Laughter and cheers followed as the tension broke. Elsie looked around at the faces before her. She could not help but think these were good people and she was lying to them. Yet she could not afford to tell the truth.
CHAPTER SIX
Halvard had faced down raiders, storms, opposing clans, and overzealous English aristocracy, but never had he had an opponent dodge a kiss of his in front of half of his men.
Elsie had turned her head so quickly she nearly toppled over, his mouth catching only her cheek. The startled look in her eyes, and then that wild, furious blush, saints preserve him, had nearly made him bellow with laughter. Not because he had found the lass’s reaction funny, but because he hadn’t expected to care.
He would have to become accustomed to the fact that his new “bride” was not the type of lass who bent to the will of others. And damn her, if that was not a charming quality.
The heavy doors of Brochel Castle groaned open as they stepped inside. Halvard took in a deep breath. It was good to finally be home. The hall held the warm scent of peat smoke. Firelight crackled and lit the great stone walls, catching the glint of steelas weapons of laird’s past hung in neat rows. Blades that had served his kin for generations. Above the long tables of the great hall hung the MacLeod banner, deep reds and golds rippling faintly in the draft.
Home.
He heard the sharp intake of breath beside him and remembered he was not alone. Elsie took in the cavernous space, the dark beams, the ancientness of it all. He could see the awe in her bright green eyes. He could not help but feel slightly protective as she looked so small in the entryway to the great hall, wrapped in his plaid, mud on her skirts, her hair loose and wild, catching the firelight.
“Ye’ll find its nay palace,” he muttered as she stepped forward.
“No,” she replied softly, “but at least it looks honest.”
“Honest?” he repeated. No one had ever described his castle as such.
“It doesn’t pretend to be something it isn’t.” She glanced up at him.
“Ye’ll get used tae it,” he said roughly, to snap himself out of the feeling constricting his chest.
She shot him a look that could have frozen the hearth. “I’ve no intention of staying long enough to get used to anything.”
He bit back a smile. Brave woman. Elsie tossed words at him like pebbles at a bear.
Before he could answer her, a sharp voice cut through the hall.
“Laird MacLeod.”
Halvard froze, he knew the polished, smooth voice before he saw the man. Standing by the grand hearth were three figures, the king’s envoy. Thomas Redfern, in a velvet coat, a pale young woman trussed up in English finery, looking uncomfortable, and beside her, the tall, lean, silver-streaked, preciseEarl Bowen Harcourt.
Halvard’s stomach turned to stone. Of course, the bastard himself had come.
“Earl Harcourt,” he said flatly. “I thought ye’d send letters rather than drag yourself this far north tae darken me door.”
He looked over at Sten. When he had said the king’s envoy had arrived, he had not mentioned the earl. Sten gave him a look, as if to say he hadn’t been there when he had left.
Bowen smiled, a slow, elegant lifting of the mouth that did not reach his eyes. “I was passing through on royal business and thought to make myself known.”
Passing through?
Hah!Nay one passes through these lands.
Brochel was so high up in the Highlands that, if safe passage through the straights that surrounded them were not needed by the Crown, he doubted anyone would hazard the rough terrain to reach the castle.
Thomas Redfern said nothing at first, he merely studied the scene before him with calm curiosity. He had the kind of stillness that made men uneasy, not because he threatened them, but because he saw them.
“I trust you’ve had a safe journey, my lord,” Redfern said at last, his voice low and smooth.
“Aye, indeed,” Halvard responded.
Harcourt’s gaze slid toward Elsie and Halvard instinctually placed a protective hand on the small of the lass’s back. “I hadn’t realized I would be intruding on a celebration. A wife, I hear?”
“Aye,” he replied. “May I present Lady Elsie MacLeod née Montgomery. She’s in fact me wife.”
