The Devil in Plaid(33)

A moment later, her heart sank. No amount of pretense could have made her believe she was home.

The great hall of Castle Làidir was full. All eyes turned toward her when she entered, but no one smiled. Just as she had glimpsed in the chapel the day before, people’s expressions held only suspicion and hatred. Dropping her gaze to the ground, she hastened to Matthew’s side.

“Welcome, my lady,” he said, sliding out her chair. “Do not show them yer fear,” he whispered in her ear as she sat down.

Forcing a smile to her lips, she gazed out, pretending not to see the villagers’ hostile glares.

Julia set a trencher in front of her. “Laird MacLeod told me to bid ye not wait for him.”

Her hands tightly clasped in her lap, Fiona swallowed hard and smiled at her maid, nodding her acceptance. But despite Jamie’s wishes and the hunger gnawing at her stomach, she could not even think about eating.

“Tell me of yer family,” Matthew said casually at her side.

She appreciated the captain’s effort to put her at ease, but she could hardly draw breath. Making conversation was out of the question.

Just then the door swung wide, and Jamie strode into the great hall. Her mouth fell open as she watched his approach. His hair, which hung in smooth, clean waves past his shoulders, shone golden in color. His face was clean shaven. She was struck by the strong lines of his jaw. He wore a crisp linen shirt under his plaid. Her gaze was drawn to his broad shoulders and confident stride. Sweet Lord above, but she had never seen a man as handsome as Jamie MacLeod.

He climbed the stairs to the high table, his smile making her heart race. She griped the edge of her seat when he bent to place a kiss on her cheek. His full lips warmed her skin and shot a delicious shiver up her spine. She met the honeyed warmth of his amber eyes and gasped. He smelled clean and masculine.

“Good morrow, wife,” he said for her ears alone.

She blushed. “Good morrow, husband.”

Then to her surprise, he did not take the seat at her side. Instead, he straightened and outstretched his arms to his people.

“Clan MacLeod, I stand before ye a man contrite. Prejudice has colored my judgment, leading me to chastise and cruelly treat the woman who I am now grateful to call wife. In these days of war and threat, our clans have united. Our very survival rests in the strength of my bond with this woman, which we have made unbreakable with our vows.” He placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “Yesterday, I should have presented her as yer lady. But I failed ye, and I failed her. But I do this now. Open yer hearts. The feud that has brought only suffering to our people is over. This is the way forward, and I ask ye to stand with me as I present to ye, Lady Fiona MacLeod—she is yer lady and due every respect.”

His words brought tears to her eyes. She looked up at him, struck by the hope she glimpsed in his own gaze. Then, she looked out over the room. No one moved or spoke. She held her breath. Suddenly, an older woman with a gnarled back stood up at one of the tables near the front. One by one, people began to stand, and then more people joined. Somewhere in the back, someone began to clap.

“Stand with me,” he said, drawing her gaze. She took a deep breath and nodded, slipping her hand in his. When they stood together as husband and wife, the room erupted into cheers. Her heart swelled. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she smiled through them as she looked at the people now applauding her. The same joy which burst within her heart, she saw on the face of every man, woman, and child in the hall. And she knew in that moment, that they cheered not only to honor the wishes of their laird or to welcome her into their clan—they cheered for the hope Jamie had given to them: hope for peace. She turned to look at him, struck by the admiration she suddenly felt in her heart, for she knew he had done what a laird was meant to do. He had raised his people up—her included.

“Thank ye,” she whispered.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her forehead. “Thank ye,” he responded. Then he helped her sit before claiming the seat beside her. “I was detained, forgive me.”

She smiled. “There is naught to forgive.” She squeezed his hand, her heart full.

“Ye must be half starved,” he said, reaching for a bannock which he tore in half.

She met his tender gaze and accepted the offered bread. “I am,” she admitted before taking a bite, savoring the flavor and warmth. She looked at him sidelong.

“What is it?” he asked, smiling. “I feel there is something ye wish to say to me.”

She lifted her shoulders. “Ye look different. Yer hair is lighter than I thought. ‘Tis golden, and yer face…I mean…ye’re…so…”

His smiled widened. “Ye mean I don’t look like a filthy barbarian?”

She laughed. “Aye, that is exactly what I mean.”

“Thank God, ye two have resolved yer differences,” Matthew interjected. “Because his stench was beginning to turn my stomach.”

She turned to face Jamie. “Wait. Were ye refusing to bathe just to get under my skin.”

He shrugged and popped a piece of bannock in his mouth. His cheeky grin was answer enough.

Fiona gazed out over the full trencher tables. There was an ease about the room now. Many people had turned their attention to the high table, but the animosity had fled their expressions. Now, they eyed her with curiosity. She smiled, wanting to show them that she was a kind and honorable lady. In return, several of Jamie’s kin smiled back.