I found Agnes at the gate.’”
Everyone who had gathered around him clapped and cheered when his story came to an end.
As the small crowd began to disperse, his gaze met hers and he moved toward her. She waited for him to say something. When he finally tried—tearing his eyes off the thin laurel wreath around her brow—he stumbled over the few words he managed. “I…ye…ehm.” She blushed at how he looked about to fall at her feet.
Taking notice of the MacPhersons’ enraptured guest, her uncle, Torin, ventured over with laughter dancing across his wide, green eyes. He wore his gold-splashed hair plaited and pulled back at his temples, but gossamer curls still managed to escape and fall softly around his eyes.
“Raphael, son of Robert Cameron,” he introduced, “my niece, Elysande, daughter of Cain MacPherson.”
At his introduction, Raphael and Elysande’s smiles faded. Their fathers were enemies. They might as well turn around and leave now. Nothing could ever come of them.
Elysande had the urge to pout, but she was no child. And why should she? Just because the woman Raphael Cameron admired most was strong and intelligent? Because his stunning green eyes were compelling and curious about her? Because she wanted to brush his hair off his cheek…and run her fingertips over his full, curved lips? Because she would never see him again after Hogmanay? There were a dozen more reasons for her sudden sadness.
Her father would never—“Elysande!” His voice thundered through the hall. He didn’t wait for her response, but stormed toward her. “Go find yer mother.”
“Cain, they are just meetin’,” her uncle risked.
“Just meetin’?” Cainnech MacPherson’s eyes hardened with dark intent. Her uncle took a step back. “First ye invite them to the stronghold, and now ye are handin’ them my only daughter!”
Just a moment now! No one was handing her over to anyone, but Elysande knew that arguing with her father now was pointless.
“Mr. MacPherson,” the foolish, seemingly fearless Raphael Cameron said. “I would never dishonor yer daughter. I am here fer peace, not a bride.”
“That is good to hear,” her father growled.
Elysande wished she felt the same relief at the declaration.
“Otherwise,” her father promised, leaning in and aiming his most lethal glare at Robbie Cameron’s son. “I would skin ye alive and then hang ye by yer ankles, naked and skinless in the cold until ye died.”
Elysande closed her eyes. She didn’t expect to see Raphael still standing there when she opened them again. None of the men who tried to court her had stood up to her father.
But Raphael hadn’t run. He was still there.
