The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(84)

Excitement bubbled inside her. Wouldn’t he be surprised? Her efforts before to prove her usefulness had largely been in vain, but this was something important—something he could not ignore. This would have to impress him.

She couldn’t wait to see his face. First the surprise, then gratitude, and then maybe even pride. Her heart beat a little faster. Would he finally see her not as the cowardly girl who’d tricked him into marriage, but as the woman who could stand by his side? A confidante? She could be a part of his life, not just in the bedroom.

An image of her father flashed in her mind. She’d thought to impress him, too …

Nonsense. She pushed the errant thought away. Tor was nothing like her father. Nothing. He was honorable to the core, fair, and even when angered always in control. He might have a blunt tongue, but he would never lift a hand to her. He’d been furious to discover her in the tree and more so when she’d foolishly taunted him about Lachlan MacRuairi. She’d wanted to make him jealous like she was. If his reaction was any indication, it had worked. Yet no matter how angry, he would never hurt her physically.

It wasn’t cruelty that prevented him from seeing her but blindness. She just needed to open his eyes a little.

Course set, Christina left the solar with a decided spring in her step. She couldn’t wait to get started, but she would have to wait until late at night if she didn’t want to be discovered. A raucous roar went up in the Great Hall behind her.

Her heart jumped. Tor must be back!

She hurried her step, coming around the back entry to the Hall from the corridor, and stopped in her tracks, utterly paralyzed.

Horror washed over her in a cold, sickening blast. Her stomach knifed, bile rising up in the back of her throat.

A soft sound emerged from her strangled throat, like that of a wounded animal.

Standing at the dais with his back toward her was her husband—locked in a passionate embrace with a tall, blond-haired woman.

Eighteen

Christina stood there motionless—numb—unable to move.

The kiss went on and on, growing wilder as the crowd egged them on with their cheering and hollering. Stop. Please stop. Her heart twisted tighter and tighter. Tears blurred her eyes.

How could he do this to her? And how could his clansmen encourage it? She thought they’d begun to like her.

Her throat closed and her chest burned. She felt a crack from deep inside that started to splinter like ice on a frozen pond. She trembled, knowing she was about to shatter.

Her husband and Lady Janet broke apart, laughing, and Christina stilled.

Something was wrong … different. He didn’t stand like a king surveying his kingdom and he was wearing far more ornate clothing than she’d ever seen him wear before. The easy, relaxed stance, the unfamiliar clothing, the hair streaked with too much gold. His shoulders were just as wide but the well-muscled build was leaner, not quite as heavily muscled.

She blinked. Was it only wishful thinking? Nay. She knew it in her heart. The man standing at the dais was not her husband.

When he slid his hand around the woman’s waist and turned to address the crowd, she knew it for certain. The profile was eerily similar, but the jaw was not quite as formidable and his nose didn’t have the slight crook at the bridge. He also had a thin scar down his right cheek and smile lines around his eyes that Tor did not.

And if she had any doubt, it was gone when the woman came into view. It wasn’t Lady Janet, but a young woman probably not much older than herself. She was pretty—with slim, delicate features and big, laughing green eyes—not in the stately, serene beauty of Lady Janet, but in a carefree, lively fashion. A wildflower in spring, not a rose in winter.

The girl caught sight of Christina and smiled. Tugging on the man’s arm, she stood on her toes to whisper in his ear and he turned in Christina’s direction.

Seeing the broad smile spread across a face so similar to her husband’s took her breath away. He should look like this … happy.

The man strode toward her. He stopped and bowed so gallantly she had to smile. “My lady, forgive me, I did not see you arrive.” He gave her a roguish grin and took her hand to lead her to the table. “I fear I got a wee bit carried away introducing my bride to the clan. I’m Torquil, and you must be Lady Christina.” He shook his head ruefully. “My brother is certainly full of surprises.”

Her lips quirked. “He certainly is. You’re twins.”

He arched a well-formed brow, the wry expression looking so much like his brother’s it took her aback. “He didn’t tell you?”

She shook her head.

His gaze filled with concern. “I’m sorry, what you saw … it must have been something of a shock.” She nodded—that was an understatement. By then they’d reached the table. “My lady, I wish to present my wife, Lady Margaret.”

The girl rushed forward and clasped her hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady. May I call you Christina? And you must call me Meg. I just know we are going to be great friends, married to brothers—twin brothers, that is. We shall have so much to talk about”—she gave her husband a sly look—”and compare.”

Christina could only nod and return her smile, feeling as if she’d just been caught up in a whirlwind.

“Naughty wench.” Torquil dragged his young bride back into his arms and feigned outrage. “Mind your tongue or I’ll have to put it to other uses.”