Page 6 of Highlanders for the Holidays
Chapter 2
Sir No?l couldn’t have beenmore satisfied with the laird’s idea. Preparing for an elaborate ceremony weeks in advance seemed like a waste of time to him.
The betrothal had been made. The laird had agreed to the marriage. There was already a sumptuous feast laid out at the table. Why not get the deed done?
Besides, he’d seen enough of his bride to suspect there was a splendid body under all that wool. The sooner the wedding, the sooner the bedding.
Then he glanced down at his bride.
A look of sheer panic filled her silvery eyes.
“So soon?” she squeaked.
He placed his hand atop hers in concern. Obviously, haste did not appeal to her. But why?
Surely, she’d been prepared to be a wife. It should come as no surprise. She’d known about the betrothal for some time.
Did she not find him suitable?
True, he was no golden-haired Adonis. He had a few battle scars. And he’d been told he could sometimes look fierce and menacing.
But he was young and strong, capable of defending a lady’s honor. And most women found him attractive enough.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her gently.
The laird answered for her. “Ach, she’s only an anxious bride. All the more reason to make it quick, aye?”
His bride was growing more agitated. But she couldn’t seem to find the words to adequately explain why. “Wait. I’m not… Ye can’t… This isn’t… Da, please… Don’t ye see ‘twill only make matters worse if ye—”
“Sir No?l, I should introduce ye to your kin,” the laird interrupted. He turned to his second daughter, who sat fidgeting beside him. “This is Cathalin’s sister, Ysenda.”
“My lady, ‘tis an honor.” No?l made a slight bow.
The laird swung an arm out toward a red-bearded bear of a man. “That’s my sister’s son, Cormac.” He pointed to a smaller version of Cormac. “And that’s Dubne, his brother.” He waved a hand toward three curly-headed maids who were whispering together. “And those wee gossips are her daughters—Bethac, Ete, and Gruoch.”
“Ladies.” No?l inclined his head. “Gentlemen. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
He lost track of all the kin. Most of them were short and sturdy. Most of them had reddish-brown hair. And most of them were half-drunk. Finally he turned his attention to the young man around whose neck the laird’s arm was locked and waited for an introduction. “And ye?”
“This? This is Caimbeul.”
No?l could see there was something amiss with the lad. His body was woefully misshapen. But that wasn’t all. Distress furrowed the young man’s brows. Maybe it was because the laird was waving his dagger about, dangerously close to the man’s throat.
“Caimbeul,” No?l repeated.
“Sir,” the man tightly replied.
Before the laird could continue, his bride interrupted. “Da, please listen to me.” Her words spilled out like the falsely calm surface over a turbulent river. “I think ‘twould be best if we delayed at least till the morrow so ye can—”
“Nonsense, daughter,” the laird chided. “Can ye not see how eager your bridegroom is to have ye by his side?”
“But—”
“And he’s come all the way from France.”
“Aye, but—”
“I’ll hear no more of it. ‘Tis best ye’re wed right here and now.” Then he turned till he was almost nose-to-nose with Caimbeul. “Wouldn’t ye agree?”
