“For a time, aye.” Sir Marmaduke tore his attention from the approaching bridal party, and followed his friend’s gaze to a distant ridge where de la Hogue and his mounted miscreants aimed fierce glowers at the men of Kintail.
Their stares, more felt than seen because of the swirling mist, bored holes straight through Marmaduke’s fur-lined cloak, the resplendence of his deep blue surcoat, and the steel mesh of the hauberk he wore beneath it.
“Let them watch.” He kept his hand on his sword-hilt as he shot another glance at his lady. Nearing the middle of the village, she held herself tall in the saddle, the lift of her chin hinting that she’d noticed their uninvited guest, and possessed the backbone to ignore him.
“I can feel their fury.” Sir Alec gripped his sword as well. “I dinnae like it.”
“Neither do I.” Marmaduke glanced at his friend. “But they have reason to fume. Sir Hugh loses a great prize this day.”
“That he does. And you take home the treasure.”
“Aye, and with the greatest pleasure.” His chest swelling with pride, Marmaduke looked again toward his approaching bride, let his gaze drift over her. In a beat, he forgot his cares and just gloried in every detail of her appearance. The shimmering folds of her sister’s wedding veil – just one of the special gifts Lady Linnet had sent along for her. The glossy braids curled over her ears, their gleaming perfection teasing him through the transparency of her head veil.
Tempting him as he imagined her glorious golden tresses spilling free to her hips. Unclothed hips, the whole of her bared to his gaze, her arms opened wide, welcoming him…
“Bleeding ballocks,” he snarled, banishing the image before he embarrassed himself.
He did scowl at the distant ridge.
The thought of de la Hogue having even courted the idea of making Caterine his, doused the fire her comeliness had sent licking through him.
“They aren’t budging. Shall we disperse them?” Gowan said beside him, clearly mistaking the reason for his snarl. “We have archers near that hill. A few well-placed bow shots-”
“Nay.”
“Nay?”
“You heard me.” Marmaduke turned to his friend. “The dastard wants to provoke us,” he said, dipping into a well of patience the Highlanders lacked. “He will take his miscreants and leave when he sees he cannot undo this day.”
A look of incredulity washed over Gowan’s bearded face. “Since when do you shy away from a good blood-letting?”
“Perhaps since I do not wish my lady to witness a massacre on her wedding day.”
“Perhaps since falling in love has turned you into mush, I’ll own,” Gowan muttered, and Marmaduke didn’t bother to contradict him.
Hehadfallen in love.
Cuffing his friend on the arm, he said, “Perhaps I simply refuse to let some swollen-headed blackguard ruin my own pleasure in this day.”
“Ah, well! There we have it.” Gowan swung round to the other MacKenzies. “I knew he loved her,” he guffawed, slapping the nearest Highlander, Sir Ross, on the back.
Good-natured ribbing ensued, the tension, for the moment, diffused.
Letting them to their ribaldry, Marmaduke curled his fingers around the signet ring pressing into his palm and scanned the crush of villagers and fishing folk pouring into the little churchyard.
Interspersed among them were heavily armed men from the Keith garrison, those who’d been there upon his arrival at Dunlaidir, and a few village men newly welcomed into their ranks.
Unlike the villagers, who concealed the goods of war recently distributed to them, these men wore their metal boldly and were well-skilled in using such weapons.
Other stalwarts skirted the village, unseen and silent, these souls skilled in darker methods of warfare.
A rough lot, but loyal.
And willing to ply their unsavory trade without blinking if need be.
Only Marmaduke’s own men shifted and fidgeted, their jesting already giving way to more serious pursuits. Their brows once more darkening with Highland edginess, they cast repeated glances at the mist-draped ridge.
“All are ready.” Sir Ross claimed Marmaduke’s ear. “One word, and all is done.”
