Chapter 21
The Great Hall was teeming with life. It had been a long time since Callum had last seen so many people gathered in his castle, clansmen and women arriving from all parts of his lands to attend the festivities.
It wasn’t as many people as they would host for Lughnasadh, but the Great Hall was still packed with people and laughter and conversation, all of it accompanied by music from the band.
Callum dreaded to think how much gold they had spent on this.
It was a necessary expense, though. The feast’s purpose was to remind his people that he was back, that he had returned victorious, and that no one could take his title away from him—certainly not Laird Barclay or others like him, who had hoped he would come back home dead.
The tables threatened to buckle under the weight of roasted meats, fowl, vegetables, bannocks, and the jugs of wine and ale that accompanied them.
The floor seemed to vibrate with the music, and the chatter of the guests filled the entire hall until Callum couldn’t help but think the very walls of the castle would collapse from the strain.
As he stepped into the doorway, every conversation died down, before the piper played him in. He was the guest of honor, after all.
A guest of honor in me own home. That’s how long I’ve been gone.
He made his way to the far end of the hall, where a table had been set for him and those closest to him. Rhea, Sienna, Mabel, and Hudson were already seated, having reserved the chair in the middle for him.
Despite it all, he had eyes only for one person.
Rhea looked radiant in her deep blue gown—an expensive masterpiece that he knew she had brought from Castle McAllister.
It was a clever choice, and not only because she looked breathtaking in it, bound to distract everyone from the minor nobles to those who had come with a wish to either bargain or subtly threaten.
It was a clever choice because it looked expensive.
Everything about the feast looked expensive, though he knew Rhea was not a frivolous woman.
She had planned it all subtly, expertly, knowing what costs she could cut and where she could spend more so that no one could doubt the clan’s strength or wealth.
As Callum walked down the aisle created by the tables set up at each side of him, his entire focus was on Rhea—on the way her hair, now pinned up with small pearls that caught the light, seemed to shine like gold; on those warm, brown eyes that watched his every move; on the way her dress hugged her curves and showed off her generous figure.
Once again, he felt as if he were dreaming, but this time, the dream was not a nightmare. He could hardly believe that this woman was his wife. He could hardly believe that he was such a lucky man, at least when it came to this.
And most of all, he could hardly believe that he had agreed to court her for one month before they could be intimate.
It was for the best, he knew. It had given her some time to get to know him, to feel comfortable around him. But it had also given him time to drive himself insane with desire, to want nothing more than to drag her out of the hall that very instant and back to his chambers.
But he was no beast. He could bear it with dignity, this temporary refusal, and when she finally surrendered to him, it would be all the sweeter.
He could imagine it, the way he would lay her in bed, peeling back layer after layer from her body until she was naked.
He could imagine the way she would blush, her cheeks turning a bright red as she would try to hide from him, only for him to pull her hands away, assuring her there was nothing to hide.
She was his wife. He wanted to see all of her—to touch, to kiss, to consume all of her, and he would not rest until he had done just that.
His cheeks heated ever so slightly as he reached the table and sat down in the chair between Rhea and Hudson.
The piper ceased his playing, but then it was time for the bard to come to the foreground, who had had more than enough time to compose songs of his heroic feats at war—as well as songs for his heroic demise, which had not come after all.
Callum was well aware of the reality behind the songs as the bard, a young man with a short, neat beard and clever eyes, stepped in front of the band.
The man had written songs both for his victory and for his loss, ready to play whichever ones he needed, either at a feast like this or at his funeral.
But even the songs of his heroic feats were not enough to lift his spirits, not when he had to lose loyal men to make such feats possible. Had it not been for them, had it not been for their sacrifice, he would have died, and the clan would have been in peril.
“Bard!” he called, slamming his hands on the table and rising from his seat, just as the man finished his first song. The entire hall fell silent, nothing but a few hushed whispers of surprise rippling through the room. “Sing a song for the fallen. Ye have those, daenae ye?”
