Page 16 of Captured By the Highland Devil
He was a warmonger; bold and insufferable. While he admitted his part in making her people suffer, through what he had said—and what he had not said— it was as if he were blaming her father and her people for the bloody invasion. The hypocrisy of his actions made bitter gall flood her mouth.
“It was a reasonable assumption,” she said, boldly looking him in the eye. “Ye are a warmonger, after all.”
His mouth pulled across his face in more of a grimace than a smile. As a matter of fact, she had never seen him truly smile. Perhaps he was so evil he was incapable of such simple joy.
Servants were bustling to and fro from the great hall on their varied tasks, some carrying great rounds of cheese, while large barrels of ale and mead were being wheeled into. The sounds of excited chatter and happy laughter could be heard all around.
He held out his arm. “It’s time.”
Begrudgingly, she took his arm, and they mounted the steps to the dais and stood in front of the head table. A servant lad handed him a full goblet of wine that he lifted high. “Hear ye! Hear ye!”
The people, at least fifty, quieted and Ruben announced, “I, Ruben Alexander Miller, present to ye Paige Bradley, the daughter of Laird MacPherson as me newly wedded wife. We have pledged to forge peace for both our clan and theirs.”
This announcement brought great shouts of approval from the stunned guests, and a roar went up at the far end table. Men clad in soldier leathers clapped fiercely and stomped their feet, cheering raucously.
“We are to welcome her,” he added. “All of us in Clan McKinnon are to open our arms and hearts to her as she is now one of us.”
Ruben sobered, “I ken some of ye are victims of the war, or ye ken someone who is. A lot of ye have lost faithers, sons, uncles and brothers. It is very easy to sink into bitterness and anger, but she is one of us now. Raise a hand to her, and be warned that the consequences will be swift.”
A rush of whispers coasted over the room and Ruben made sure to let his announcement sink into the people gathered before speaking again.
“That said, this is a celebration of unity and peace. This morning, we eat and drink to our health and future while putting the grim past behind us. And to that, I take the first drink!”
He tilted the cup to his lips and took a bracing mouthful before he turned and handed the cup to Paige. She wanted to slap it out of his hands or throw the contents into his face, but when his brow ticked up, she took the goblet.
Taking two mouthfuls of the warm, heady, sloe wine, she stifled a shudder and handed the goblet back to him. He led her to the high table when the girl she had seen at the wedding was seated to the right of her. It was just beside where Ruben would sit.
He pulled out a seat right beside her and she sat, her gaze flittering over the poached eggs, Lorne sausage, slivers of roasted fowl and well-seasoned potatoes. She saw cornmeal cakes and buttered toast, a feast for a king.
“I’ll be right back,” Ruben said, resting a hand on her shoulder.
Even though she knew she should eat, the mere fact of where she was—and who she was around—robbed her of her appetite. She did not even want to touch her wine.
“Are ye nae hungry?” the girl—Norah, she assumed—said quietly beside her.
“Nay,” she said.
“Do ye think we will do somethin’ to ye?” Norah asked.
She gave the girl a curious glance and while she felt some sympathy for the girl, the pain of where she was and who she was tethered to dampened her heart. “I ken nothin’ of ye people.”
“Ruben is an honorable man,” Norah said. “He wouldnae bring ye here to renege on his agreement for peace to kill ye.”
“It doesnae matter if I am poisoned or physically killed,” Paige said. “Bein' in this marriage will kill me regardless.”
The young woman gaped, “Daenae say that.”
The clunk of a cane had her turning while Norah got out of her seat. Ruben was leading an older man to the table; he was hunched into Ruben’s side while hobbling with a crutch on the other.
Norah held unto the man while Ruben pulled out a chair; the old man sat and waved Ruben off. “Stop it. I am nae the invalid as ye think I am.”
The older man had dark eyes, like his son, only made darker by the shock of hair, grey-black, long and thick upon his head, and the gray-white beard that covered his chin and jaw and the top of his chest. His kindly, wrinkled face made her think of a priest she once knew; Father Matthew.
How is it that this man sired such a brute?
“Ye must be Paige,” the man said. “MacPherson’s daughter.”
“I am,” she said stiffly. “And ye are?”
