Chapter Ten
“Witch!” Heberdy stabbed the air with a shaking finger, aiming it at Evie.
Drummond drew his dagger and lunged for the man, barely holding back when the tip of his steel touched the chief’s throat. “Ye dare insult my wife?”
Lady Merelys screeched and jumped aside, taking shelter behind the pair of guards flanking her father.
Murdoch unsheathed his blade as well and stood shoulder to shoulder with Drummond. “’Tis a sorry day indeed when a visiting clan hurls insults at the future chief’s wife at his own table.”
Heberdy flung a hand at the tall, arched windows lining one side of the great hall. “She called down fearsome lightning and made the earth quake. Ye all saw it. Felt it.”
“If I were a witch,” Evie said while peeping around Drummond, “wouldn’t I have aimed that lightning at you and made it count?” She jerked a disgusted nod at Merelys. “Or her.”
Even though Heberdy’s insult filled him with rage, Drummond’s heart and soul soared.
Not only had Evie acknowledged their connection, but she had also made her choice and opened the way for the ancient bonding oath that would reunite their souls in this life.
Even without the binding ceremony, they were now man and wife.
He had declared it so in front of witnesses, before the entire clan, and she had confirmed it with her agreement.
By Scotland’s irregular marriage laws, they were as legally wed as if they’d exchanged vows at the altar in the kirk.
He pressed the tip of the dagger harder into the fleshiness of the Heberdy chief’s flabby double chin, daring the man to make a poor decision that would get his throat cut.
“Did ye not arrive during a storm? Are ye so blasphemous as to claim that a mortal woman caused it rather than the Almighty Himself?”
Heberdy bared his teeth like a cornered animal while frantically glancing sideways in search of his guards. “Then why did she speak of a bond that smacked of the auld beliefs?”
“Because I’m not from around here,” Evie said. “Can’t you tell by the way I talk?”
Her voice trembled, warning Drummond that she was about to panic. He tried to tuck her back behind him. She needed to let him take care of this. Did men allow their women to speak for them in her time?
“She is from far to the west,” Mistress Martha said. “They often speak like minstrels with a romantic turn of phrase.”
Drummond would deal with that one later, even though he had her to thank for bringing his heartmate to him. He blinked, struggling not to see her as the young, vibrant Morganna. Thankfully, everyone else appeared to see her as the bent, old healer.
“Apologize to my wife,” he told Heberdy with another nudge of the dagger.
“Clan Heberdy may be smaller than MacMuirrow, but we are mighty in our own right and refuse to accept the insult of this day.” The chief, his face scarlet with his ill temper, backed away from Drummond’s blade and drew his daughter to his side.
“The betrothal contract was sent to us. Our agreement and our presence at Dubh Tower were requested. Why would such a thing be done if the son of MacMuirrow was already wed?”
“Apologize to my wife.” Drummond advanced on the chief, determined to establish dominance not only for Evie’s sake but for the good of the clan. Lightning flashed again, and more thunder followed, but not nearly as loud this time. “Do ye mean to call me a witch now?”
The hall went deathly silent. All waited to see if blood would be spilled.
After a long, tense moment, Heberdy flinched and gave a curt nod. “Fine, m’lord. Rash words in the heat of the moment.” He shifted his glare to Evie and gave her a stiff bow. “Apologies, m’lady.”
She opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut and nodded.
Drummond breathed easier with her newfound silence.
It was safer that way. “And no insult to Clan Heberdy was intended. As I said, my wife and I returned to the keep just this verra day. My father’s advisors were unaware that I had married.
” He now regretted his earlier conversation with Glengarten, but it couldn’t be helped.
The old fool would do well to remember his political allies were thin on the ground of late, and once the old MacMuirrow died, they would be even thinner.
“My offer of prized livestock remains.” Feeling particularly generous since he had assuredly won his lady fair, Drummond sheathed his dagger.
“For the misunderstanding and the hardship of travel this late in the season, we shall gift ye ten rather than the five yearlings I mentioned earlier.” With a sweep of his hand, he motioned at their seats.
“Please. Sit. Let us enjoy this feast of peace and alliances.”
Grudgingly, the Heberdy guests took their seats once more, but Drummond sensed this issue was far from resolved. He helped Evie sit, then took his seat as well, doing his best to reassure her with a smile. She’d gone pale again—dangerously so. He prayed she’d not swoon.
