Page 6 of The Handfasting
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?”
No?l’s bride lowered her head then. But it wasn’t in submission. Her eyes were darting about madly, as if she were trying to come up with a clever ploy.
“My lady?” No?l said softly in French. “Is this not your wish?”
She lifted her eyes. They possessed all the colors of a winter sky, shifting from ominous pewter to stormy gray to serene silver. How pleasing it would be to look into those eyes every day for the rest of his life, watching their changing hues and moods.
Then she looked back at her father, who still had a possessive grip on Caimbeul.
“Da, please. Don’t—”
“Ye’ll do as I say, lass,” the laird scolded. “Ye know your place. We all make sacrifices. Look at poor Ysenda here. Even if the unsightly wench somehow manages to snag a husband…” He paused, his eyes twinkling, and No?l was certain the laird must be jesting. The lass was almost as beautiful as her sister—even when she frowned, as she did now. “’Twill probably be no better than a Highland sheepherder. But ye… Ye’ll be the wife of a Norman lord. Ye’ll be Lady Cathalin de Ware.”
No?l’s bride clenched her hand atop his now, digging in to the muscle of his forearm. “But Da, the king will—”
“Hush! I’ll hear no more!” her father interrupted as he tightened his grasp on the man, hugging him closer. “Ye should be more like Caimbeul. He knows when to hold his tongue. Don’t ye, lad?”
Caimbeul lowered his eyes in anger and shame. The hand atop No?l’s arm clenched even tighter.
No?l wasn’t sure what was going on. Did Caimbeul object to the marriage? The man had been seated beside his bride. Was it possible he had feelings for her? And did she return those feelings? Perhaps she preferred the sweet-faced Scottish lad, despite his crooked body.
