Page 53 of Marry the Highland Villain
Baskets of freshly baked bread, accompanied by smaller plates of smooth-churned butter. Wheels of cheese in multiple varieties were dotted here and there along the table, between the baskets of bread. There were large tureens of leek, herb, and potato stew, and bowls filled with watercress and freshly washed greens. Other shallow trays were filled with roasted vegetables and seasoned potatoes.
The main platters on each table held roasted pig and sliced venison roasts. Smaller trays and platters held chickens and pheasants, stuffed with breading and chestnuts and seasonings. Between the trays of meat stood small pitchers filled with rich, dark gravy that made Brigid’s mouth water.
The tables groaned under the weight of the food, leaving the servants to carry pitchers and bottles to the wedding party and the guests. There was wine and tea for the ladies, ale and mead for the men, and cordial for the young lads and lasses from the village, and the other castle residents who were attending the feast.
Brigid had scarcely begun to consider what was offered when Conall handed her a bowl of the soup, then took her plate and began to fill it for her. Bread, some of each meat, but more of the chicken and roast pig—far rarer on her family’s table than game meat—and a little of each cheese. Plenty of roast vegetables and potatoes.
“He certainly takes care of ye,” Lily murmured approvingly from her other side. “’Tis good to see.”
“He does that.” Brigid smiled at her sister, then took the plate Conall offered her. “Thank ye.”
The food was delicious, and Brigid enjoyed it to the fullest, glad to see that her sisters were enjoying the meal as well. It was the first time they had ever attended such a feast, and they laughed and chattered together merrily.
The hall was filled with the low hum of voices, broken by the higher tones of laughing children and the sounds of adult merriment. Brigid watched the people at the lower tables, marveling at the fact that they wereherpeople now—her clan.
The candles burned, sending up smoke scented with cedar, heather, and sage. The platters, bowls, and baskets slowly emptied. Finally, when most of the food was gone, servants began to move the lower tables, making space for dancing. Several individuals collected instruments and prepared to play music.
Brigid felt her heart pounding in anticipation. Her mother had taught them how to dance—she remembered that much from her childhood—but neither she nor her sisters had ever had much occasion to do so, outside of occasional family celebrations. No one ever invited them to village dances, and even at the seasonal festivals, they were rarely able to join in.
The last of the tables were moved, and the rushes were swept. Brigid shared a glance with Conall, who shook his head and then smiled at her sisters. The four of them rose from their seats, smiling in happy anticipation of the evening to come.
Before they could move toward the area that had been cleared for dancing, however, the doors to the Great Hall opened with a bang, and three men strode into the room, their stern expressions suggesting that this was no social visit and that they were certainly not there to pay their respects to the bride and groom.
All at once, the atmosphere in the hall changed from one of celebration and merriment to one of fear and anger.
Brigid tensed up as she heard the wave of angry muttering that accompanied the appearance of the men. Conall stiffened beside her. Then, with a shock that made her feel sick to the stomach, she recognized the older man in the lead.
Laird Auchter came to a stop directly in front of Brigid and Conall and offered them a mocking bow and a sardonic smile. “Laird MacKane. Lady MacKane. I’ve come to offer ye my congratulations on yer wedding.”
CHAPTER 19
Conall roseto his feet as soon as Eric Holdenson entered his hall. His hand was on his sword before he realized that all three of the men were unarmed and wearing the colors of peace.
He forced himself to remain calm. Surely not even Auchter was foolish enough to attempt anything when he was so badly outnumbered and thus attired? Surely he wouldn’t risk his life in such a fashion, not even to try to provoke Conall into acting dishonorably and attacking an unarmed man? It would be sheer madness—which did not, of course, mean that it would not happen.
I must be wary. There’s nay tellin’ what a man like Holdenson is capable of doin’.
He lowered his hand from his blade but remained ready to grab it at the slightest provocation.
“What do ye want, Holdenson?” he growled, aware that every eye in the room was upon him—friend and foe alike. “I told ye just yesterday that ye werenae welcome in my hall—or anywhere on MacKane lands, for that matter.”
Laird Auchter smirked at him. “Och, and I told ye that I would attend my granddaughter’s wedding, whether ye want me to or nae. Ye have nay grounds to refuse me. I have every right to be here both as kinsman to the bride and because of the marriage truce.”
Conall cursed inwardly. He had given orders to keep Eric Holdenson out of his castle, but the guards knew as well as he did that honor demanded he show courtesy to the man under the flag of truce. By arriving unarmed and truce-marked, Laird Auchter had made himself impossible to refuse entry to.
Curse the man.
“The ceremony is over. Ye’re too late.”
“And what of it? I’m still permitted to offer my blessings, as the lass has nay other male kin to do so.”
The man gave an evil smile, and Conall’s hand twitched by the hilt of his sword.
“Very well, ye’ve offered yer blessings,” he said curtly. “Now, leave.”
Conall knew he was being rude, but he didn’t care. However, he also knew that etiquette demanded he allow Eric Holdenson to stay if the man broke bread or shared a drink in his hall. He was not of a mind to permit either, let alone to house such a snake within his walls.
It was not to be borne. He would not allow it.
