Chapter 3
Fennella avoided Dearg’s angry gaze as she pushed her food around on her tin plate, knowing that she would feel his wrath later.
It was one thing to be late to dinner, but another to be late with a guest in the keep was something else entirely.
It was best for her to remain quiet with Dearg, knowing that he likely was deep in his cups already.
But that had not been the only issue with the evening.
She had almost fainted on the dirty great hall floor when she had walked in and seen the very Scot that she had divested of his bounty sitting at her brother’s table.
For a heart-stopping moment, Fennella had considered fleeing the hall, but the wrath of Dearg would surely trickle down to her sisters, and that she could not allow.
Now in the dim light of the main hall, she could see the dark red color of his hair, neatly pulled back with a leather thong at the nape of his neck, and the flecks of red on his strong unshaven jaw.
His green eyes were the color of wet grass on a dewy spring morning, framed by thick eyelashes that no man should have.
But there was a hardened look to him. His brawny forearms, peeking out under his long shirt, were flecked with scars.
Fennella would be remiss not to notice the way his shirt stretched tightly over his shoulders, her cheeks heating more than once as she watched the movement, averting her gaze the moment he turned in her direction.
Which sister would he take back with him? Surely not Sorcha. Fennella looked down the length of the table at her meek sister, who was busy drawing her finger through the gravy on her plate. She was nothing more than a child, no match for this Scot.
Moira was watching their visitor under her hooded gaze, her cheeks permanently stained pink. The blush made her far prettier than it should and Fennella felt the pang of concern in her chest. She could not let her sisters go through this. Surely Dearg would not turn over one of them to this man.
Which meant there was one left, and she shuddered at the thought of who that was.
It wasn’t long before her brother cleared up any concerns she had about this evening.
“Fennella!”
Fennella turned her gaze to Dearg, keeping her expression neutral. “Aye Laird?”
He lifted his cup in salute, a grin on his face. Once upon a time her brother had been a handsome warrior, turning many a head in the village.
But his love of the ale and years of peace amongst the clans had softened his midsection, his face ruddy from the ale. He looked a great deal like their da now. “This is yer bridal dinner mah dear sister.”
My bridal dinner? He means to marry me to the Scot? Fennella’s eyes flew to the man across the table from her, finding him openly watching her for her response, no emotion on his face. “I am tae be wed?” she asked herself more than anyone else at the table.
One of her sisters gasped at the news but the rest of the table remained silent, no one even looking in her direction.
“Aye, you daft female,you are the oldest. But not the brightest. Whit did ye expect?” Dearg answered, crooking a finger at her. “Come. Serve yer laird in thanks.”
Her brother knew very well that she did not want to marry. How did she ever think he would have taken that into consideration… He did not even tell her beforehand in order to enjoy this moment. She was sure of it.
Her knees shaking, Fennella slid her chair back from the table and walked to the head of the table, where her brother thrust his mug of ale into her hands, sloshing some of the remaining contents on her dress.
She gritted her teeth as she stared down at him, feeling the liquid seep into the thin fabric.
He was waiting for her response, to give him a reason to discipline her in front of her family.
In front of her intended husband. “Would you like more ale, Brother?”
Dearg narrowed his gaze as he heard her tone. “Why else did I give ye the mug? Be quick aboot it!”
Fennella marched to the side table where the pitchers of ale sat, her hands trembling as she poured the liquid into the cup.
“She kin be trained,” her brother announced. A grin split his face. “She only needs a firm hand tae break some of her spirit.”
The Scot did not reply and Fennella turned back to the table, ignoring the nervous stares as she set the mug down in front of her brother. “Your ale.”
He grabbed her arm before she could hurry away, his fingers biting into her skin.
“Yer dress,” he sneered, his eyes raking over her body. “It’s nae the one that ah chose.”
“I will wear what I wish,” she answered without thinking, remembering the dress that had been laid out on her bed when she had arrived back in the keep. The material was too thin for the draftiness of the keep and Fennella would have shook with cold the entire night had she donned it.
Perhaps she had done it to spite him as well and given the red flush of his face, she had succeeded.
He wished to make a mockery of her, but she was not going to let him do so.
Dearg rose to his full height but Fennella only lifted her chin, meeting his eye.
He could strike her, he could throw her down on the floor, but she would continue to rise against him.
“You dare defy me in front of our guest?” he asked, his voice laced with anger.
“I am not yer property,” Fennella replied, balling her fists at her sides in an effort not to strike him herself. “I do not do yer bidding.”
When Dearg raised his hand, Fennella awaited the pain that would soon follow, her heart breaking that her sisters would have to see her be hurt yet again.
“Enough!”
The voice cut through the air sharply and Fennella stumbled back as her brother paused, looking down the length of the table at their guest, who had risen from his chair, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.
“She is tae be muh wife,” he said quietly, his voice reverberating off the walls of the keep, laced with a deadly calm that even Fennella shivered from.
“Ye wull nae lay a hand oan her or I wull gut ye where ye stand.”
Dearg’s hand strayed to his side, where Fennella knew his dagger was resting, and her heart leapt into her throat.
