Marion took a deep breath. This could be the perfect time to get to know Catriona’s sisters and extend an olive branch. “I’ll sit by Bridgette.”
Iain frowned. “It’s traditional for the laird’s wife to sit at the head table.” Iain’s jaw set with obvious determination, making Marion smile. She was pleased he wanted her near him. If it were not for the fact that she believed earning the friendship of Catriona’s sisters and cousin would ease her entry into Iain’s clan, she would have gladly taken the seat beside him.
“All the seats are full,” she replied.
“Cameron knows to move now that ye’ve arrived. They were simply telling me about what happened in the clan while I was away.”
“Iain, I’d like to sit with you, but I think it will help me with the other women if I can win the favor of Catriona’s sisters and cousin.”
“Ye’ll never do that with Fiona and Alanna,” he replied grimly, but then quickly added, “nae by fault of yer own, though, ken?”
“Well,” she hedged, nibbling on her lip, “perchance I can prompt at least Elspeth to like me.”
He looked doubtful, but he nodded. “Possibly. Since Catriona died, Elspeth has been the most sensible.”
“Was Catriona very sensible?” Marion asked, pleased he felt momentarily comfortable enough to talk about his first wife.
“Aye. Until the end when she decided she was ready to die.”
He’d said it with no emotion, yet his eyes held a depth of pain and regret he’d not shown her thus far. It twisted her heart. She squeezed his hand, wanting to ease the hurt she knew still throbbed within him. “Perchance she was weary of being ill?”
His eyes widened a fraction, and he stood in silence for a long moment. “Do ye ken, I never thought of that? Only of how she seemed to simply decide she was finished with life.”
Tears welled in Marion’s eyes at the idea of how desperately weary Catriona must have been to welcome death.
Marion took in the powerful man before her, so battle-hardened yet with such a tender heart. Having been Iain’s wife the short time she had, she knew with every beat of her heart, with every breath that she took, that she’d fight death with all her might not to leave his side. The revelation stunned her. It blossomed and moved like fire through her veins, making her skin prickly and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Everything around her disappeared. The noise faded, except for the faint sound of the inhalation and exhalation of the man facing her. The smells of the mutton and freshly baked bread vanished, and all she could smell was Iain. His scent of pine, the sweat of his labors, and a faint trace of wood smoke and sweet wine surrounded her. She inhaled deeply.
She loved Iain.
She stared at his strong jaw, chiseled face, and soulful eyes. She loved her husband. He’d captured her heart, though she’d intended not to give it to him unless he offered his own to her. He’d taken hers so quickly, she wondered if she’d ever had hope of keeping her heart as her own. She blinked and raised her hand to swipe at the tears at the same time he touched his fingers to her face.
“What’s this?” he asked.
She swallowed. “I cannot help but think of Catriona and how exhausted she must have been to desire the end of her life. It makes my heart ache for her and for you.”
“Ah, Marion,” he said, his voice ragged and catching on her name. “The things ye say stun and please me.”
“I want to please you,” she whispered, aching with just how much, but not because she still worried she was unworthy. She wanted to please him simply because she loved him.
He brushed a finger quickly across her lips, a devilish twinkle coming to his eyes. “Ye do.”
She heated from her belly to the juncture between her thighs at his obvious reference to what they had done together.
“Come,” he said, taking her hand. “If I keep standing here staring at ye and thinking on what we could be doing, I’ll throw ye over my shoulder and leave the hall, and that certainly will win ye little favor with the women.”
Marion giggled as Iain led her to Bridgette’s table and then solicitously waited for her to take her seat before excusing himself and striding back up to the dais. She watched as he strode the few steps, the muscles of his powerful legs flexing. He settled himself, and though Lachlan immediately started talking to him, Iain’s heated stare stayed on her. All she could think about was that she loved him. It pounded through her, at once thrilling and frightening.
“The MacLeod did nae want ye to sit by him, I see,” said someone directly across from Marion. She drew her gaze away from Iain and met the derisive flashing eyes of Fiona.
“I wanted to sit with all of you to get to know you,” Marion replied.
