Their private little world was shattered by the blowing of a ram’s horn. Gilead eased himself from Deidre with a slow, sultry kiss. “That’s the signal to mount up,” he said as he nuzzled her neck. “I’ve got to go.”
Deidre clung to him for one last kiss and then stepped back. “May the Great Mother protect you.”
She watched until he rounded the corner and was lost from view. Holding her torn dress together, she prayed silently that he would return and, knowing it was wrong, that Niall would not.
◊♦◊
As they rode north, Gilead kept an eye out for Niall, but the man kept his troops well back of Angus. At first, Gilead thought it was to avoid a confrontation, but by the second day, he questioned his father on whether Niall meant to fight or not.
His father looked back at the distant cloud of dust when Gilead came up alongside him with the question. “Aye,” Angus confirmed, “he’ll fight, but he’ll not lead.”
“Coward,” Gilead muttered. “Chicken-livered bastard.”
Angus glanced over at him. “Ye seem a mite put out with the man.”
“He tried mauling Deidre in the herbal garden ere we left.”
“Mauling? Do ye jest? More like he tried to take a kiss and she felt insulted.”
Gilead lifted an eyebrow. “The man tried to tear her clothes off. I mean to call him out as soon as we’re through fighting.”
“Ye know ye’ll be tarnishing Dallis’s honor by doing that and making an enemy of Comgall?”
“Deidre doesna deserve a fate at Niall’s hands,” Gilead replied stubbornly.
Angus was quiet for several moments as they rode along. Then he sighed. “I doona trust Niall either. We will see how the battle goes. Mayhap the gods will see fit to help ye and Niall won’t be going home.”
Gilead took a deep breath. “Are ye saying to kill him?”
“Nae.” Angus gave him a reproachful look. “That would make us the cowards. But I can move his army to the fore, instead of behind us, like he wanted. That would put him in the thick of it” He shrugged. “Who knows what pleases the Old Gods?”
◊♦◊
Word came that Gunpar had stopped the passage across his lands, but that Fergus had turned south and laid siege to Gabran’s fortress. But now, several more weeks had slipped by without any word from Angus. During the day, Una kept Deidre too busy to fret overmuch, but she spent her nights worrying about Gilead being wounded or worse. She tried walking the battlements to ease her mind, but Gavin, the man Turius had left in charge of the fifty soldiers that had remained, had men posted every dozen strides, which made any kind of solitude impossible.
Grateful as she was that neither Niall or Dallis was in residence, the Great Hall seemed empty at night, Elen’s seat conspicuously vacant. Deidre didn’t miss the snide remarks and sly glances that Sheila and Janet had been wont to make, either, but she did miss having someone to talk to. Drustan had sunk to low depths, his music increasingly wild and mournful, like the death-keening Meara and Una had done for Elen.
Strangely, Deidre missed—and was startled to realize it— Formorian’s company. Although she still did not approve of the entanglement that had caused Elen such sorrow, she was beginning to understand the why of it, having been with Gilead. No other man would ever come close to him. And, if Formorian were here, they might just be able to ride outside these confining walls.
Deidre sighed as she folded fresh sunshine-scented linens the servant had brought in from the drying line. She had a desperate urge to visit the circle of stones, to draw on that energy once more to aid in her quest. If she sensed nothing, she would abandon the search for the Stone and ride toward Dumbarton, hoping to catch a ship to Armorica.
The one day that she had saddled Winger, she’d been stopped at the gate. Angus had left orders that no woman venture out until they returned. Neither fuming nor flirting had worked. Gavin had been Roman-trained by Turius and remained staunchly oblivious to her attempts to wheedle him into changing his mind.
The sounding of the horn at the gate, announcing an arrival, made her drop the sheet she was holding and hurry outside.
Her shoulders drooped in disappointment when Dallis’s carriage rolled through the gate. Deidre had completely lost track of time. Mabon—the fall equinox—was almost upon them. Gilead’s wedding date. Her wedding date, if she didn’t manage to escape.
