Chapter 31 #2
Roy held his gaze until the young laird looked away. Donaldina waited until the man had been escorted toward his chamber before speaking beneath her breath.
“Ye frightened him.”
“I answered him.”
The corner of her mouth moved.
By midday, Dun Ard had become crowded with servants, musicians, horses and guests attempting to discover which alliances might be formed before the wedding feast ended.
Roy knew the nature of such occasions. A wedding joined more than two people.
It altered trade, inheritance and the direction in which men might be expected to draw their swords.
Young heirs studied Donaldina’s authority.
Older chiefs measured Roy’s control. Minor clans watched for any sign that MacIver and MacNicol unity might leave them excluded from the power taking shape along the western coast.
Donaldina stood beside him through all of it. She did not defer when questions concerned Dun Ard. Roy did not interrupt when she answered, although his answer was needed more often. Neither of them seemed to mind.
Time passed slowly, but eventually evening arrived and brought with it music that began in the great hall. MacNicol pipes opened the gathering with an old coastal melody, soon joined by a MacIver drum whose deeper rhythm shook softly through the floor.
Ale passed freely. Restraint did not.
Roy sat beside Donaldina at the high table as conversation grew louder around them.
Guests who had spent the afternoon measuring every word now laughed with their heads thrown back.
Warriors challenged one another to drinking contests.
Several younger clansmen had already begun a dance near the lower hearth, though none seemed certain of the proper steps.
Donaldina watched them with amusement.
“The MacIvers dance as though fighting invisible opponents,” she observed.
“They are cautious men.”
“One just struck his cousin in the mouth.”
“He may have seen something.”
Her laugh was soft, but Roy felt it beneath his ribs.
They remained seated only briefly. Guests came to greet them, offer blessings and ask questions disguised as compliments. Roy endured discussions of grazing routes, coastal levies and the remarkable speed with which Dun Ard’s defenses had improved since his arrival.
Donaldina received more attention. That should not have surprised him.
She drew people without seeking to. Her authority did not lessen the warmth of her conversation, and her intelligence made even idle remarks feel worthy of consideration.
Young lairds who might have dismissed another woman’s political judgment listened when she spoke.
Eòghan of Glen Torra approached while Roy was answering an elder’s question concerning the northern road. By the time Roy turned back, the young laird stood beside Donaldina with a cup in one hand and an expression of practiced charm upon his face.
“Me faither spoke often of yer brother,” Eòghan was saying. “He claimed Lachlan could drink three men beneath the table and still remember every word spoken in council.”
“He remembered the words,” Donaldina replied. “Whether he understood them after three cups was another matter.”
Eòghan laughed. Roy disliked the sound immediately.
“It is fortunate Dun Ard retains someone with a clearer head,” the young laird said.
His gaze rested upon Donaldina. Roy set down his cup. The elder beside him continued speaking, but Roy no longer heard the words.
Donaldina looked toward him.
Eòghan followed her gaze. “Laird MacIver, we were discussing whether Lady Donaldina inherited her brother’s tolerance for drink.”
“Ye appear determined tae discover it,” Roy replied.
The young man’s smile faltered.
Donaldina lifted her cup. “I have had half of this since the music began.”
“Wise,” Eòghan said. “A bride should remember the evening before her wedding.”
Roy’s fingers tightened once against the edge of the table. Donaldina noticed that as well.
“I assure ye,” she told Eòghan, “there is little danger of me forgetting it.”
Another guest called the young laird’s name. He bowed and allowed himself to be drawn toward the musicians.
Roy watched him leave. Her eyes warmed with amusement.
“Would ye have him searched for weapons?” she asked playfully.
“He carries several upon his person already.”
“His sword?”
“His vanity.”
Donaldina turned away, but not before Roy saw her smile.
The gathering continued. She spoke with a MacLeod widow about fishing rights and accepted a ceremonial ribbon from the daughter of a minor chief. Roy remained near enough to hear every conversation without appearing to do so.
He told himself it was caution. Cormac’s influence remained beyond the walls.
Any guest might carry a message, a hidden grievance or an interest in weakening the marriage before it was completed.
Yet Roy knew political danger did not account for the irritation he felt whenever another man made Donaldina laugh.
Near midnight, the hall grew warmer and louder. Music quickened. Someone persuaded Hamish to dance with an elderly MacNicol woman who commanded him with the authority of a battlefield general.
Donaldina stood beside Roy near the western hearth. She suddenly looked up at him. Firelight caught in her eyes. Around them, music, voices and laughter filled the hall, but Roy felt the space between them close until little else remained.
“Roy,” she said softly, “I am marrying ye tomorrow.”
His breath stopped.
“Whatever these men think, whatever alliances they hope tae form and however carefully they study us, none of it changes that.”
Roy searched her face. There was no obedience to a royal decree and no fear of council judgment, only choice.
Her choice.
He did not trust himself to answer.
Donaldina’s mouth softened as if she understood. She slipped her hand through his arm and turned with him toward the gathering. Roy stayed beside her for the rest of the evening. He spoke when required, watched every door, and allowed no guest to place himself between them.