“Evie?” He leaned in close, scooped her hand up from her lap, and pressed a lingering kiss to it. “Ye are cold as a loch in winter, m’love,” he said, keeping his voice low for her alone. “Are ye unwell? Has the pain in yer head returned?”
Staring straight ahead, she wet her lips. “No. I’m…uhm…fine. I’ll be fine.”
“A toast to Lord Blackmorrow and his new wife,” bellowed someone from across the room. “Slàinte mhath!”
Shouts of slàinte mhath rolled through the hall like thunder, and the storm outside kept pace.
Then the howling wind nearly drowned out the cheers of good health and wishes for many children born to the newly joined couple.
It was as though the very Highlands themselves either celebrated or denied the new match. Drummond prayed it was the former.
Then Mistress Martha jerked and caught hold of Evie’s left hand. She leaned forward and locked eyes with Drummond. “The lady must return to her chamber, m’lord. For her safety,” she said with growing urgency. “For her safety,” she repeated, directing his gaze to the large ring on Evie’s forefinger.
He frowned. Up in the room, the stone set in the intricate silver setting had been a ruby. But now, the gem was an emerald of the darkest green. “I dinna recognize that ring. Where did it come from?”
“It is the same ring as before,” Mistress Martha whispered, her form appearing to him as Morganna. “When it is red, she is safe. When it is green, Fae are present. Could be Seelie or Unseelie. But it is Fae who could mean her harm.”
He glanced around to ensure Heberdy and the man’s daughter were preoccupied with their own conversations before turning back to Morganna. “Ye are Unseelie,” he whispered.
“My magic created this ring,” she said. “It will not sense me.”
“If I leave now, it will seem strange,” Evie said, “and I don’t like it when you two talk around me like I don’t have enough sense to take care of myself.”
“In this situation,” Morganna whispered, “ye do not.” She narrowed her eyes at Drummond. “She must hie to safety.”
“Evie is safest with me.” He would keep her close and destroy anything or anyone who attempted to harm her.
“She is safest when protected by those who can shield her with their magic.” Morganna cast a glance around the hall, then gave the Heberdys a hard look. “Those who forged the curse sense the choice she made and wish to interfere. It could be anyone among us.”
“I didn’t necessarily make my choice,” Evie told her, then offered Drummond an apologetic look. “The words just kind of came out. I thought it would help.” She shot a side-eyed glare at Lady Merelys. “That one there looked ready to eat you alive. Still does.”
Drummond took hold of her chin and gently turned her to face him, forcing her to look him in the eyes.
“When ye said we were bound since the beginning of time, ye made yer choice, lass, and the lightning of the auld ways sealed it. All we must do to seal our souls is repeat the binding oath.” He grazed his thumb back and forth across the fullness of her bottom lip.
“And we are wed in the eyes of the clan and Scotland because we have declared it in front of these witnesses. Ye are my wife, m’love, and I am yer husband. ”
The fear in her eyes tore at him. She reminded him of a snared animal waiting for the death blow. Chest heaving, she wet her lips and whispered, “I need a sip of water—or something stronger.”
He held the rim of his wine goblet to her mouth. “Here, lass. Wine will ease ye and not burn yer wame like the whisky.”
With trembling hands, she steadied the cup and sipped. The entire time, her gaze darted all around. Then she gently pushed the cup away. “Our guests are watching,” she whispered. “Maybe you should give them some attention.”
“I dinna give a damn about anything other than yerself.” He set the goblet aside and tenderly cradled her cheek in his hand. “Ye are safe with me, Evie. I swear it.”
She agreed with a faint nod, then shot a pointed look at Heberdy and his daughter.
Mistress Martha hissed and grumbled like a flustered old hen.
“The ring is green. If ye’ll not listen to me, all I can do is gather as many as I can to help us in this battle.
” She shook a crooked finger in Evie’s face.
“Trust no one. I shall return to ye as soon as I can, ye ken? Those of Craig Durness will not desert ye at yer weakest.” Then she spun about and hobbled away, pulling her black shawl up over her head as she headed toward the door.
“She canna leave in this storm,” Murdoch said. “She’ll never survive.”
“Who is she?” Heberdy asked.
“My healer and personal advisor,” Evie said, her voice still quivering.
“Yer lady’s maid?” Lady Merelys’s upper lip curled as if she smelled a stench. “How can one that old be of any service to ye?”
“Ye would be surprised,” Drummond hurried to say, before Evie forgot herself and said something she shouldn’t.
“Be that as it may,” Heberdy said, while squinting at the lightning-filled windows, “all of us are trapped here until the storm subsides.”