Drastan rushed out into the bailey to help Dallis step down. “You’re as lovely as the first sight of heather on the summer hills,” he said with a flourish.
She gave him her dimpled smile and laid a small hand on his arm. “’Tis good to see ye, Drustan. I’ve missed yer music.”
Ha! Deidre thought as she reluctantly approached them. Dallis would hardly like what had passed for Drustan’s music lately. But his mood seemed to have lightened considerably.
“I’ll compose something for ye tonight,” he said with a slight bow.
“And I’ll show you to your room,” Deidre announced.
“Certes,” Dallis replied politely. “I would appreciate that.”
“This way, then.” As they turned and walked into the Great Hall, Deidre added, “Gilead and his father aren’t back yet.”
“I know,” Dallis answered and tossed a look back at Drustan. “I thought to arrive early and get settled. My Da wanted me here to welcome back my betrothed.”
Deidre tried to ignore the clutching of her stomach. Gilead’s bride-to-be. Wife. Settled. This would be her home. There wasn’t any way she wanted to be here to witness that. Or to marry Niall.
◊♦◊
Several days later and only two days before the weddings, Deidre retreated to the herbal garden, supposedly to gather fresh leaves for dinner, but more to avoid contact with Dallis. The girl’s sweetness left a sour taste in Deidre’s mouth. It was blissfully quiet and peaceful within the vined walls.
The sound of thundering hooves approaching the gate a short time later brought her out of her reverie. Deidre ran outside and scrambled up a ladder to the parapet and peered over. Angus’s familiar red lion banner waved over the head of the standard-bearer. The men were home!
She rushed down the steps, only to collide with Una at the far corner of the house. “Where are ye going in such a rush?” the castellan asked.
“To welcome back...” Even as she said the words, her heart plummeted. It was not her place to greet Gilead. That honor went to Dallis. Deidre wanted nothing more than to throw her self into his arms and feel his warm, strong embrace.
“Go back to the garden, lass, and finish yer work.”
So it wasn’t until the evening meal that Deidre was actually able to see Gilead. The sight of Dallis seated next to him at the high table in what had been Elen’s chair was almost too much to bear. The only relief Deidre had was that Niall had stopped at his own holdings and hadn’t accompanied Angus home.
When the dancing started and she saw Gilead offer his arm to Dallis, the few morsels of food Deidre had managed to swallow threatened to return to her plate. She pushed away from the table in haste and bumped into Drustan.
He steadied her. “Would you like to dance?”
The last thing she wanted to do was dance. The sight of Gilead’s arm around Dallis’s slender waist was threatening to make her embarrass herself and be sick in front of everyone. “I don’t think—” but Drustan was already leading her onto the floor.
“Gilead asked me to dance you over to him. He wants to talk,” Drustan whispered.
Hope surged through her like a spring bubbling through a crevice in a rock.
As they circled near Gilead, Drustan said grandly, “If you’ll excuse me, might I claim a dance with your betrothed before she is fully claimed by you?”
Gilead made a small bow and handed Dallis over. Then he turned and held out his arms. Deidre stepped into them and was immediately inundated by his unique scent and the strong, hard maleness of him.
He was careful not to hold her too close, since Angus was w
atching from the dais, but she felt his arm tighten as he turned her. “I tried to convince my father to let ye go.”
“And he said ‘no.’” It was a statement, not a question.
“Aye.” He looked into her eyes, his own dark with worry. “We managed to turn Fergus Mor back, but it wasna easy. All the cenels together could bare contain him. At one point, Da even thought Niall had turned.”
Deidre raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Niall’s army was lagging behind, so far that we lost sight of them once until my father finally called a halt and waited for them to catch up.” Gilead drew her closer as they spun. “He ordered Niall’s troops to advance in front of us, then.”
Deidre frowned slightly. “Wouldn’t Niall be in a more dangerous position, then?”
A corner of Gilead’s mouth lifted. “That was the idea.”
Her eyes widened. “Your father did it on purpose?”
