The Devil in Plaid(9)

She bristled at his insults. “Of all the filthy and unruly men,” she sputtered.

“By rights, yer ransom should be filling my coffers.” He set her roughly on the ground. “Congratulations on yer betrothal,” he spat before he turned his horse around and disappeared into the forest.

Esme made the sign of the cross as they watched the men retreat into the wood. “The next time ye see yer Adam MacKenzie, ye’ll have to thank him for saving yer life. Mine, too.”

“I’ve never felt happier with my father’s decision than I do right now. Not only because our alliance with the MacKenzie forced that beast of a man to return us, but, imagine, I might have been promised to a hateful man like that.”

“MacLeod men aren’t men at all. They’re devils, and their wives bear the worst of their anger.”

Fiona shuddered as she turned away and hastened toward her men. Still, the memory of his amber gaze, bright with fury, filled her mind, and she prayed never to set eyes on the MacLeod ever again.





Chapter Four


“Fiona, ye’re breathtaking,” Esme exclaimed, clasping her hands over her heart. “Truly. Ye will be the most beautiful bride ever to grace the MacKenzie chapel.”

Fiona smiled, smoothing her hands down the thick lavender brocade of her surcote. “Moira did fine work on the alterations. It fits so well now.”

“She did, indeed,” Esme’s younger sister, Abby, said as she came closer to study the seams. “No matter how I try, I cannot match my stitches to Moira’s fine hand.

“Be gentle with yerself,” Fiona said. “Remember, Moira has been doing this sort of work her whole life. Ye’re but five and ten. Yer skills will improve with time.”

“And practice,” Esme said, looking pointedly at her sister.

Abby made a careless gesture with her hand. “Forget all that. Look at ye,” she beamed. “Ye’re the bride I’ve seen in my dreams. I can imagine ye now.” The young lass closed her eyes. “Yer long black curls are unbound and covered by a frosting of white lace. Yer beauty arrests everyone in the chapel. They are silent, reverent in their manner as they behold their lady.”

“Och, Abby, that is plenty,” Fiona said, shushing the younger woman. “The only one due any reverence in church is our Lord.”

“Aye, Lady Fiona is right. Yer praise, although well intended, is blasphemous,” Esme scolded.

“All right,” Abby said, rolling her eyes. “Forget what I said about reverence. I just think ye look beautiful, my lady, and I hope when I wed, I may look even half as beautiful as ye, although I can’t imagine that dream will ever come true. Not with this nose.”

“Yer nose is lovely,” Fiona insisted, patting Abby’s hand.

“Abby, I will send ye to the kitchens if ye start complaining about yer nose again,” Esme admonished.

Her sister shrugged. “The veil will cover my nose, so I needn’t imagine it away. I would wear exactly what you have on now, my lady. I would wish for everything to be the same, except I wouldn’t have Adam MacKenzie waiting for me at the altar.”

“Abby!” Esme scolded her wee sister before turning to look at Fiona. “I am so sorry, my lady.”

Fiona only smiled. “Ye needn’t be. Thankfully, ‘tis I who am marrying Adam and happily so.”

Esme nodded. “And why wouldn’t ye be? Adam MacKenzie is a fine man—young, handsome, and good.”

“He’s too good,” Abby added.

Esme rolled her eyes. “What does that even mean, child? Are ye suggesting our lady marry a wicked man?”

Abby’s eyes widened. “Nay, of course not.” Then a dreamy glow glazed over her eyes as she moved to the window. “But mayhap a good man with the heart of a rebel with rough, strong hands.”

“What do ye know about such things?” Esme exclaimed. “Listen to ye. If ye keep this up, I will tell da. He’ll have ye back on the farm so fast.”

Abby’s face went pale as she whirled around and gasped, “Ye wouldn’t?”

“Do not press me, or I’ll—”

“My dears, enough,” Fiona at last called out, silencing her maids. She was used to their bickering and had come to expect it from the sisters. Fiona was an only child and had never experienced the unique quality of a sibling relationship until her father had first brought Esme and Abby into the keep five years ago when Fiona turned thirteen. Esme had been fifteen at the time and Abby just eight.

“Listen to this one,” Esme said to Fiona, jerking her head at her younger sister. “With her affection for wicked men, she might have liked the MacLeod.”

Fiona grimaced. “Let us never speak of him, especially not while I am wearing my wedding clothes.” She turned and looked at her reflection in the mirror. A bride stared back. She smiled, thinking that in just three days, she would be traveling again to the MacKenzie stronghold, but this time to stay.

Adam MacKenzie was everything she could have dreamed in a husband. He was eight and ten, just like her. Despite his cursory training in weaponry and defense, he was slim and gentle. His soft hands were better suited at grasping a quill than a broad sword, which didn’t bother her in the least. He was also handsome with golden hair that hung smooth and straight to his shoulders. His eyes were green and sincere. His skin was smooth but for his neatly trimmed beard.