Page 33 of Marry the Highland Villain
There was plenty to do in preparation for the wedding, and Brigid was sure that she’d never have managed even half of it, had it not been for Emily. But as each day passed, she felt more and more restless as she waited for word from her sisters.
Conall had sent the second letter, and his own, almost as soon as Brigid had finished writing it. She already knew how long it took to traverse the distance between Blackwood Hall—as her father had called it—and MacKane Castle. She managed to keep herself busy while she waited, but she couldn’t help looking toward the gates of the castle more often as the first day passed, then the second, then the third.
By the evening before the wedding, she could scarcely sit still. She missed her sisters with an ache that was almost physical. Every passing candlemark made her feel lonelier and more desolate, despite the kindness of those around her.
Finally, just after supper, Emily drew her aside. “I think everything that needs to be done is done, Brigid,” she said, smiling kindly. “Yer wedding dress is ready. The menu for the feast after the wedding is arranged. The flowers have been chosen, and Conall has sent for a priest. There’s little enough to be concerned with. Perhaps it would be best if ye went to yer rooms and got some rest. Ye have a big day ahead of ye—we all have.”
Brigid nodded. “Aye,” she said, knowing that what Emily said made sense but reluctant to admit that the day was about to end without any sign of her sisters’ longed-for arrival.
She climbed into bed and laid her head on the pillow. No less than two candlemarks later, however, she had already abandoned any effort to sleep. It was an impossible task. She’d tried drinking warm milk. She’d tried watching the fire and sniffing the lavender and heather sachet that Emily had given her. She’d tried reading one of the few books that had been left in her chamber—a herbalist’s manual which held little interest for her—but nothing could distract her or weary her mind enough to allow her to sleep.
She recalled the stroll she and Conall had taken around the garden a few nights before. Fresh air, and perhaps another mug of milk afterward. That could help.
She knew why she couldn’t sleep. It was the eve of the wedding, and her sisters had not yet arrived. There was little chance that they would be there in time for the wedding, and the thought made her heart and her throat ache. She wanted to go to Conall, and ask him for the delay he had offered her, but at the same time… what if they arrived in the morning? She would feel foolish then.
There’s still time for them to get here. I mustnae lose hope just yet.I’ll get some air, then get some sleep, and afterward, in the morning, if they’re still nae here, then I’ll ask Conall for the delay.
Mind made up, Brigid pulled on one of her new dresses, tugged on her shoes, and made her way out to the garden.
The night was cool and quiet, with just a touch of a breeze to ruffle her hair. Brigid pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and walked around the gardens, breathing in the scents of heather and flowers. It wasn’t like home, but the scents were soothing and familiar, nonetheless.
She made her way along the small path she’d walked with Conall, down close to the castle, then across toward the wall and back. She was perhaps halfway back when she passed the small postern gate that led out to the moors.
Two shadows detached themselves from the gate, resolving in the moonlight into large, burly warriors dressed in MacKane tartan. Brigid frowned at the strong scent of mead that hung around both men. Still, she saw no reason not to be polite.
“Good eventide.”
One of the men scoffed, huffing alcohol-laden breath into the air. “Good eventide, she says,” he muttered to his companion with a cruel grin. “And how’s it supposed to be good when we’re dealin’ with Auchter’s little wench?”
Brigid flinched. “I… I dinnae ken what ye…”
“Do ye nae? Yer clansfolk killed the Laird’s brother,” the man all but spat, the mead he’d drunk making him bold. “Aye, an’ several good warriors, too. Friends an’ shieldmates of ours.”
The air of violence that hung around him made Brigid swallow nervously.
“I… Ye are mistaken,” she protested weakly. “I dinnae have a clan…”
“Auchter claimed ye!” The other man stepped closer, pushing her back against the wall with a snarl of fury. “That makes ye his kin, and nay better than the rabid wolf whose blood ye carry.”
There was anger and a sort of unreasonable madness in the attitude of both men.
Brigid felt her stomach sink with fear. “Please… I dinnae ken…”
“Shut yer mouth.” The first man seized her arm, and she gasped in pain as his fingers dug into her flesh. “Auchter blood isnae welcome here, nay matter what our Laird says.”
“Yer grandfather’s a snake,” the other man hissed. “An’ like as nae, ye came out here to let him into our castle, like the treacherous wench ye are. Ye might have fooled the Laird, but ye willnae fool the rest of us.”
“I wouldnae…” Brigid stuttered.
It was clear from the crazed look in the men’s eyes, however, that neither of them was willing to listen to anything she had to say.
“Aye, ye would. Or mayhap ye intend to run back to yer grandfather and break the peace that’s the only reason our Laird kept ye here. Give him a reason to attack again.”
The grip on her arm tightened.
Brigid whimpered as the man jerked her closer. “The Laird is too gentle with ye,” he said, his face so close to hers that his foul breath made her choke. “I think we ought to?—”
A roar of anger split the night, and the second guard was slammed off his feet with an abruptness that shocked both Brigid and the man holding her.
