“What a dark scowl for a man who is about to meet his betrothed. Ye had best find a bit of a smile, my fine chieftain, or the lass will think ye truly are a quarrelsome beast.”
From behind the dais, came the unmistakable deep brogue of Faolan’s closest friend, Maxwell Sullivan. “If ye scare the poor lass at the betrothal feast, ye will play hell consummating the union.”
“Maxwell, it might do well for ye to realize I am still looking for a warrior to send to the northern seas in search of my brother’s lost ship. Is it true ye still turn as green as the hills just by watching water slop around in a bowl?” Faolan cut his eyes over at his friend to ensure Maxwell understood the thinly veiled threat. Faolan didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “Ye know my reasons for agreeing to this match. I see no reason to act some besotted fool.”
Maxwell settled into one of the lesser ranking chairs upon the dais and leaned closer as he spoke. “I know your reasons. I canna say I understand them but ye can trust me to support ye in your decision. Who knows? Maybe the lass will turn out to be fair and not as simple as the rumors say.”
Barking dogs and shouted greetings announced the Sinclair entourage’s arrival. The raucous hum of the crowd fell to a low curious murmur. Every head in the room turned to the floral archway, straining to be the first to see the chieftain’s future wife.
Her smile was the first thing Faolan noticed. Full lips with a sensuous pout upturned with an air of generosity. She nodded and smiled her welcome to all in the room as she moved gracefully through the archway.
Faolan followed the curve of her high cheekbones, his chest tightening at the intelligence sparkling in her gaze. Her eyes shimmered golden. They burnished warm as honey-flavored brandy swirling beneath the glow of torch light. Her sleek black curls were piled high upon her head, held in place by a golden circlet. Her crimson gown fit her narrow waist and flattered the curve of her hips. Her neckline plunged low enough to quicken her intended’s heart but still modest enough to befit a maiden. She was taller than he’d thought she’d be. He could’ve sworn his informants had reported Dierdra Sinclair a wispy, elfin lass. The woman before him stood tall and willowy. The top of her head neared his shoulders and Faolan stood well over six and a half feet tall.
She moved with the fluid grace of one accustomed to being among crowds. She nodded and greeted each person she met with perfect ease. There was nothing simple-minded about this lass in anything she did. She carried herself with an air of surety. This woman knew her place in the world.
Faolan ground his teeth as the realization hit him: Dierdra Sinclair was not in need of saving.
Faolan’s gut wrenched. He’d been played the fool, a duped pawn set into place for the taking. Whether by his advisors or by the Sinclair clan, he had no idea. However, he promised himself he would damn well find out before the evening ended.
Faolan leaned close. He buried his fingers deep in Maxwell’s arm as his voice leveled to an enraged hiss. “Maxwell, what do ye know of this? This is not the woman I expected to show up at my keep.”
Maxwell pursed his lips, chuckling as his gaze ran up and down the Sinclair maid’s shapely form. “If ye don’t want her, I would be more than happy to take her off your hands. I’ve never had a problem appreciating a fine woman. And from where I sit, she’s a fine and comely lass, indeed.”
Releasing his friend’s arm with a shove as the entourage reached the dais, Faolan shot Maxwell a silencing glare. He swallowed a growl and clenched his teeth as he stiffly rose from the chair. He didn’t know who this woman was, but he was positive she wasn’t the type he needed.
“Welcome to MacKay keep.” With a curt nod of his head, Faolan addressed the rotund man fidgeting next to the exquisite woman. He’d never liked Gordon Sinclair and despised the man’s ill treatment of his wife and child. The man’s incessant greed also preceded him. As far as Faolan was concerned, Gordon Sinclair was a waste of the air that he breathed. Now the man would be his father-in-law. This day was not getting any better.
