liar. As did how easily he slid an arm around Archie’s thin shoulders, guiding him back to the shelter of the arcade. He pretended not to see the equally bright eyes of the Highlanders waiting there: Mirabelle’s father, Grim and his lady wife, a few others Sorley didn’t know.

He did know that he couldn’t recall a single one of the accusations he’d meant to hurl at his father.

Nor did he want to, and that should’ve alarmed him.

But it didn’t.

He didn’t even mind when Mirabelle hooked her arm through Archie’s, beaming at him as if he’d just pulled the moon from the heavens for her.

“Have you heard we’re to wed, sir?” She leaned in, kissed the old man’s bristly cheek. “You’re the first to be told.” She glanced at Munro, winking. “Unless my father has objections, of course, which would mean we’d simply run off into the hills, marrying in the old way!”

“You’ll have a proper wedding at Knocking Tower.” Munro came over to join them, clapped a hand on Sorley’s shoulder. “I did have a suspicion this was coming.” He nodded, then broke into a smile.

“You cannae trick a learned man, lad.” He wagged a
finger at Sorley, smiling. “I kent you brought me thon stone root as a bribe for my gel’s hand.”

“I didnae…” Sorley let the words tail off, for his father was gripping his arm, looking up at him with such hope shining on his face that Sorley’s heart clenched.

“Can you forgive me, son?” He spoke clear, not ashamed to voice such a plea before his friends.

“There is no need.” Sorley was surprised by that truth. “I already have.”

“Oh!” Mirabelle pressed her hands to her face, her tears leaking through her fingers. “I have so hoped for this day.”

Sorley frowned, not liking the crowd gathering round them, cheering and hooting and some even clapping. Others were raising ale cups and mead horns, calling for pipers and dancing, a proper celebration.

“Aye, well…” Sorley ran a hand over his hair. He swallowed hard, hoped he wasn’t dreaming. “It would seem this truly was a day of wonder,” he finally said, glancing up at the heavens, not surprised to see the clouds part to reveal a scatter of stars. They shone down on them all, perhaps even smiling, congratulating.

It wouldn’t surprise him.

Indeed, he doubted anything ever would again.

“Son…” Archie gripped his arm again, his voice stronger now, confident. “My stronghold, Duncreag, is a fine place for a wedding,” he declared, standing a bit taller. “We host the grandest Yuletide festivals every year.” He cast a glance at Mirabelle and her father, Grim and Lady Breena. “Ask them and they’ll tell you. They were all at last year’s celebrations. There be nowhere more fitting for you two to.—”

“We will think on it, Father,” Sorley nodded, using the endearment to sweeten his words.

Not an “aye” as Archie had surely hoped to win.

He would dwell later on why calling Archie his sire felt more right than wrong.

Indeed, it filled him with joy.

But not as much as when Mirabelle lifted up on her toes and slipped her arms around his shoulders, kissing him roundly, in full view of everyone.

“I love you so,” she whispered in his ear. “But I think we should head into the hall now. Maili told me the King has set a festive table for us, called in his pipers—”

“Another grand feast, aye?” Sorley didn’t miss the poignancy. His heart thundering, he offered his soon-to-be wife his arm, triumph and love sweeping him when she took it proudly. “Perhaps this time we can finish our dance?”

“Oh, we shall, for sure,” she agreed, her beautiful eyes shining.

And so they made their across the courtyard to where the great hall’s door stood wide.

Many were the reels they danced that night.

Into the small hours, truth be told.

But the true celebration happened when they finally slipped away and climbed the tower stair to Mirabelle’s guest chamber.

Once there, he showed her every wicked delight she had to look forward to in the long years they’d spend together as man and wife.

And much later, as she lay sleeping in his arms, he knew for sure that he was no longer a bastard.

He was the luckiest man in the world.

The Red Lion Inn
A Night of Celebration
Autumn 1399

C
an you believe it is time to say farewell?”

Mirabelle edged closer to Sorley, glad for the arm he held so firmly around her. They stood near the hearth fire of the tavern’s long room, the warmth of the flames and the wood’s soft crackling lending cheer to an already joyous evening.