The bard hesitated for a moment before he gave a weak nod. “Aye, me Laird.” Still, he didn’t sing, as if expecting permission.
“Then sing,” Callum ordered. “Let us honor those who gave their lives for the clan.”
There was another wave of whispers, and though Callum couldn’t quite decipher them, he was certain they all agreed with him.
Those men, those who had given their lives, were family to everyone in the Great Hall. Everyone knew them; everyone loved them. And if Callum couldn’t bring their bodies back for their families, he could at least honor them with a few songs.
The bard began to sing, and the band followed him. He sang of the people they had lost, of those who had given their lives heroically in the battle, who would be with them in spirit if not in body.
The entire hall was quiet, everyone listening. And among them was Callum, trying to keep the lump in his throat from suffocating him, trying to honor those men without letting their memories weigh him down to the point that he would collapse.
Next to him, Hudson seemed to feel the same way, his hands curling tightly around the edge of the table, his knuckles going bone-white as he held onto it for dear life. Callum laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, and his friend turned to look at him, his eyes red-rimmed and wet with unshed tears.
When the bard finished, Callum rose from his chair and raised his wine cup in a toast. “To those brave men,” he boomed. “And to those they left behind. May they always be remembered as the heroes they were.”
The clansmen and women raised their own cups in response, toasting the memory of the fallen soldiers.
And then, ever so slowly, the atmosphere in the hall shifted again, joy seeping through the cracks, until the music turned joyful and people were dancing and laughing.
Eventually, two men cleared the dance floor. Callum, as well as everyone around him, knew what was to come.
The first notes of that old song rang in the hall as the two men drew their weapons. Callum recognized it immediately—Buailidh mi thu anns a’ cheann, a tune that might have been older than the castle itself, but which everyone in the room could sing along.
The two men danced around each other under the gaze of every guest. Callum leaned forward in his seat, watching them excitedly, recognizing them both in the light of the candles that lit up the Great Hall.
They were soldiers, some of the youngest in his troops, who had clearly taken it upon themselves to learn this weapon dance, this choreographed sparring that was as exciting as watching the real thing.
Both of them moved fluidly, pirouetting and jumping around each other, their swords glinting in the warm light. Every swing of their blades, every time a top got a little too close to skin, had everyone in the hall gasping, the guests’ eyes wide with fear for something that wouldn’t happen.
Those were dull blades; Callum recognized them from the training grounds. But as he and Hudson had found out not so long ago, they could still hurt if one was whacked with the dull edge.
The guests cheered and cried, excitement rippling through them as the two young men glided and flew around each other.
They were good soldiers, but they were even better dancers.
The way they moved around one another reminded Callum of when he and Hudson used to train together every day until they knew each other’s tells better than they knew themselves.
And if their impressive moves and graceful dance weren’t enough to move him, then the bond they seemed to have was.
When the dance ended, Callum was the first to stand and cheer, clapping heartily. The two men looked at him with wide eyes, stunned by his reaction. He couldn’t blame them, nor anyone else in the hall who stared at him the same way, as if he had just sprouted a second head.
He was not the kind of man who showed emotion this easily, not even excitement. But these men deserved his praise, and he was happy to give it wholeheartedly.
“Did ye enjoy it?” Rhea asked him with a small, teasing smile when he sat back down.
“Aye,” he replied. “Very much.”
“I’m glad,” she said, and he could have sworn that her cheeks turned a faint pink hue, as if she was truly pleased. “This is all for ye, after all. I want ye to enjoy it.”
“It’s for all of us,” Callum corrected. Everyone in the clan needed this celebration, even if there was another one coming soon. “But ye did a good job, Rhea. Truly, ye exceeded all me expectations. Thank ye for this.”
He couldn’t resist, not when Rhea was looking at him with such pride. He leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, one that had her gasping in surprise, before he pulled back to look at her.
If her cheeks were pink before, now they were a bright shade of red.
He didn’t give her any time to react before standing up again and raising his cup. The hall went quiet, everyone turning to listen to him.
“Let us drink!” he boomed, and the hall erupted in cheers.