Gordon Sinclair pulled his gaze away from his avaricious perusal of the MacKay hall. With a sniff and a nod, he dipped his multiple chins and squinted up at Faolan. “I thank ye, Laird MacKay. And we also thank ye for the fine escort through your lands on our journey to bring ye this most precious gift.” He cleared his throat as he rested his hand on the small of his daughter’s back and gave Dierdra a slight shove forward. “Allow me to introduce ye to your betrothed, Dierdra Mairi Ciara Sinclair, my most beloved daughter.”
* * *
As we rehearsed,fool. Good job. Say it correctly.Ciara stroked Sinclair’s mind one last time before fixing Faolan with her most beguiling smile. Her flesh crawled at the weight of Sinclair’s clammy paw on her back; she promised herself she’d wreak vengeance on him later.
The Sinclair faltered, swiping his sweaty face with a pudgy hand after he spoke as though trying to wipe confusion from his mind.
Ciara sidled a glance at him beneath lowered lashes, reinforcing her hold on his mind. She’d stormed with rage when she’d entered his memories and discovered he’d never referred to his child as anything other than an “it.”
Ciara had planted the words and thoughts The Sinclair needed. Gordon Sinclair would never believe she was the despised daughter he’d kept imprisoned in the crumbling tower of his castle for the past twenty years. Controlling the man’s mind was child’s play for Ciara. It was much like guiding a blind hog to the feeding trough. The most difficult part about the task was staying her hand from annihilating his soul. Her palms itched to strike him down. Even now, she remembered all she had seen.
While inside his mind, she’d witnessed his cruel memories. She saw what he’d done to his unsuspecting wife and child. She had witnessed the narrow-mindedness of the man and the selfishness of his heart. Ciara hungered to unleash his punishment. She ached to strike him dead.
She witnessed that once he discovered the condition of his daughter, he would’ve exposed the babe to the elements, and would’ve let the fierce Highland winter silence her mewling howls. However, the fact that he feared the powers of his magical wife was all that kept the girl alive all these years. Even though he’d had her mother drowned in the loch for witchcraft, Gordon Sinclair still feared the protection spells surrounding his daughter. The last defiant act Almena Sinclair had done was shield her daughter from her husband’s hand.
A sudden awareness of shifting energies pulled Ciara from her silent plotting. Reaching out with her essence, her aura stroked her handsome husband-to-be. She caressed Faolan’s soul with the power of her mind. She sensed the energies surrounding the man respond to her aura’s touch. As she found herself appraised by the dark brooding man, a delicious shiver tickled up her spine.
Faolan’s eyes flashed and his gaze locked with hers, his jaw rippled as he clenched his teeth. Silent laughter bubbled in her throat. His expression said he sensed the energies as well. With a stiff bow, he brushed the tips of his fingers against her outstretched hand. “Mistress Dierdra, ’tis a pleasure to meet ye. Welcome to Castle MacKay.”
Ciara strained to keep from smiling at the MacKay chieftain’s obvious discomfort. She slid her hand deeper into his moist palm as she floated closer to him. Murky colors of unease swirled and shifted in Faolan’s aura. The poor man was miserable. Did he find matrimony so undesirable? “Please, Laird MacKay, I would ask that you call me Ciara. That is the name my mother always used.”
As Faolan inched a step back in retreat, Ciara caught her breath.
He cleared his throat and repeated his formal welcome. His head snapped forward with a stiff nod as though attached by a rusty hinge. “Lady Ciara, welcome to the MacKay keep. Welcome to your new home.”
As he tried to retreat another step, he lurched to a stop as he bumped into a body. Maxwell had come to stand right behind him on the dais.
Ciara couldn’t resist a wicked smile. Now Faolan couldn’t escape her.
With a subtle bow of her head in her “father’s”direction, Ciara edged away from Gordon Sinclair. She could no longer stomach the warm, wet weight of his hand where it rested on the small of her back. It was all she could do to keep her powers in check and refrain from destroying the man on the spot. She eased her way over to Faolan’s side and linked her arm through his. Arching a brow, she inclined her head toward her future husband and dismissed Gordon Sinclair. “I am now where I am meant to be. I am well pleased with this match, Father, and I am thankful for your wisdom in securing my future.”