“I have come to love this place.” She glanced up at her soon-to-be husband’s handsome face, not caring if he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “Your friends…” She let the words tail off, looked out across the crowded tables, each one filled with smiling, laughing revelers. “I will miss them when we’re gone.”

Sorley chuckled low and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “I will keep you too occupied to do so.”

Mirabelle smiled softly, knowing that was true.

Indeed, the promise filled her with tingly excitement. Especially when he brushed back her hair and whispered against her ear, “William has outdone himself laying out a
fine feast this night, but I vow I am hungry for an entirely different delicacy.”

“You are wicked.” Mirabelle’s pulse quickened, for she knew exactly what he meant.

She also knew it would be a while before he could treat her to such bliss.

She wasn’t sure she could stand the wait.

“I ken what you’re thinking, lass.” His words proved he knew her well. “You err greatly if you think I’m so debauched as to ravish you thusly whilst riding to distant Kintail with such an entourage as will accompany us.” He caught her chin, tipping her face to his. “Once we’re well and duly wed at the MacKenzies’ Eilean Creag Castle, I’ll make up for lost time.”

“I will hold you to your word,” Mirabelle teased, sure there’d be no need.

Sorley was ever ravenous for her, as she was for him.

“Did you proud, didn’t I?” William strode up to them, his innkeeper’s apron tied around his girth, a grin splitting his bearded face. “Cannae let Clan MacKenzie outdo my hospitality, what?”

He winked and tossed a glance at the linen-draped tables, the sumptuous victuals and plentiful ale. “Legends are sung about their feasts. Seeing as we’re all riding north with you for the wedding, I’ll no’ be shamed.”

“You are the best innkeeper in the land.” Mirabelle lifted on her toes and kissed his cheek, knowing Sorley wouldn’t mind. “You’re also the greatest friend,” she added, stepping back. “We’ll never forget it was you who made it possible for us to marry at Eilean Creag.”

“Aye, well…” William looked embarrassed. “More like Grim Mackintosh had a hand in that.” He slid at glance at the Nought warrior, who sat supping and drinking with his lady wife and Munro and Archie. “Grim kens a MacKenzie or two. I only put a wee burr beneath his saddle, letting him know all and sundry were fashed o’er where you should
wed. Seeing as Sorley’s mother was a MacKenzie, ’tis only right for you to marry in Kintail.” He clapped a big hand on Sorley’s shoulder, nodding once as his gaze flicked to the stag’s-head brooch pinned so proudly to Mirabelle’s breast. “You’ll do the lady honor that way.”

“Indeed, we shall.” Mirabelle slid her arm around Sorley, leaning in against him.

If he knew her well, she knew him better.

The sudden glint in his eye wasn’t a reflection of the fire glow. He was deeply touched the MacKenzies were hosting their wedding, welcoming them home as if they truly belonged to their much-vaunted clan.

Which, truth be told, they now did.

“Do you truly mean to hold celebratory feasts at Duncreag, Knocking, Alex Stewart’s Badenoch stronghold, and Stirling, after the wedding?” William was shaking his head, looking from one of them to the other. “That’s a great deal of carousing, my friend. We’ll be traipsing across the land for weeks, mayhap months.”

“So we will.” Sorley grinned and punched his friend’s arm. “It’ll be a grand adventure.”

“I do hope so,” Maili tossed in, hurrying past with a tray of delicious-smelling roasted meat. “I’m thinking to catch me a wild Highland man,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the throng.

Sorley and William grinned after her. Mirabelle said a silent prayer, hoping the girl’s wish came true.

“There will be much merrymaking,” she agreed, turning back to the men. “We didn’t want to leave out anyone.”

“That may be,” Archibald approached them, coming slowly for he’d forgotten his walking stick, “but none of the revels will be as rousing as those at our Duncreag.” He looked at Sorley, his sparse, white-tufted hair mussed as ever, his face beaming. “I was just reminding Munro and Grim that no castle hosts a finer feasting than we do.”