Gilead nodded. “But it dinna work. The next morn when we were to march, Niall claimed to have eaten foul meat and lay about the food wagons all day.”
By the saints! If the man had died in battle, he could have been a hero and she would have been free. “What a sniveling coward that man is!” she said indignantly.
“Aye. My thoughts exactly.” He brushed her cheek lightly with his fingertips and then took her hand again. “But living cowards know they’re weak, which makes them dangerous. Da canna afford to leave Niall unencumbered.”
Deidre’s legs suddenly felt wooden and nailed to the floor. She stopped dancing and stared at Gilead, “Which means that your father needs to bind Niall to him and to do that, I have to marry him.”
“Aye, lass,” Gilead said hesitantly, “but I—”
Deidre pulled away from him and bolted to the hallway door, not wanting to hear any more excuses.
◊♦◊
Deidre refused to come out of her room the next day, the day before the wedding. She had no wish to see the look of pity in Gilead’s eyes and she certainly did not want to take part in any of Dallis’s preparations, either.
Una had come up to get her, but took one look at her red, swollen eyes and puffed-up face and shook her head, returning downstairs. Deidre heard some muffled roaring—Angus probably—at her refusal to leave her room, but he hadn’t come thundering up the stairs, either. Instead, they’d given her this day. Her last day of freedom.
Deidre had spent the night praying to Isis, whom the Magdalen had served; to the Scotti Brighid; and even to the Christos. In desperation, she had even tried to conjure up the ancient magician who had left The Book with her mother so many years ago. He’d told her mother that he had lived for ages. Deidre felt hysteria rapidly rising in her throat, threatening to spill over into some heart-wrenching scream of laughter at her foolishness. An immortal man? No doubt, the magician was just a braggart. The whole Book had been a bunch of lies. If any damsel had ever been in distress, it was she and there was no knight in shining armor to rescue her. They didn’t exist.
And then, to add insult to rapidly weakening faith, when she had finally fallen into a fitful state of semisleep, the red-haired woman from the stone circle, still dressed in white, appeared to her in a dream, holding out a cup for her to drink from, and smiling benignly.
Deidre woke in a rage. She’d probably been offered poison in her dream, but she was not about to kill herself. She lifted her night shift and fingered the smooth leather scabbard tied to her leg, which shielded the sgian dubh Formorian had taught her to use.
Never would she allow Niall to become her bridegroom. Never.
Chapter Twenty-three
THE CUP OF LOVE
Deidre sat by her window looking down at the crowded bailey, roiling with activity. Soldiers’ leather hauberks had been oiled until they glistened in the sun, women of all ranks appeared wearing their finery, and Gilead’s clansmen sported their softly woven blue formal kilts and sashes.
It was Gilead’s wedding day. Deidre bit her lip to hold the tears back. It was her wedding day, too, may all the Christian saints curse it!
She had made one more attempt at escape last night, but when she opened the door well after midnight, a solemn Gavin stood guard. She’d considered knotting her sheets and sliding down the wall, but when she leaned out her window, Adair looked up at her. Frustrated, she had cried herself into an exhausted stupor, haunted by nightmares of a fiendish Niall showing her no mercy.
As taut as her nerves were, she nearly fell off the stool when the doorknob turned and the door squeaked open. She felt like she was about to be led to her execution.
Angus frowned when he saw her wedding dress crumbled on the bed, the coronet with its gossamer veil on the floor. “Dinna Una come in to help ye dress?”
Deidre lifted her chin. “She did, but I took it off as soon as she left.” Purposely, she had chosen the plainest work garment she had, a greyish homespun that had seen better days.
His eyes narrowed as he strode into the room and picked up the fine silk with the Irish lace overlay and handed it to her. “Put it on. Now.”
“I will not.”
“Ye will do as I say.”
“No.” She glared at him, too angry to be frightened of his barely controlled temper. “Hit me if you want. In fact, knock me cold. Then I won’t have to—”
“Silence!” he roared. “I’ve ne’r hit a woman and ye’ll not be my first.” He took a deep breath and his eyes darkened. “But I have disrobed women and clothed them again, too.” He took a step closer. “It’s yer choice, lass.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Angus arched an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t I?”
