Chapter 8 #2
Ainsley entered with a tray laden with bread, cheese, cold meat, and something that smelled divine. She set it on a small table near the fire.
"I didnae ken what ye'd like, so I brought a bit of everythin'. That amazin’ smell is her pie. She has a secret recipe, ye see." She hesitated. "Will ye be needin' anythin' else?"
"Actually," Elinor sat up in the tub, suddenly aware this might be her best chance to learn about her new husband. "Could you stay? Just for a moments. I have questions."
Ainsley's eyes went wide. "Questions? About what?"
"About the laird. About Keppoch. About…" She gestured vaguely. "Everything, really. I know so little about my husband."
Ainsley seemed torn between propriety and a desire to gossip.
"Tell me about him," Elinor pushed on. "What kind of laird is he?"
"A good one." Ainsley's answer came without hesitation. "Fair. Stern when he needs tae be, but never cruel. He cares about the clan. Really cares, ye ken. Nay just as numbers or resources, but as people."
"And before he was laird?"
"I was just a bairn then, so I dinnae remember much. But me Ma says he was different. Lighter, maybe. Before his uncle…" She stopped abruptly. "I shouldnae speak of it."
"His uncle?" Elinor pressed. "What about his uncle?"
"It's nae me story tae tell, me lady. Truly. The laird would have me head if I went gossipin' about family matters."
Which meant it was bad. Elinor filed that away. A piece of the puzzle that was David MacDonald.
"Does he have friends?" she asked instead. "Family?"
"The Covenant brothers," Ainsley said immediately. "Euan MacLeod, Calum MacKinnon, Archibald MacRae, and Lachlann MacNeil. They grew up taegether, trained together. Thick as thieves, the lot of them."
"And family?"
Ainsley's expression grew sad. "His maither's gone. His faither died when the laird was young. There's nay siblings. It's just him now."
Just him. Alone in that castle, carrying the weight of an entire clan on his shoulders. But he'd seemed so relieved to be home.
"Thank ye, Ainsley. That's helpful."
She stood, bobbing a curtsy. "I'll leave ye tae yer bath. Ring if ye need anythin'."
She left, and Elinor was alone again with her thoughts.
Meanwhile David closed the door behind him and found five men already seated around the table in the council chamber. His Council—men who'd served his father before him, who'd guided him through the early years of his leadership. Men he trusted, even when they drove him to distraction.
"Well," exclaimed Hamish, the oldest among them, before David had even taken his seat. "That was unexpected."
"What was?" David moved to the head of the table, accepting the dram someone pushed toward him.
"An English bride, me laird. The regent saddled ye with an English bride, and we had nay warnin' of it."
The other men muttered agreement. David saw the concern on their faces, the worry. They thought that the Duke of Albany had forced his marriage. That David had been backed into a corner and had had no choice but to comply.
Which, in a way, was true. Just not the way they thought.
"The Duke didnae saddle me with anythin'," David said quietly.
Silence fell. Five pairs of eyes fixed on him.
"What?" Hamish asked slowly.
"The Duke didnae choose me wife. I did."
"But the summons—"
"The summons said I was to take an English bride. So I took one." David met each man's gaze in turn. "Me choice. Me decision. The Duke had naethin' tae dae with it."
"Ye—" Hamish seemed to be struggling with words. "Ye deliberately went against the regent’s wishes?"
"I went against the regent’s attempt tae control me.
" David kept his voice level. Cool. "I'll nae have me marriage dictated tae me like I'm a chess piece tae be moved around the board.
I've spent too much of me life followin' orders from men who thought they ken what's best fer me. I'm done with it."
"But the Duke..." one of the other councilors started.
"The Duke wanted an English bride. I gave him one. If he's upset that she's nae the specific bride he'd chosen, that's his problem, nae mine."
"His problem becomes our problem if he decides tae punish the clan fer yer defiance," Michael said bluntly.
"He'll nae punish the clan." David wished he believed that as strongly as he sounded. "Technically, I didnae disobey. I provided exactly what he asked fer."
"Through trickery and word games." Michael's expression was stern. "The Duke will nay appreciate that, me laird. He'll see it as the insult it is."
"Then he'll see it." David set down his cup with careful precision. "I'm Laird of Clan MacDonald. This is me clan, me lands, me responsibility. And I'll nae allow anyone, nae even a regent, tae dictate who I marry. Is that clear?"
The men exchanged glances. David could see the worry, the calculation. They were wondering if he'd lost his mind. If his pride would bring disaster down on them all.
"It's clear, me laird," Hamish said finally. "But if I may point out, ye're nae just a man. Ye're a laird. Yer decisions affect more than just yerself."
"I ken that." The weight of it pressed down on David's shoulders.
"Why dae ye think I've spent the last five years daein' everythin' expected of me?
Followin' every rule, playin' every political game, bitin' me tongue when I wanted tae tell half the nobility tae go tae hell?
" He leaned forward. "I've earned the right to make one choice fer meself. And I chose her."
Hamish sighed. "Well. What's done is done. The question now is how dae we make the best of it."
"Make the best of what?" David asked warily.
"Yer marriage, me laird." Michael's tone was that of a man dealing with a particularly difficult child. "Ye've taken a wife—an English wife, nay less—one the clan has never met. If ye want them tae accept her, ye need tae make this legitimate. Public."
"It is public. I introduced her in the courtyard."
"That's nae enough." Hamish spoke up again. "Ye need tae throw a celebration. A Cèilidh, in proper Highland fashion. Let the clan meet their new lady. Let them see ye taegether. Make this marriage real in their eyes."
David started to protest, then stopped. They were right. If he wanted the clan to accept Elinor, and more importantly, if he wanted the Duke to believe their marriage was genuine, they had to present a united front. A loving couple, properly wed and publicly celebrated.
"Fine," he said. "We'll have a Cèilidh."
"And the lady will help organize it," Michael added. "It's traditional. Let the clan see what kind of lady she'll be."
"She's been travelin' fer days. She's exhausted."
"Then give her a few days tae rest first." Michael's expression softened slightly. "We're nae monsters, me laird. We just want tae make sure this marriage has the best chance of success. Fer yer sake. And fer the clan's."
David nodded slowly. "I'll speak tae her about it."
"Good." Hamish stood, the others following his lead. "If that's all, me laird, we'll leave ye tae settle in. I'm sure ye've much tae discuss with yer new wife."
They filed out, leaving David alone in the council chamber. He reached for the dram again, draining the cup in one swallow.
A Cèilidh. Public celebration. Making their false marriage look real to satisfy both clan and Regent.
He just hoped Elinor was up for it.
He stood, straightening his shoulders. Time to find his wife and tell her she was about to become the center of Highland hospitality.