“There was nae a need for that,” Fiona snapped. “Bridgette here has talked about ye since she sat down.” Fiona scowled at Bridgette, who met the woman’s dark look with one of her own. Marion wanted to hug her friend for trying to help her. She offered Bridgette a smile and then took a piece of meat off the almost-empty trencher and one of the last two hunks of bread left on the platter before her.
Marion understood that Fiona was angry at her because the woman had wanted to be Iain’s wife, but she also suspected the woman was afraid of what would become of her now that Marion was here. She had to find a way to assure Fiona that she was still an important part of this clan.
“Tell me, Fiona, who took on the position of mistress of the castle when your sister passed away?” Marion asked as she took a bite of the bread, or attempted to. God’s truth, it was like biting into a stone. Marion frowned and set the bread back on her plate. Someone needed to teach the women in the kitchen how to properly bake bread.
“I did,” Fiona answered, her tone defensive. “I suppose ye want to do it now?”
Marion stabbed at the meat with her knife. Her stomach growled, but the blood leaking from the obviously undercooked meat deterred her from trying it. She glanced swiftly around and saw that most of the women at the table had left a good portion of their food untouched, and Bridgette appeared to have eaten nothing. Tomorrow, Marion would talk to Iain about what could be done. But tonight, she had to face a larger problem.
She held Fiona’s gaze as the women at the table shifted their eyes between the two of them. “I think Dunvegan is possibly so large that it needs a mistress of the castle and an assistant. What do you think?”
“I think,” Fiona said, her words wrapped in scorn, “I dunnae need an assistant to run this castle.”
The woman was making it hard to like her, but then again, Marion had known it would be difficult, though she’d hoped she was wrong. “I need an assistant,” she said pointedly.
“Ye think ye’re strong enough to be mistress of the castle?” Fiona demanded, her brows rising in disbelief.
Marion opened her mouth to respond, but her words were cut off by Bridgette’s. “Marion is stronger than she looks,” Bridgette said and gave Marion a sympathetic smile.
“I certainly hope so,” the curly redheaded woman sitting by Fiona crowed. “Ye look as if a strong highland wind would blow ye away,” the woman said, her hand coming to rest on her rounded belly.
“Alanna.” Rory Mac growled at his wife and gave Marion an apologetic look. “She’s with child,” he offered as his way, Marion supposed, of explaining his wife’s sour mood.
Alanna glared at Rory Mac. “What does being with child matter?”
In answer, Rory Mac dragged his bread through the sauce in the trencher and stuffed the entire piece in his mouth.
Marion stifled her nervous laughter at Rory Mac’s actions and the dissension of the table in general.
“It’s good to finally meet you, Alanna,” Marion offered.
The woman drew her russet eyebrows upward. “Is it now?”
Marion clenched her teeth at Alanna’s mocking tone, as most of the women at the table snickered and laughed, save Bridgette and Elspeth. Rory Mac, with a dark look, stood abruptly and left the table to tak
e a seat at one occupied by only men, including Angus, who Marion noticed was turned around watching her. Marion didn’t blame Rory Mac for leaving. She would rather sit elsewhere, as well, but this was a battle, and if she fled, she’d be defeated. “Yes, it is good to meet you. Iain tells me you are cousin to Fiona and Elspeth.” When Alanna’s mouth twisted cynically, Marion realized her error. “And of course, Catriona, when she was alive.”
“Aye,” Alanna clipped, “and Catriona, who was the best of all of us.”
Marion was more angry than hurt at the hostility of Catriona’s sister and cousin, but being hostile in return would solve nothing.
Beside her, Bridgette took a deep breath, drawing Marion’s attention to her. Bridgette looked as if she could spit fire, and Marion felt her eyes go wide. Oh dear!
“Marion is nae weak,” Bridgette bit out, “and she is just as good as Catriona was, ye bunch of wee petty women!”
Marion touched her friend’s arm. “Bridgette, I can defend myself.”
