Chapter 17
17
“ M ’Laird!” a burly man called to Neil at the very worst possible moment.
Chasing after Jeanie was exhausting. It was a full-time job in and of itself. Neil knew that he shouldn’t have given her maids the night off. He knew that he should have ordered at least one of them to accompany him and keep the lass company.
After their dance, his daughter kept bouncing from stall to stall, and his wife was nowhere to be seen! They both had taken off when the song ended, though he could have stayed like that for the rest of the night. He hadn’t yet decided if that was good or bad.
As it was, he was leaning around the ale-reddened face of the man in front of him to see what trouble his daughter had gotten herself into. More troublesome than a hornet’s nest and just as dangerous, she was.
“Congratulations on yer marriage! I heard ye caught a bonny lassie! Where is she? I wish to shake her hand!” the man continued.
Donald was his name. Neil was too distracted to answer properly. So he nodded at him and then turned away, not as interested in the conversation as he was in finding Ceana.
“I’m sure that she’s around here somewhere, but if ye?—”
When Neil turned back, Donald was fidgeting, clearly wanting to say something.
Neil had the feeling that whatever words were about to come out of the man’s mouth were not only going to be something that he didn’t want to hear but also something that would drive him to violence. He arched an eyebrow, and Donald scratched the back of his head.
Donald glanced around as if looking for his friends to approve the conversation that he was attempting to have.
“If whatever ye want to say to me is makin’ ye look so constipated, then might I suggest that ye dinnae say it at all,” Neil warned.
But curiosity killed the cat—at least that was how he thought the saying went.
“I… well, the boys and I were worried when we heard about yer braither,” Donald continued, an inquisitive look on his face. “Such a shame. Jiltin’ his bride and all. Fortunately, ye were there to pick up the pieces, eh?”
Neil sighed. This was just another thing that he did not want to deal with. At least not yet. He didn’t think that he needed to explain himself when the situation so clearly spoke for itself.
“It was a rushed wedding, was it nae?” Donald probed, his eyebrow almost rising to his hairline. “Nae for any… unsavory reasons, I suspect?”
Now he had Neil’s full attention. “Of course nae. What are ye implyin’?”
“Well, there’s been some talk around the village. The people want to ken why it was so important for the lass to marry so quickly. It wasnae as if she hadnae received at least a dozen offers at one point or another. But she rejected them all. Then, she decides to marry the Laird’s braither, and then the Laird?”
Neil narrowed his eyes at him, waiting for the accusation to come. “Sounds like whoever is spreadin’ such lies is a very jealous, miserable bastard.”
If the man knew what was good for him, he would stop talking. He would certainly stop sticking his foot further into his mouth and angering his Laird. They were fishing for information when the only thing—the only important thing—they needed to know was that he had taken her as his wife.
“Well, I heard?—”
“Ye arenae givin’ these rumors power by spreadin’ them yerself, are ye?” Neil asked, cutting him off. “Because the lass that ye speak of is me wife, and I willnae tolerate anyone speakin’ ill about me wife.”
Donald smiled awkwardly, clearly having not expected to be met with reproach, least of all in the middle of a festival. But whatever rumors there might be, Neil wanted them shut down, and now. He wasn’t going to have dissent following him back up to his castle either. He worked too hard for something so silly as that to stand in his way.
These were things that Blaine was supposed to handle. He was the friendly one. He knew the villagers better than Neil did. He was the one who had spent so much time down here so Neil could focus on official matters and keep the clan running smoothly.
It was exactly why Neil always took Blaine with him to collect the rent. His brother was a people person—or at least he had been.
Perhaps this was why he and Ceana were very close friends—to quell the rumors about her.
However, it did make Neil wonder what her life here in the village must have been like. It wasn’t surprising to him that, with a face like hers and her fiery temper, other men had sought her out. But why did she turn all of them down? What was she waiting for, and why did it suddenly change?
It had to be more than just her family’s debts. No doubt there was at least one man here who would have been willing to support them financially. Most of all when the woman in question was as tempting as Ceana.
Neil could perhaps ask her another time, when his patience wasn’t being pushed to its limits by insipid questions.
Where was his wife, anyway?
Perhaps if he had gotten very, very lucky, she would have already found Jeanie and the two of them were dancing again. Then, he would be free to indulge in a dram.
Simple pleasures for a simple man.
He looked around Donald, only to spot her without her brother or Jeanie. Now, she was standing next to her mother, which wouldn’t have been such a concerning sight were her mother not clinging to her arm as if she were the older woman.