Would he do something so rash as to cut down another laird in his keep?
That would bring about a war that their clan could not fight, innocent lives that would be lost because of his insolence.
The Scot arched a brow at the laird’s movement but made none himself, clearly not concerned about his safety.
Either he was daft or she had just witnessed the first person not afraid of Dearg’s wrath.
“She is defying my demands,” Dearg finally said, removing his hand from his dagger and letting it dangle at his side instead. “But she will noo be yer problem tae deal with. I suggest a strong hand.”
The Scot eyed her a moment longer before the tension in his shoulders eased and he gave Dearg a nod. “Perhaps I will be the one tae tame her then.”
Dearg let out a laugh as he released Fennella’s arm, pushing her toward the Scot. “The man deserves a dram. Go, serve yer intended, Sister.”
The table collectively loosened their breaths as Fennella did as she was told, hurrying to fill another mug and pressing it into his hands. “For you,” she said breathlessly, their fingers brushing each other’s.
He gazed down at her, his expression unreadable, and Fennella forgot to breathe as she saw the intensity in that gaze.
By holy there was more to this man than she had originally thought!
His eyes drifted to the red marks on her arm and she saw his jaw tighten momentarily, his fingers clenched around the mug.
“Mah thanks lass,” he finally said, taking a swallow.
Flustered, she hurried back to her seat, the tension easing from the room as Dearg and Gavin started to converse. She was not afraid of Dearg, but this new man who was being thrust into her life? He was one to fear.
There was not one man she trusted, not since her da felt it necessary to begat heirs with other women—women of no importance. He had destroyed her ma by doing so, making her feel as if she were a failure for not being able to produce a son.
After her ma died, Fennella’s aunt had raised her until the age of ten, regaling the stories that Fennella now held dear to her heart about her ma. When her da had died on the battlefield, her aunt had fled the keep, reminding Fennella never to trust any man save she wished for a broken heart.
Fennella had honored that reminder for eight years now and if it wasn’t for Will and the others wanting to rile up against Dearg, she would not have any interaction with them.
She did not trust them with her life, but she trusted them enough that they were growing tired of the way the clan was being run.
Therein enough to help them steal from her brother.
Once the meal was finished, Fennella hurried her sisters from the table, taking them to her room instead of their own. “You cannot leave!” Sorcha said the moment the door was shut, throwing herself at her older sister. “We cannot bear it here without you!”
Fennella’s eyes swarmed with tears as she hugged her sister, knowing that she did not have a choice. “I will still watch over you. I will find a way.”
Moira did not throw herself at her sister, wrapping her arms about her waist instead. “I will be next. Dearg will waste no time marrying me off to some...some ogre in order to gain more funds for his personal use.”
Fennella reached out, touching Moira’s shoulder. “He will not. I will see to it, I promise you.”
“You could escape tonight,” Sorcha stated breathlessly, pulling away from Fennella. “You could leave before he marries you to that brute.”
Fennella looked down at her sister’s hopeful expression, knowing she could never do something that would put them in danger. If she did steal away in the middle of the night, Dearg would stop at nothing to find her and bring her back.
Or something much worse, like marrying Moira to the Scot.
Fennella would never be able to forgive herself for leaving her sisters to fend for themselves.
So instead she drew them both close, breathing in and out for strength.
“Ma is watching over us. I must go and do this to save our clan, but I promise you, I will not abandon my sisters.”
Her words fell on deaf ears and by the time Fennella left her bedroom, both sisters were sound asleep in her bed. Cautiously she crept on the stairs until she could see the flames flicker on the stone wall of the main hall, where two men still remained at the table.
Fennella kept out of sight, the cold biting into her dress as she sat on the stairs, hoping to hear something that would give some indication of the man she was to marry.
She did not have to wait long.
“Your sisters, what of your plans?”
Dearg laughed, the sound of his mug clinking hard on the table echoing in the empty space. “Mah sisters will bring me alliances tae secure my clan’s future. Were we nae enemies before?”
“Aye,” the Scot replied. “And I intend tae keep the peace with this marriage. Whit say ye Laird Mcpherson?”
Fennella strained to hear her brother’s response, nearly falling down the stairs with the effort. “Aye,” he responded. “Why would I attack the clan that mah sister will become the lady of on the morrow?”
“It will benefit you tae remember that she will be mah wife, mah lady,” the Scot replied, surprising Fennella. It sounded as if he were threatening Dearg, standing up for a lass he did not even know.
Was this her chance to save her sisters? Would this Scot be the one that could protect them once she left the keep? Fennella’s thoughts went rampant.
“Are ye threatening me Campbell?” Dearg asked warily.
“Only if ye see it that way,” the other laird replied. “I wish for peace Mcpherson, not war. Our ancestors saw tae it that our clans should nae be enemies and I intend on keeping it that way.”
The men lapsed into silence and Fennella stole away to her room, where her sisters lay sleeping.
Perhaps her eavesdropping would prove to be beneficial to know that the two men did not see eye to eye. At least he was looking for peace, which meant that this clan her brother had torn down would be safe from his wrath.
That would be the only way the McPherson clan would survive.