Bridgette didn’t even flick her gaze to Marion. She simply narrowed her eyes, her cheeks turning an alarming shade of red. Belatedly, Marion recalled the men teasing Bridgette about her temper. This must be to what they had been referring. Bridgette slapped her palms on the table, the noise so loud and unexpected that all conversation quieted at their table and those surrounding them. Bridgette started to rise, but Marion grasped her arm, desperately pulling her back into her seat.
“Bridgette, please,” Marion hissed.
Bridgette waved a hand at Marion. “Allow me to handle these witches.”
“Witches!” Fiona screeched. Marion cringed. “Are ye calling me a witch?” the woman demanded, staring at Marion.
“No!” Marion exclaimed.
“Aye!” Bridgette fairly shouted. “Ye act like an old ill-tempered witch! And if ye’re nae careful, yer sour disposition will get ye banished from the clan.”
“And just who’s going to banish me? Nae Iain. Her?” Fiona speared Marion with a dark look. “She could nae banish an ant from its bed.”
“She’s pulled me up from the cliff of a mountain and saved my life, and she did nae blanch when she heard the seer’s prophecy,” Bridgette exclaimed. “She’s strong and courageous.”
“Ye met a seer?” Elspeth asked, her brown eyes wide with curiosity.
“It was nothing,” Marion rushed out, praying Bridgette would say no more.
“Nothing?” Bridgette exclaimed. “The seer told Marion that Iain would fly the Fairy Flag to save her.”
Marion hastily looked over her shoulder, praying that Iain was not listening. His eyes were trained on their table, though conversation around him clearly continued. Thank goodness, she didn’t think he could hear what was being said.
“If the MacLeod did nae fly the flag to save my sister, he’ll nae fly it to save the Sassenach.”
Marion gritted her teeth. This was not going well at all. “I never thought—”
“I tell ye, he’s going to fly it,” Bridgette interrupted.
Fiona shoved back the bench that she, Alanna, and Elspeth were sitting on, and she stood. “Iain!” she called across the hall, her voice ringing out like a shrill whistle above the hum.
Marion froze. Aside from tackling the woman, Marion could think of no other way to stop her from speaking.
Iain’s gaze sharpened on Fiona. “Aye?” he answered, not even having to raise his voice as the room had fallen into silence.
“It seems yer new wife thinks ye’re going to fly the Fairy Flag to save her.”
Whatever Iain felt about Fiona’s statement didn’t show on his face. His face showed nothing but mild interest. Lachlan’s jaw, however, was hanging open.
Marion felt as if the heat of her embarrassment would set her body to instant flames. “No,” she said, hurrying to explain. “I didn’t. I don’t. It wasn’t me.”
“Oh, forgive me,” Fiona said dramatically. “A seer told yer wife that ye would fly the Fairy Flag to save her. Tell her, MacLeod. Tell her how it will never be so. Tell her that the flag may only be flown one more time and ye would nae fly it to save her! Tell her ye’d only risk flying it to save the clan. Tell her! Tell her how the clan comes first, how the clan will always come first!”
Marion wanted to shrink away and disappear. She felt two hundred pairs of eyes on her, and it was worse than anything she’d ever felt. It was worse than years of being invisible to her father, and then only being seen for how he could use her. And Iain, she knew, could not let the questions go unanswered with his clansmen looking on, and she feared his words would be like tiny cuts to her heart.
Sixteen
Iain cursed under his breath. He’d known something was stirring at Marion’s table by her worried look and the angry ones around her. As he swept his gaze across the waiting crowd, he realized he had no choice but to answer. Something inside him tightened painfully as he settled his gaze on Marion. If he only had himself to consider, he’d fly the flag to save her life without hesitation. Yet he was chief of the clan, and he always had to consider the entire clan, and Fiona knew that. He’d married Catriona because she’d needed him, but also because the clan had wanted it. He didn’t regret it, and he grew to love her greatly, but he always considered the clan’s needs and desires above his own.
“Iain,” Lachlan hissed beside him. “Ye must answer.”
Iain nodded and spoke without taking his eyes off Marion. “Ye all ken that the flag can only be flown three times, and on the third, it will either destroy our enemies or destroy us. And ye all ken it’s already been flown twice.”