Ida’s head was downturned, but even from this distance, he could see how red her ears were. Ceana looked like she was about to throw Myrtle at the man in front of her—a portly fellow Neil recognized but didn’t much care for. He always came to the castle, attempting to disparage Ceana’s whiskey every chance he got, and then threw a tantrum like a child when he didn’t get the contract for the year’s whiskey.
“Excuse me,” Neil said somewhat rudely as he pushed past Donald to join his wife. He hadn’t even made it ten steps when he heard the man’s slurred accusations.
“The wench thinks that she’s too good now? That she’s too proud? Suddenly ye have morals just because ye went and married the Laird?!” the man scoffed, spittle flying from his mouth and clinging to his chin. He jabbed a thick finger at Ceana as if he were going to shove her with it.
Neil would break that finger clean off if he dared to touch his wife with it.
Ceana’s lip curled, her nose scrunched up in disgust as she flinched away from the man. “If ye ken what’s good for ye, ye’ll go home, Ferguson,” she shouted right back. “Ye’re too deep in yer cups, and ye’re talkin’ nonsense! Go! Now! Before I really lose me temper!”
Any other time, Neil might have been impressed by the fact that his wife seemed to have no problem whatsoever going toe to toe with a man twice her size. He didn’t miss the way she pushed her mother behind her as her voice rose. She had very strong protective instincts, it would seem, and he liked the hell out of that. A warrior in her own right.
But now was not the time to ponder on his wife’s qualities, least of all in front of the whole village.
“As if ye’re any better! Sleepin’ yer way up to the husband ye want? Yer faither clearly didnae tan yer hide enough as a bairn, for ye have such a sharp tongue on ye!” Ferguson sneered, reaching for Ceana’s arm just as Neil stepped between them, his hand already on the pommel of his sword.
“If ye wish to keep yer hand, I suggest that ye do what the lady says and leave. I willnae let a man speak about me wife like that, let alone touch her…” Neil’s voice was icy calm but laced with danger.
He knew good and well that this was exactly why he had the reputation he had. He wasn’t afraid of violence, not by any stretch.
The small crowd around them had paused their celebration, watching to see what their Laird was going to do next. Neil didn’t think that his temper had ever risen so high and so quickly before. He could hardly pull air into his lungs for how badly he wanted to cut the man in front of him.
That was fine by him. Let them watch. Let them all see what would happen if they dared to disrespect his wife in front of him. Anyone who did so from this moment forward would not be met with the same grace and patience he was showing right now.
“Nay, dinnae waste yer blade on a worm like him, M’Laird,” Ceana interjected, gently placing her hand on top of his own, keeping him from drawing his sword. “Besides, we dinnae want to ruin the festival. And he was just leavin’.”
Ferguson didn’t look like he wanted to leave at all. He seemed to be spoiling for a fight. But, wisely, he took a long look at Neil and the anger on his face, shot Ceana and her mother a glare that nearly cost him his eyes, and reconsidered his next steps.
He was red in the face and nearly frothing at the mouth as he sharply turned on his heel and stormed through the crowd, knocking the villagers this way and that as he went.
Slowly, the people around them went back to their activities now that it was obvious that he wasn’t going to fight the Laird.
“Are ye two all right?” Neil asked Ceana, looking her over because he didn’t trust himself to touch her. Not yet.
“Aye, we’ll be fine, thank ye,” she answered.
But Ida only nodded, her face flushed a bright red. She was very clearly shaken by the ordeal, and he couldn’t blame her for it. She bent down to pick Myrtle up, who didn’t seem very pleased, and looked around.
“I think I’ll go and collect Peter now—take him back home with me. It’s late, and I’m feelin’ a bit faint…”
“I’ll escort ye,” Neil offered, but she merely waved her hand in his direction.
“I can manage. I’m embarrassed, nae infirm,” Ida said sheepishly.
Before she could take another step, Ceana caught her by the arm. “Maither, I willnae let him near ye again,” she promised.
“We willnae,” Neil echoed.
Was Ferguson the one who was harassing her mother this whole time? Was he the one who they had owed money to? It made Neil sick, thinking about a man in such a position taking advantage of a widow and her family after such a loss. It wasn’t right.
If that was the truth, then Ferguson didn’t have any honor at all. That wasn’t a man Neil could respect. It took such a small man to beat or hurt a woman, most of all someone so gentle as Ida.
Neil found himself reaching for Ceana, his fingers barely brushing against her arm as her mother nodded and walked off. He had intended to pull her closer, but when he looked at her, he glimpsed… fondness in her eyes.
His fingers ran down the inside of her forearm, brushing against her palm, but she pulled away from him before he could intertwine his fingers with hers.
“I… um…” she trailed off.
He couldn’t have interpreted the look on her face for a whole bag of coins. Then, she was gone. One moment she was there, and the next the crowd had swallowed her up.