The clerk shuffled uncomfortably, looking down at his feet. “That the chief took one look at you and decided he had to have you. One of the lads heard it from the chief’s personal privy counselor himself.”
Christina flushed to her roots with pleasure. She knew there could be no truth in the story, even if it had come from her husband’s closest confidant … could there?
“There has been much speculation because it happened so suddenly,” he explained. “And the chief had given no indication that he intended to remarry. An alliance with the house of Fraser was even more unexpected, given the current climate.”
Christina was confused. “What do you mean?”
He lowered his voice. “War.”
The word stopped her heart. “Have you heard something?”
He shook his head. “Nay, but there are rumors that pockets of rebellion are springing up around Scotland with the capture of Wallace. The chief has been careful to maintain his neutrality till now. But your family is well known for being in the thick of the patriotic cause. Marriage to a Fraser …”
He didn’t need to finish. Marriage to her put that neutrality in question. It was what her husband had alluded to on the boat—the reason he’d refused the marriage with her initially.
“Our marriage had nothing to do with politics,” she said adamantly. “An alliance with my father is the last thing he wanted.” She couldn’t hide the wry note in her voice. “Anyone who thinks differently would be wrong. Very wrong,” she emphasized.
But a little voice at the back of her head wondered whether there was perhaps a wee bit of truth to the rumor of his caring for her. Tor MacLeod was not a man to be forced into anything. He wouldn’t have married her if he didn’t want to, particularly given the political objection.
The clerk’s easy talk of treason concerned her. Though she did not know Edward of England personally, she knew well enough the danger of defying him. “This talk of war is dangerous. Skye is a long way from London, but King Edward has ears everywhere. I hope you’ll put a stop to any rumors of this sort if you hear them. I don’t want our marriage to cause my husband unnecessary trouble.”
He nodded understandingly. “Certainly, my lady. You are wise as well as beautiful.”
Christina accepted the gallantry with a smile, refusing to allow the black cloud of war and politics to put a damper on the day. Last night had been a dream come true—a night to build a future on—and nothing could temper the happiness in her heart.
Or so she thought.
The clerk and Christina entered the Hall unobserved. For so early in the morning, the number of people milling about surprised her. Her gaze instinctively went to the large thronelike chair on the dais, and she stilled. The happiness that she thought so entrenched drained out of her like water through a sieve.
Sitting beside her husband on the dais, in the seat that belonged to her, was the beautiful woman she’d noticed the first night she’d arrived. Their heads were bent close together, their shoulders touching. The intimacy between them was evident in their ease with each other.
“Is something wrong, my lady?”
Knowing her emotions were far too easy to read, Christina cursed her fair complexion and willed color back to her cheeks. But she had to know. “The woman,” she said without looking, “seated next to my husband. Who is she?”
The clerk looked in the direction of the dais and his face turned as red as before. Like hers, his emotions were easy to read on his face, and right now his discomfort could not be more clear. “Lady Janet MacKinnon, my lady. The widow of the chief’s former henchman.”
Widow. Her heart sank further. “They are close?” she asked in a whisper.
The kind young churchman didn’t pretend to misunderstand what she was asking. Nor did he patronize her with a lie. “Aye, I believe they were.”
Christina’s newfound confidence crumbled into dust. Despair squeezed her chest. The woman had been his leman. But was she still?
Tor had just finished laying out what he wanted from her when Janet suddenly straightened. “I’d better go,” she said, nodding toward the entry.
He turned and saw Christina approaching the dais. Janet was right. He had no wish for his wife to overhear what they were talking about—she seemed prone to asking unwanted questions. He frowned, noticing the glasslike stiffness in Christina’s expression and the high color on her cheeks. She looked upset about something. He quickly scanned the room to see whether there was some new womanly touch he was supposed to have noticed.
Seeing nothing, he turned back to Janet, who’d already stood up. “We will finish this later,” he said in a low voice.
She nodded and hurried away.
A moment later, his wife took the seat Janet had just vacated. She looked beautiful and regal in her blue velvet cote-hardie, but also unusually reserved. She sat down without a word.
“Good morning,” he said. “I trust you slept well?”
Though there was nothing provocative in his tone, her cheeks flushed. She peered out from under her lashes at him. “Aye, very well.” She lifted her gaze to his. “And you?” She tilted her head. “You were gone so early. I hope there wasn’t something wrong?”
The concern in her gaze made him wary—as did the implication. Clearly, she expected him to sleep by her side. He didn’t want to disappoint her, but that would not be happening. “Nothing wrong,” he said. “I slept in the Hall with my clansmen, as I do every night.” Where he belonged.