He stopped before Sorley, swept out an arm, taking in the joyous throng. “We’ve room for all thon folk and more. Your home, laddie, is a place like no other.” The pride in his voice, the hope in his words, squeezed Mirabelle’s heart. “Truth be told, you may wish to stay on there.”

“We may well do so.” Sorley slid a discreet hand beneath his father’s elbow, steadying him when he wobbled a bit after making such a flourish. “Come, Munro is glancing round searching for you. Like as no’, he wishes to argue the glories of his Knocking Tower.” He flashed a wink at Mirabelle and then led his father away, guiding him back to his seat, keeping his hand firmly on Archie’s arm as they went.

When Sorley returned, Mirabelle knew they needed to nip outside. Giving him a significant look, she tugged him with her, skirting the young stable lad from the castle whom Sorley had employed to look after Little Heart during their journeying. The boy sat near the door with the kitten, laughing as Little Heart leapt about like a flea, chasing a feather the lad had tied to a stick.

“You didn’t have to hire him.” She glanced back at the boy when they stepped outside. “Little Heart has his basket, and you know I’d never let anything happen to him. He’s my kitten and I will care for him, always.”

“So you will, I ken.” Sorley took her hand, drawing her farther away from the noisy inn.

The area facing the road was lit with blazing torches and here, too, tables were spread with victuals and ale, enough so that any passing townsfolk or wayfarers could join the merrymaking. Off to the side, beneath the trees, a large number of horses were tethered, beasts that couldn’t be stalled in the inn’s now-full stables. A few baggage carts were there as well, piled high with canvas-draped travel supplies, all in preparation for the wedding party’s departure for Kintail at first light on the morrow.

“The lad has a purpose beyond guarding your precious
kitten.” Sorley took her by the shoulders, turning her to him, scattering her thoughts of their pending journey. “Did I no’ tell you once that cats are faster than lightning? I’ll no’ have you aye fashed about what the wee bugger is up to, no’ at the times I mean to slip away with you and—”

“Ah-ha!” Mirabelle laughed. “So you do plan to ravish me before we reach Kintail?”

“I intend to always ravish you.” His smile flashed, his tone dark with teasing devilry. “Dinnae you e’er doubt it. Though, I’ll own we may have to sneak away into the heather and make love on my plaid, during the journey. I’ll no’ scandalize you before our friends, our fathers. I’d no’ risk shocking our redoubtable elders.” He winked and ran a hand through her hair.

“Have you truly forgiven Archie then?” Mirabelle needed to know.

Sorley shrugged and glanced aside, torchlight limning his strong profile, glinting in his beard. “If the King can, so can I.”

It wasn’t the answer she’d wanted.

Or the one she believed.

“As I know you,” she said, reaching to touch his face, “you’d have forgiven him anyway, King’s pardon or not.”

He turned to her, arched a brow. “Is that so?”

“It is.” Mirabelle smiled, triumphantly.

“Sakes o’ mercy!” He frowned and shook his head. “What e’er am I to do with a wife who kens me so well?”

“Love me?” Mirabelle looked up at him, knew her heart was in her eyes.

“That I already do, lass.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. “I have aye done so and have no intention of ever stopping. No’ for all our days.” And then he did what he did so well, crushing her to him and kissing her long and deep, so masterfully she didn’t want him to stop.

But he did, breaking their kiss to nip the sensitive skin
just beneath her ear. “You are my heart, Mirabelle, the whole of my world.”

“Oh, Sorley…” Mirabelle lifted a hand and dashed at her eyes.

She could hardly speak for the hot thickness rising in her throat, the hammering of her heart. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

He took her hand, bringing it to his lips, kissing her fingers one by one. “I vow I do, praise the gods.”

“And I…” She glanced back at the well-lit inn, heard the joyous laughter, the merriment within. “I do wish this night could go on forever.”

“My sweet Mirabelle.” He cupped her face, kissing her softly this time. “This is no’ the end, I promise. It is a grand beginning.”