Page 5 of The Handfasting
Ysenda’s eyes flattened. No doubt. Things couldn’t have worked out better for her sister. It appeared Cathalin would get the Highlander husband she and their father wanted. And Ysenda would be sacrificed to the Norman.
Worse, nobody in the clan was brave enough to come to her defense. She was being thrown to the wolves. And there was nothing she could do about it.
But what was her father thinking? Sir No?l had obviously agreed to marry Cathalin for the title and land that came with her. What would happen when he discovered he’d inherit neither? And what would happen when the two kings found out their alliance had been sabotaged?
It seemed Laird Gille was courting war.
Here and there, the clan folk began to cheer in tentative congratulations. The laird nodded to the musicians to resume playing. Everyone returned to eating and dancing and making merry, welcoming the Normans to their revels. And her father beckoned Sir No?l forward with an affable wave of his hand.
The Norman offered Ysenda his arm. She didn’t dare refuse him, for fear of endangering Caimbeul. So she rested her forearm lightly atop his.
She tried not to panic. Surely her father wasn’t serious. He wouldn’treallydefy the king. Surely he’d marry the real Cathalin to this Norman. His proud boasts of finding her sister a proper Highland laird were only that—boasts.
The laird couldn’t hide the truth from Sir No?l forever. He must know that the instant Ysenda knew Caimbeul was safe, she’d confess to the Norman that she was not his true betrothed. After all, it was far better to face her father’s anger than to invite the wrath of two kings.
Besides, she reasoned as she stole a sidelong glance at the knight escorting her forward, her sister should be grateful. Lots of political alliances were made with doddering old men. At least Sir No?l was fit and handsome. He had broad shoulders and thick, curling hair. His jaw was strong, and his dark eyes sparkled with life. He even spoke perfect Gaelic.
Laird Gille narrowed his eyes at the Norman. “So ye’re the one who’s come for my most precious prize.”
Sir No?l gazed down at Ysenda. The tender sincerity in his eyes made her heart flutter. “I’m honored to have her entrusted to me.”
Laird Gille guffawed at that. “I was referrin’ to my castle.” He picked up his cup of ale with his free hand, the one that wasn’t holding a dagger to Caimbeul’s neck. “But aye, I suppose my daughter is a prize worth havin’ as well.” He took a drink, and a foamy trickle dripped down his beard.
Sir No?l smiled at her. “She’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”
Ysenda’s breath caught. He couldn’t be talking about her. Had he evenlookedat his real betrothed? Cathalin was flawless. Next to her perfect rose of a sister, Ysenda looked like a common thistle.
By Cathalin’s sour expression, she did not appreciate the slight. That anyone would praise Ysenda’s looks while Cathalin was in the room was unthinkable. Ysenda could almost see the steam coming out of her sister’s perfect ears.
But to be honest, it was pleasant having an attractive man gazing down at her with such appreciation. No one had ever looked at Ysenda like that before. She’d grown accustomed to hiding in the shadow of her breathtaking sister.
Of course, that bewitched look on the Norman’s face would vanish once he learned his bride came with no inheritance. But she wasn’t going to give him the bad tidings until Caimbeul was out of her father’s clutches.
Meanwhile, her brother scowled in frustration. She could see he wanted to help her. But he didn’t dare. One slip of the knife, and he’d be good to no one. Her father had been drinking heavily. He might do something foolish, something rash, something he couldn’t undo…
“Why wait?” the laird bellowed. “Let’s have the handfastin’ now!”
Like that.
Chapter 2
Sir No?l couldn’t have been more 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?
