Page 126 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

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.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The celebrations lingered long after the musicians lowered their instruments. Voices followed Donaldina through the passages of Dun Ard, softened by stone and distance into a warm, indistinct murmur. The scent of peat smoke, spilled ale and winter greenery clung to her gown. Somewhere below, Hamish began another song with more enthusiasm than skill, and several men answered him badly.

Mairi walked beside Donaldina carrying the ceremonial veil over one arm.

“The green gown has been pressed,” she said. “Yer mother’s clasp is laid beside it, and Lachlan’s plaid has been brought from the cedar chest.”

“The heather?”

“Gathered before sunset.”

“And the honey?”

“From the oldest hive, as ordered.”

Donaldina nodded, though her thoughts had ceased following the list several corridors earlier.

Tomorrow.

At dawn, she would walk into the great hall beneath MacNicol green and MacIver red. She would speak vows before God, clan and every witness who had come to judge whether the accord could become something more enduring than a King’s command.

Her chamber waited ahead, warm with fire and occupied by women prepared to brush her hair, arrange her clothing and debate every ceremonial detail until the candles burned low.

Yet, when Donaldina reached the turn near the western stair, she stopped. She found Roy standing at the far end of the passage.

He had removed his formal coat, carrying it across one arm. The collar of his linen shirt stood open at his throat, and the faint disorder of his dark hair suggested Hamish had detained him longer than intended. A folded patrol report rested in his hand.

For one quiet moment, neither moved.

Mairi looked between them.

“I shall ensure the heather hasnae escaped,” she smiled.

Donaldina did not turn. “Heather is rarely known for flight.”

“One cannae be too cautious on the night before a wedding.”