He pushed open the door and, as they strode into the great hall, Abigail turned as if to go over to the table she usually shared with Clyde, Thomas and Martin, but Reid caught her hand.
“Where are ye going?”
“I thought—”
“Ye are my woman, Abigail,”—God, how he loved saying that!—“and ye will sit with me at the head table—as is yer right.”
The smile she gave him almost stopped his heart. “If you insist.”
He led her up to the head table, then pulled a seat out for her. “If my lady would care to sit?” he said with an elegant bow.
She laughed delightedly. “Why, thank you my good man.”
Reid took his usual chair, pulling it close to hers. The room was around half full with men talking and eating, and he saw more than one surreptitious glance aimed in their direction. What of it? He’d let his men think that Abigail was his woman for weeks, anyway. Now it was true he wanted them to see it, written plain for all to see. She was his. If any of them touched her, he would kill them, just like he’d kill Domnall Maguire when he caught the bastard. Despite sending search parties out every day, the snake had thus far eluded him. But not for long. When Reid caught him—and hewouldcatch him—Maguire would pay for what he’d done to Abigail, Thomas, Clyde and Whitefoot.
The men seemed to accept Abigail’s sudden elevation. After all, she’d been all but running the castle for a while now and most had gotten used to getting direction from her in the same way they would from a lord’s wife. But one man did not seem pleased to see Abigail sitting at the head table with him.
Malcolm.
Reid’s second-in-command glowered as though he’d smelled something rotten. Reid met his stare, daring the man to say something. Malcolm had not approved of Abigail from the moment he’d met her, accusing her first of being a witch and second of being a Muir spy. His opinion, it seemed, had not changed.
Reid stared and Malcolm was the first to look away. He drained his tankard then concentrated his attention on the plate of food before him. Good. Malcolm might be his second-in-command, and the man Reid would listen to on military matters, but when it came to Abigail, he would do well to keep his thoughts to himself.
Reid shouted for food and ale, which arrived in short order. He and Abigail shared a crock of porridge and honey. They ate in companionable silence. He couldn’t stop looking at her. He stole glances at her every few seconds and more often than not, he caught her looking back at him too. Lord save him, he was like a love-sick youth, all inane grins and doughy eyes.
That thought stopped him. Love-sick? Is that what this was? Was he falling in love with Abigail? He didn’t have enough experience to know. He’d known women of course. Plenty of women, but he’d never been in love. He’d never wanted another person so badly he could barely think straight when he was out of their presence. Was that love?
Dinna be ridiculous, he told himself, trying to get a grip on his rampaging emotions.Ye are Reid Campbell. Ye wouldnae give into something so weak as love.
Looking out over the hall, he felt a sudden twinge of longing. Was this what his life would have been like if he’d become Laird of Clan Muir as he was supposed to? Sitting next to his lady wife, presiding over his people? This could have been his.Shouldhave been his, but for his brother. Cinead had robbed him of everything.
But if he’d stayed at Dun Calas, he would never have met Abigail. It was a strange road that life had taken him down but he wouldn’t change it if it meant having never met her.
He was reminded suddenly of the words that the old woman, Irene MacAskill, had said to him.Know this, Reid Campbell: yer choice is coming. Carry on this road or choose another. The choice is yers. Someone will come who will show ye that choice.
Was this what she’d meant? Could Abigail be the person she’d been referring to? But that made no sense, of course. How could she have known such a thing?
The door to the great hall suddenly swung open and a man dressed in riding gear strode in. He was wet, mud-spattered, and appeared thoroughly exhausted. From the look of him, Reid guessed he’d been riding for hours. Reid came alert in an instant. As the man approached the high table, Reid rose to his feet.
“My lord,” the man said, giving Reid a brief bow. “My name is William MacTavish. I bring urgent word from Laird Campbell.” He held out a folded letter.
Reid took it. The parchment was sealed with wax. He broke the seal with his thumbnail and unfolded the document, quickly reading the words written inside.
“Laird Campbell has been delayed,” he announced loudly. “He bids us to hold this castle for several weeks more until he can join us.”
A murmur of conversation sprang up as the men began discussing what this might mean.
Reid nodded to the messenger. “My thanks for bringing this so speedily. Go get something to eat and drink. Ye will spend the night here and take my reply back to Laird Campbell in the morning.”
The man nodded and went to sit at one of the tables. Reid crooked his finger and beckoned Malcolm over. The tall man rose from his seat and came up to the head table. Reid handed him the parchment and his second-in-command read it.
“What do ye make of that?” Reid asked quietly.
Malcolm rubbed his chin. “I dinna ken. He doesnae give details on why he’s been delayed. It says he’s south of Loch Mureid. That’s rough country. Could be he’s just been bogged down by the weather.”
“Aye,” Reid rumbled. “Maybe.”
Malcolm pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should ride back with the messenger tomorrow, my lord. I can take yer reply and also appraise Laird Campbell more fully of our situation. Then, if there is a problem ye need to know about, I can return with more news.”