“Aye,” came answers from nameless faces in the crowd.
“It was flown first when the MacDonalds battled us,” said a woman.
“And again during the plague,” said Lachlan.
“Aye.” Iain had to choose his next words carefully to preserve Marion’s feelings. As he considered how to say what he must, his heart thudded in his chest and his ears. “When the flag is flown again, it will be for the good of the clan, as is my duty.”
He hoped Marion understood. As he stared at her, she did not seem upset. Her face did not fall, nor her shoulders slump, but then Marion was used to trying to appear brave. Wanting to draw all attention away from the Fairy Flag and what he would and would not do, he motioned for the bard to come forth and begin the entertainment.
“Ye answered well,” Lachlan said.
“I dunnae ken that I did,” he admitted. “I answered as my duty demands.”
“Aye, brother, I ken ye did. I hope yer wife will understand.”
Iain hoped so, as well. He glanced toward Marion through the crowd. Fiona was saying something to her, and whatever it was, the color had drained from Marion’s face. Iain’s gut tightened as she stood, waved Bridgette off, and moved toward the door.
Iain stood, but Lachlan caught his arm. “Brother—”
“What?” Iain demanded. “There is nothing wrong with me speaking to my wife.”
“Of course nae,” Lachlan said. “It’s just a surprise to see ye show emotion. It’s been so long.”
“My wife does strange things to me,” Iain admitted, baffled by his own reactions to Marion.
Iain caught Marion by the waist just as she stepped outside the great hall. The corridor was empty, so he turned her into his arms and slid his hands around her back. When she did not look up but stared at his chest, he sighed. “Look at me, Marion.”
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his.
“Why are ye leaving supper?”
“I’m tired,” she immediately replied, her gaze skittering away.
He hooked a finger under her chin and turned her face back to his. “Dunnae lie to me.”
“I am tired,” she said stubbornly, tilting her chin upward.
He brought a hand to the curve of her back and pressed her closer. “Are ye distraught over what I said regarding the Fairy Flag?”
“No! It’s not that. I knew how you would answer. You d
on’t love me.”
Something in the way she said the words, as if there were more to say but she feared doing so, made him go completely still. “Do ye love me?”
Her eyes went wide. “Of course not!” A rosy flush covered her cheeks, her neck, the top of her chest. “That would be foolish, not to mention too soon.” She bent her head and shuffled her feet. “It’s not as if I really know you.” Fascinated, he watched as she brought her hand to her hair and began to spin the golden strands around her finger. “I do know you are kind and honorable.”
He grinned at the top of her head.
“And you are fiercely faithful and true, and I think you may be the most courageous man I know.”
“Ye only think?” he teased, his chest tightening with every word she spoke.
Her head came sharply up, and she smirked at him. “I have known many courageous men.”
He frowned at her. “Ye have known nary a man but me.”
Her blush deepened. “There is knowing, and then there is knowing. And aye,” she said in the loveliest attempt at a Scottish burr, “ye’re the only man I’ve ever known, and I’m glad of it.”
“Ye did nae answer my question,” he said in a low tone. The need to hear her answer roared like a tempest inside of him.
“I’ve forgotten it,” she replied, looking utterly innocent except for the blush still on her cheeks.
“Do ye love me?”
She scrunched her nose in the most adorable way. “I’ve no coin left,” she grumbled.
“Coin? I dunnae ken…”
“I’ve no coin to buy an indulgence, so I cannot sin.”
He frowned. “How would ye be sinning?”
“It would be sin to lie to you!” she burst out.
Iain stared at the beautiful, confusing woman before him, and he felt his caution slip. “So ye do love me?”
“Yes,” she groaned.
Something deep within him shifted. She was his. In body. In heart. Now what of her soul?
She was his completely. He took her by the face and covered her mouth with his, sweeping his tongue around her sweet, welcoming caverns. He was greedy for wanting her love when he knew he had none to give in return, but he wanted it anyway. He’d give her other things.
When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) Page 22
