Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Donaldina had never seen so many people determined to enjoy themselves in spite of the weather.
The morning clouds had broken by the time the riders descended from Dun Ard into the valley, allowing pale autumn sunlight to spill across the road.
Heather darkened the hills in purple-brown stretches, and the trees along the lower slopes burned with copper and gold.
Hooves struck the damp earth in steady rhythm while the banners of MacIver and MacNicol moved together above the company.
Together.
Donaldina glanced toward Roy. He rode beside her upon his black stallion, dressed in dark wool and leather, with a MacIver clasp at his shoulder and the same grave expression he might have worn when approaching a hostile fortress.
“Ye are frowning at the festival,” she observed.
“I cannae see the festival yet.”
“Ye are preparing tae frown at it.”
His eyes moved toward her. “I was considering the northern road.”
“Of course ye were.”
“The woodland provides too much cover.”
“And the musicians may be armed with pipes.”
“They frequently sound as though they are.”
Donaldina laughed before dignity could prevent her. Several riders behind them exchanged knowing glances. She ignored them.
The market town appeared beyond the next rise, gathered around a broad stone square where ribbons hung between the buildings and bright awnings crowded the streets.
Music reached them before the gates did: fiddles, drums and pipes competing cheerfully with the cries of merchants and the laughter of children.
The air smelled of roasting meat, apples, warm bread and woodsmoke. Villagers lined the road as the clans entered. Some bowed, while others waved. Children ran beside the horses until anxious mothers called them back from beneath the hooves.
Donaldina lifted her hand in greeting. Roy did the same, though his gaze continued moving over rooftops, alleys, and the edges of the crowd.
“Ye promised tae enjoy yourself,” she reminded him.
“I am enjoying meself.”
“Yer enemies must find ye delightful.”
“They rarely complain for long.”
She looked at him sharply. Roy’s mouth shifted. He was teasing her. The realization warmed her far more than the autumn sun.
They dismounted near the town hall, where the festival steward hurried forward with three assistants and an expression of profound relief.
“Me lady. Me laird. Everything is prepared.”
Donaldina noticed the order of the greeting. So did Roy. Neither corrected him.
The hours passed in a blur of duties masquerading as pleasure.
They judged a contest in which young men tried to hurl a heavy stone farther than good sense allowed.
Roy watched each attempt with the solemn attention of a military commander, while Donaldina awarded the prize to a broad-shouldered shepherd whose final throw narrowly missed a table of pies.
“The table shouldnae have been placed there,” Roy said.
“The stone shouldnae have been thrown toward it.”
“The wind shifted.”
“The stone weighed more than the boy who threw it.”
“The wind was ambitious.”
Donaldina stared at him. He appeared entirely serious.
Later, they judged children’s archery. Roy knelt beside a girl who held the bow incorrectly and adjusted her fingers with unexpected patience. When the arrow struck the outer ring of the target, the child shouted as though she had conquered Edinburgh.
Donaldina watched Roy smile at her. It was the same unguarded expression she had witnessed in the stables, a rare softness which altered his whole face and made her heart ache with the knowledge that he still believed it necessary to hide.
The girl’s mother thanked him repeatedly. Roy stood and returned to Donaldina’s side.
“Ye are very popular,” she told him.
“She struck the target.”
“After ye moved it closer.”
“I adjusted it for the wind.”
“That ambitious wind?”
“The same.”
They visited the market stalls next. Merchants pressed samples into their hands as they passed. Donaldina tasted spiced apple cake, honeyed nuts and a cheese so sharp that Roy’s expression became almost reverent with suffering.
“It is excellent,” the merchant assured him.
Roy swallowed with difficulty. “Memorable.”
Donaldina accepted another piece simply to prove herself braver. Regret followed immediately.
Roy leaned nearer. “Excellent?”
She maintained a composed expression. “Exceptional.”
“Shall I purchase a wheel?”
“I will have ye arrested.”
His laugh was quiet, but several people turned at the sound.
Donaldina became aware of the glances following them.
They came from merchants, villagers, and clansmen alike.
People watched when Roy placed a guiding hand at her back to steer her through the crowd.
They smiled when Donaldina chose a length of blue ribbon and held it against his dark tunic, solemnly claiming that he required more color.
An old woman selling woven baskets caught Donaldina’s hand before they moved away.
“Ye make a fine pair,” she declared.
Donaldina felt heat rise beneath her skin. Roy, infuriatingly, appeared calm.
“The clans will prosper beneath ye both,” the woman continued.
“We are here only tae attend the festival,” Donaldina replied.
“Aye,” the woman said, with the patient indulgence reserved for children and fools.
Roy purchased a basket from her. Donaldina waited until they were several stalls away.
“Why did ye buy that?”
“She frightened me.”
“She is eighty years old.”
“I have faced younger enemies.”
As evening approached, lanterns were lit throughout the square. Their warm glow caught upon the ribbons overhead and deepened the colors of the merchants’ awnings. The air grew colder, but the crowd only pressed closer around the fires.
Tables were moved aside. Musicians gathered upon a low platform near the town hall, tuning fiddles while villagers cleared the center of the square.
Donaldina saw the festival steward approaching and immediately distrusted his cheerful expression.
“Me lady. Me laird.” He bowed. “It is time for the opening dance.”
Donaldina looked toward the empty space. “Nae.”
The steward blinked.
Roy stood beside her. “It is tradition.”
“So is winter fever. We neednae encourage everything our ancestors endured.”
