Page 1 of Highlander's Rebellious Affair
1
Loud music filled the hallway that led to the Grand Hall. Hope took slow steps toward it, hoping that something would happen to deter her from making an entrance. Unfortunately, nothing happened, and so she continued to draw close to the Hall.
Even from the beginning of the long corridor, she could hear the loud, male cheers, the chants of the musician, and she could smell the buttery smell of ale in the atmosphere. Servants rushed past her toward the Hall holding trays of different kinds of meals for the feast.
There was wild boar, her father’s proud catch three days ago, venison cooked in soup made with wild garlic and celery, haggis, lots of wild raspberries and blueberries with lettuce and peas harvested from the garden in the large yard behind the Castle, and pies. The scent of mutton made her mouth water, and she craved a taste of it even though the nerves in her stomach were spiraling out of control.
She finally got to the door, and gently pushed it open to enter. The moment she stepped in, the musicians stopped playing and everyone speaking fell silent. Hope instantly felt all eyes on her and she looked around the Hall, her gaze roaming the eager faces of every man seated around the grand table.
Their gazes were expectant, hungry and devouring, and she felt sick again. Most of the men she could see from where she stood looked nothing remotely close to being young, and her heart sank as she looked around once more.
Her gaze settled on dark, brooding eyes and her breath instantly cut short in her chest. He stared right at her, and she gasped. Heat rose to her cheeks as his gaze pinned hers, and she felt a stir in her heart. He looked away, turned around and disappeared in the midst of the large crowd of men standing at the far end of the Hall while their masters sat around the table.
Hope cleared her throat and then her father stood up from his chair and gave her a wide grin, signaling with a wave of his hand for her to walk up to him. “This is my beloved daughter,” he announced when she reached his side. He draped his large arm around her shoulder, and kissed her cheek. “Hope Burnett, the maiden ye all have come to seek today. The fairest of all maidens in the Highlands.”
When Hope was eight, her father began making comments about her beauty, and the truth was she was beautiful. Most times, she stared at her reflection in the mirror and was simply astounded by the shade of her brown eyes, with gold flecks, and also the defined curls of her hair.
She got the majority of her looks from her mother, but years living in fear had reduced her mother to a shadow of her former beauty.
The crowd cheered again, the musicians took cue and started to play their songs, and Hope felt heat rise to her cheek as her father’s arm weight crushed her shoulders. His breath smelled of wine, and garlic from the food and he released her so she could take a seat beside him on the left while her mother sat on the right.
Hope looked at her mother, hoping she would meet her gaze, but Moira did not look up from the plate full of food in front of her. Whenever her mother was in the presence of her father, she was a shell of herself. Hope knew her mother feared him, that was why she never did anything to incur his wrath. He never hit her, but his words were always mean and battering.
The feast continued. Her father’s aim was to feed her until she couldn’t breathe before selling her off to any of the men around his table. As she ate from the bowl of broth and other dishes placed in front of her, she constantly looked around the chamber, aware that some of the men were staring at her while they discussed her.
Some even winked at her, when she caught their gazes, and it disgusted her.
I cannae be with any of these men,she thought, and shuddered while stuffing her mouth full of broth again and then forcing it down her throat. The entire time as she ate, she looked around the Hall again, trying to find the man with the brooding eyes she had seen when she entered, but she couldn’t.
It was like he was never there, or he had simply vanished. Hope wondered if he was one of the men bidding for her. At least he didn’t look as old as the other Lairds waiting for a chance to devour her.
* * *
“Today you have come from far-away places to compete for my daughter’s hand,” her father said with pride as he stood in the open center of the Hall. “I’d like to see the man who would go back to their land with her because after the feast comes the weddin’ preparations.”
Hope felt sicker, and she lowered her head to stare at her lap. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her skin felt hot. She needed air, needed to get away from this Hall before she suffocated.
“A hundred shillings,” a Laird in the crowd shouted and jumped to his feet and the bidding began. Hope watched in horror as voices arose from every corner of the Hall. The men each tossed prices higher than whatever the last person called. The hairs on her skin stood, as she raised her head and her gaze met with the same eyes again. This time, the cloak over his head was down and she saw his face.
She gasped, and a tingle raced up her back. He didn’t look away, instead a slow smile quirked up the corners of his lips. Hope blinked and he was still staring at her. His gaze roamed her face from afar there, and it made her flush. Her heartbeat picked up tempo, and heat rose to her skin.
The thrill from his gaze was like nothing she had ever felt before. It made her breathless and hot. In the background, she heard another man say. “Five-hundred shillings.”
The rough, thunderous voice jarred her back to reality, and she looked at her father who had a very satisfied look on his face. “Lyall,” her father called and the man stood up from his chair so everyone could see him.
Hope nearly gagged as she looked at him, and her frantic eyes moved to her mother. Moira met her gaze, but looked away, and tears stung in Hope’s eyes as she moved her panicking gaze to her father. He ignored her and stretched his hands over to the man as he made his way out to the front.
Nay, nay it cannae be him. Please someone else say something higher. Six hundred or seven hundred please.
“Eight-hundred shillings,” a voice among the crowd said, and Hope felt an instant pang of relief as she hurriedly looked to see who it was. As the man stood, Lyall’s angry voice boomed again.
“A thousand. The lass is mine, Laird Cawdor,” he snarled. Everyone in the Hall fell silent, and the man turned to Hope. His snarl changed to a smile, and he walked to where she sat.
“Hope, stand up,” she heard her mother whisper and poke her in the side with her elbow. Hope dragged herself to her feet, and she cleared her throat and stretched out her hand when the Laird outstretched his for hers.
She placed her hand in his, and disgust clamped her skin when she met with his sweaty palm. His breath was heavy with ale when he said, “Lyall Cowan, Laird of Galloway, is pleased to be yers.”
Hope stared into his large dark eyes, and her gaze moved over his round face, bulging nose and moved lower to take in his height. She didn’t know what to say in response, so she forced on a stiff smile and curtsied as he bowed his head to place a kiss on the back of her palm. He didn’t release her hand afterward, instead he guided her around the table and led her to the front of the Hall where her father stood. Standing beside Laird Galloway, she could look down at him, and she did not appreciate his looks even in the slightest bit. He had a wrinkled face, and her father looked much younger than him.
