When they ascended the stairs, the group that had been waiting in the great hall crowded into the entrance to witness their arrival. Spontaneous applaud broke out. When Brighit moved to nibble at her finger, Darragh took her hand away and kissed it. “No need to be nervous. I am with ye.”
Pausing a few steps from the bottom, he lifted their joined hands for all to see. “May I introduce to ye my bride, Brighit, formerly of Clan Cruadhlaoch, now of Clan MacNaughton.”
A lovely woman with black hair and wise brown eyes stepped ahead of the rest to embrace her warmly. “My sweet girl, ye are more lovely than I had imagined even with all yer husband’s going on about ye.”
Darragh glanced away when she looked at him. “My thanks,” she said.
“I am Moira of Clan Meachair, my husband is Francis.” She turned about, a concerned expression knitting her brow. “Francis?”
A formidable-looking man with a full head of thick black and white curls stepped up. “Here, dear lady.”
“Oh, Francis. Come see our Darragh’s bride. Isn’t she lovely?”
Francis bowed low over her hand. “An honor to finally meet ye. Ye have quite stolen our Darragh’s heart.”
Again Darragh would not meet her gaze. Instead, he looked to their hosts and said, “Well, we have made ye wait long enough. Let us enjoy the feast ye have so thoughtfully prepared for us.”
“A time for celebration, dear Darragh.” Moira led the way, her shoulders back and her head held high.
Darragh was given the seat of honor beside Francis and Brighit between him and Moira. The older woman clasped her hand. “I am so happy ye’ve come. This is indeed a day for celebration.”
“Ye’re very kind.”
Moira motioned for the servants waiting to the side of the hall, their arms laden with heavy trays of foods of every sort, to begin serving. A young lass came forward with a silver pitcher, bowing slightly to those seated at the table, and offered the wine first to Francis and Moira, and then to Darragh and Brighit. She filled their bejeweled goblets with a bright red liquid. Darragh sipped at it.
“Ah, my friend from Calais has come by here.”
“He was here spring last.” Francis took an appreciative sip. “We had expected ye as well.”
There was censure in his tone, but Darragh replied, “I was seeing to my father.”
Brighit wondered if Francis was referring to the first time their wedding had been postponed.
“Yer first duty. Of course we understand.” Moira said, but her glance toward her husband showed her own disapproval, either for mentioning the matter at all or for not voicing his understanding, Brighit couldn’t be certain which.
“So tell me of yer mother, Brighit. How fares she?”
“Ye know my mother?”
“Of course, she is from Alba, as am I.”
There had never been any mention of Clan Meachair in her hearing, but Brighit realized there may have been much that she didn’t give the proper amount of attention to growing up. She answered as best she could. Darragh spoke with Terrence’s brothers when they joined them at the table. There was no sign of Terrence himself, though she saw a few of the other men from their group. She would need to remember to ask Darragh about him later.
The fire was stoked up as the food was removed and the entertainment began. A large gathering. Brighit wondered if this were normal or if outlying clans had received word of Darragh’s presence.
“Now that we have dispensed with the pleasantries, tell me why ye’ve come.” Francis leaned forward to speak to Darragh.
“If ye will excuse me, I need to see where my daughters have gotten to,” Moira said. “Would ye care to join me, Brighit?”
The polite answer would be yes, but she needed to hear for herself the message being conveyed regarding the murder of Cathair. Darragh, mayhap sensing her reluctance, took her hand. “I wish my wife to remain at my side, Moira. Certainly ye understand?”
Moira dipped her head and retreated through the hall where the jugglers and musicians were keeping the crowds entertained.
“We need to call a meeting of nobles. There’s been a murder.”
“Who has been killed?”
“Cathair of Clan MacCochlain.”