The steward attempted a smile. “The dance is opened by the laird and his betrothed.”
Across the square, people had begun watching. Donaldina considered walking directly back to Dun Ard. But then, Roy extended his hand. He did not command. He merely waited, with his palm open between them.
The lantern light softened the scar along his jaw. His expression held amusement, patience, and something quieter beneath both. Donaldina placed her hand in his.
“One dance,” she warned.
“I wouldnae dare ask for two.”
The crowd parted as they entered the center of the square.
The musicians began. Donaldina expected Roy to move with the rigid caution of a man accustomed to swords rather than dances.
Instead, his hand settled securely at her waist, and he guided her into the first turn with such ease that she nearly missed her step.
She looked up at him. “Ye… can dance?”
“A wee bit.”
“Ye lied.”
“I said I hadnae danced in years.”
“Ye allowed me tae believe that meant ye were incapable.”
He grinned. “Ye form conclusions very quickly.”
“I shall correct this one by informing everyone that Laird MacIver has spent his years at war practicing reels.”
Roy turned her beneath his arm. Her skirts swept across the stones.
“Dae that,” he said, “and I shall tell them how ye assaulted me at a well.”
Donaldina smiled despite herself. “Nae one would believe ye.”
“The stable hands witnessed the aftermath.”
“They believed the rope slipped.”
“They believed I ordered them tae believe it.”
The dance carried them closer again. Around them, the crowd clapped in rhythm. Lanterns swayed above the square. The scent of apples and woodsmoke mingled with the cold evening air.
Yet, the noise began to fade. Donaldina became aware only of Roy’s hand at her waist, the warmth of his fingers around hers and the steadiness with which he moved. He never pulled her where she did not already mean to go. Even in a dance, he offered direction without force.
“Ye truly havenae danced in years?” she asked.
“Nae.”
“With whom did ye learn?”
His gaze shifted briefly, and she feared she had touched another guarded memory.
Then he answered. “Me mother insisted every laird ought tae dance well enough nae tae disgrace his clan.”
“I would have liked her.”
“She would have liked ye.”
The certainty in his voice stole Donaldina’s breath. Roy seemed to realize what he had said. His hand tightened fractionally at her waist.
“Donaldina, I…”
“Aye?”
The music softened into a slower measure. His face was near hers now. She could see the gray of his eyes beneath the lantern light and the faint line between his brows which appeared whenever he struggled against words he feared to speak.
“Yesterday,” he began.
At the well.
She immediately remembered his arm around her waist, water on his mouth, and the kiss that almost happened.
Donaldina’s pulse quickened. “What of it?”
They turned once more, closer than the dance required. His gaze lowered to her lips. Donaldina wondered whether he might kiss her before the whole town and found, with alarming clarity, that she would not object.
The music ended. Applause broke out around them, and the world rushed back in a wave of sound. Roy bowed. Donaldina curtsied, though neither released the other’s hand until the next dancers entered the square and forced them apart, leaving his question unasked.
For the next hour, Donaldina endured congratulations, questions and far too many knowing smiles. The square grew warmer despite the deepening cold. Smoke from the fires mixed with the breath of the crowd. Music rose again, louder and faster, while dancers turned beneath the lanterns.
She needed air.
Roy was speaking with Hamish and two village guards near the musicians’ platform. She considered telling him where she was going, then decided she would be absent for no more than a few minutes. She slipped between two merchant stalls and followed a narrow lane beyond the market square.
The music softened behind her. At the edge of the town, the buildings thinned into storehouses and fenced gardens. Beyond them, woodland rose dark beneath the night sky. The air smelled of damp leaves and earth rather than smoke and crowded bodies.
Donaldina drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. She could still feel Roy’s hand at her waist. She smiled into the darkness.
Then, a movement sounded behind her and she turned. Three cloaked figures stepped from between the storehouses. Her smile vanished.
She moved backward. “Who are ye?”
No one answered. The nearest man lunged forward.
Donaldina swerved to the side, but another man grabbed her from behind.
A hand covered her mouth before she could scream.
She bite down hard on the palm, causing the man to curse.
Donaldina drove her heel down upon his foot and threw her elbow backward.
It struck flesh. His grip loosened, and she tore herself free for one precious instant.
“Roy!” she screamed.
A fist struck her across the side of the head.
Light shattered behind her eyes. She stumbled but did not fall.
Fingers closed around her arms. Donaldina kicked, scratched, and struck at anything within reach.
One man caught her around the waist while another forced a cloth between her teeth and tied it cruelly behind her head.
They dragged her toward the trees. A horse waited beyond the final fence, its reins held by a fourth man.
Donaldina fought harder. She twisted one arm free and clawed at the fastening of her shawl. The pin tore loose. Wool slipped from her shoulders and fell upon the muddy track. One of the men tried to seize it.
“Leave it,” another hissed. “We have nae time.”
They lifted Donaldina onto the waiting horse. She threw herself sideways before the rider could mount, nearly striking the ground. A man caught her skirts and shoved her back across the saddle. Rope tightened around her wrists. The horse lurched beneath her.
Donaldina looked toward the town. Lantern light glowed beyond the buildings. Music still played in the square, bright and thoughtless, while somewhere within the crowd Roy would turn and discover that she was gone.
The rider mounted behind her and drove his heels into the horse. They plunged into the woodland. Branches struck her face. Darkness swallowed the path, the town and every sound of the festival.
Only her shawl remained behind, pale against the mud beneath the distant lantern light.