And she knew he would. If he stripped her to her shift, he’d see the little dirk strapped to her leg. As defiantly as she could, she snatched the dress from him, crushing the soft fabric, and stepped behind a dressing screen. For a moment, she considered tearing the fragile gown in two. That would show him.
“If I doona hear the sound of clothing rustling, I’m coming back there,” he said.
Deidre pulled the working dress over her head quickly and struggled into the tighter-fitting gown. Unfortunately, its laces wound round her bodice and tied in back.
“Doona tarry. I’ll not have everyone be kept waiting because of ye,” he warned.
Deidre stepped out from behind the screen, her arms crossed in front of her to hold the dress up. “I need Una.”
“Nonsense.” Angus crossed the room in three strides and turned her around, his fingers deftly running the lacings through the eyes and tugging the dress lightly to her form. His touch was surprisingly gentle and Deidre bit her lip again to keep from crying. Would his son’s hands be so smooth and adept with Dallis’s dress tonight?
“There.” He stepped back and inspected her hair, some of which had come undone. “I canna do much about that,” he said and brushed a strand back behind her ear. “Would that Mori were here.” He sighed and his voice was softer when he spoke. “She’d make ye understand the importance of clan alliances.”
“You’re throwing me to the wolves and you know it.”
He was silent as he stooped and picked up her headdress. “Here.”
“No. I will not wear it.” She would rip it off if he tried putting it on. “I’ll not make a total mockery of this day.”
Something flickered at the back of his dark eyes. Abruptly, he threw the veil back on the bed. “As ye wish, then. Let us go.” He took her elbow to escort her, but Deidre knew if she even tried to pull away, that light hold would turn to a steel grip.
The carriage was waiting for her and she and Angus were both silent for the short trip to the village. Only when they entered the kirk yard, did Deidre give a slight involuntary gasp. Her worst nightmare had become very, very real.
Had Angus not been supporting her, she was sure she would have squiggled to the ground like a bowl of jelly, for her knees shook and her legs had no strength.
Inside the crowded, stone-walled church, Gilead waited at the
altar, pale and still, the lights of a hundred flickering candles playing across his strong features, making him seem a Roman god. Beside him stood an equally pallid Dallis, her hands clasped tightly. Deidre hardly noticed Niall grinning evilly at her from the other side of the altar.
The little priest that Elen had so respected cleared his throat and nodded to Gilead and Dallis to step forward. “We are gathered here today...”
Deidre shut out the words. She didn’t want to hear Gilead promise to love and honor Dallis until death should them part. Her eyes sent daggers toward Niall. Forget that she was in a church. If he were fool enough to try and rape her, he’d be dead by tonight. The Goddess would understand.
“Do ye, Gilead, take Dallis to be yer lawfully wedded wife...”
Only slowly did Deidre realize that Gilead had not responded. She tore her attention away from her murderous thoughts.
“I canna do it, Dallis,” he said quietly. “Please forgive me. I should have stopped this much sooner.” Ignoring his father’s enraged look, he turned to Comgall. “There need be no war between the clans on account of this. Ye may seek your vengeance on me alone. Have me flogged, if ye like. I will also turn over my lands in Lothian—”
“Nae,” Dallis interrupted and both Angus and Comgall stopped glaring at Gilead. “’Tis not Gilead’s fault. There is nae love between us.” She hesitated, dipping her head. When she spoke her voice was barely above a whisper. “Not when I love another.”
Dumbfounded, Gilead lifted her chin with a finger. “Whom do ye love?”
Her face flushing a bright pink, she pointed at Drustan.
He leapt from his bench, nearly knocking the confused priest over as he hastened to them. “I’ve loved ye since the first time I set eyes on ye! Ye are the sun, the moon, the stars in the heavens—”
“Now, see here,” Comgall began gruffly and then looked into his daughter’s smiling face. “Is this want ye’ve wanted, sweetheart?”
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