The crowd of women heading toward the castle soon found themselves swarmed by their menfolk. The two groups converged as one. Octavia’s gaze found Angus’. She smiled before returning her attention to the two little girls. The music grew louder, dancing accompanying it. For as far as the eye could see, black and blue plaids densely dotted the landscape. Even the women wore a form of them complete with little white dresses.
Before she knew it, Octavia found herself bustled through the gate, onward into the bailey, and further in still as she was led to the great hall. Her gaze found James in the crowd. He was laughing as four men held him on their shoulders just as had been done to Niall. She found herself smiling, happy that James was happy. She understood the Karriks had already accepted him, which took one worry off her proverbial plate. She laughed when she saw Dr. Kincaid receive equal treatment. The poor professor looked fearful of falling, but the men holding him up had a good handle on him—he’d be just fine.
Angus was standing behind the biggest of a dozen or more long tables that were in the great hall. More tables were being set up outside in the bailey so everyone could eat and drink. The little girls led Octavia to where her husband stood. They curtsied to their laird and lady before joining hands and skipping off to dance. Octavia’s smile was all dimples as she looked up at Angus. He winked before taking her hand and kissing it. The crowd roared its approval.
A young boy came with a large pitcher and poured what looked to be wine into two bejeweled goblets. Angus picked up one goblet, motioned for Octavia to pick up the other, then held his cup aloft. “To the new Lady Karrik!” he shouted over the din, drawing another surge of cheers.
Octavia took a sip and found that she quite liked the drink. “What is it?” she asked. “It’s delicious.”
“’Tis mead, wife. Fermented honey.”
“Well it’s good.” She took another, bigger sip. Good grief, she was already feeling a buzz! “Very, very good.”
He laughed. “Aye, ‘tis that. ‘Tis the best mead in all the Highlands do you ask me.”
She glanced around at all the food being brought in. Her mouth was already watering. Clearly the Karrik women had been busy preparing dishes in their huts today because there was no way a feast this size had been accomplished on a whim. She couldn’t identify half of what she saw—perhaps more—but that fact wouldn’t keep her from indulging.
Angus was grateful that Octavia was taking to the Karriks right away. Other ladies would have been standoffish, mayhap a bit snobbish, but his wife talked with everyone who came over to wish them well. She was, as one would say in Octavia’s tongue, an instant hit.
“Your expression betrays you,” Colban muttered, sidling up next to him. “You better get it under control if you dinna want your lady wife turning her mind to the demon as well.”
The laird grunted. None but Colban and mayhap Alistair could get away with speaking their mind so freely to him. For once he was glad for the familiarity. “I dinna wish for her to hunt with us.”
“I know.”
“She will insist on coming though.”
“I know this too.”
“What do I do?”
“Trust her.” Colban clapped a hand on his back as he prepared to walk away. “We’ve seen her fight. She kens what she’s aboot.”
His second-in-command’s words stayed with him for he knew he spoke naught but the truth, yet Angus couldn’t shake his desire to protect Octavia at all costs. She would not have a care for being unincluded from the hunting party, but that was precisely his intention.
The hunt would begin this very eve. His dark gaze flicked toward the stairwell where even now the servants were putting Octavia’s belongings into his bedchamber. As soon as his wife fell asleep, the hunt would commence.
Chapter Eleven
Octavia awoke in the middle of the night to an aching head and an empty bed. “That son of a bitch,” she muttered as she sat up. No wonder he’d been plying her with mead all during the feast! He’d wanted her too inebriated to stay awake. What’s worse is the fact she’d fallen for it. She was going to kill Laird Angus Karrik if the Xenocann didn’t kill him first.
She waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness before getting up and rummaging through her things. Just as she suspected, she had very few things to fumble through. All of her items from the future—her SA80 and prison breeches included—were nowhere to be found. She cursed aloud as she felt her way to the next chest and pawed around inside it. She stilled as her hand found one of her bags. Octavia’s teeth ground together when she quickly realized it was mostly empty. There were a few grenades, one flashlight, and two alien med kits. Everything else was missing.
She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been angrier than what she currently was. Angry and, she mentally conceded, horrifically worried. Angus might have believed he could dispatch the feeder, but he didn’t truly understand just what kind of a creature he was up against.
Octavia’s eyes narrowed as she wondered if James knew about this and took part in it. Who else would have innately understood what items to leave behind? She could have tracked them if she’d had her rifle and breeches. The damn dress she was still wearing was a liability and the lieutenant would have known that. “Judas,” she bit out, fumbling for the flashlight. She turned it on and set it on the nearest closed trunk.
Her heart was racing. Octavia stopped for a moment and forced herself to calm down. She realized Angus had done this to protect her, but said knowledge was not dampening her ire or her worry. It was, however, fucking with her pride.
She had thought Angus wanted her as she was—not a weakened version thereof. Despite everything he’d seen her do, he still didn’t have faith in her abilities. The knowledge was deflating as all hell.
Running her hands punishingly through her hair, Octavia forced herself to breathe. She was hurt, angry, worried, and a myriad other emotions. She blew out a breath as she glanced at the flashlight. She realized she couldn’t leave it on too long or it’d burn out. She also realized she had no clue how to light the damn candles in the room. She felt inept and she hated it. She dug through her meager possessions again. Aha. An IFAK was still in one bag—it would likely contain a lighter.
Within a few minutes, lighter in hand, Octavia had candles burning all over the bedroom that she barely remembered being carried into. Her teeth gritted all over again when she considered how calculated Angus’ actions had been. She felt betrayed and she hated him for it.
It was then Octavia saw the barrel that had been brought up for her to bathe in. The water, she quickly discovered, had long since gone cold. Good. She stripped off her clothing, laid it on a chest, and made her way into the punishingly frigid bath. She had thought to literally cool her anger off, but the water seemed to react to her body more than vice versa. Within a minute, the water felt tepid rather than punishing. She sighed, feeling dejected that she couldn’t even have this.
After washing her hair and body, Octavia climbed out of the barrel and padded over to the fireplace. She threw two more logs into it, stoked the flames, then sat down on the large animal pelt covering the floor. She would have liked to brush out her curls, but the IFAK contained only a comb. It was long, monotonous work, but she ran the thing through her long mane until all the tangles were gone. She sat there, naked and angry, drying off by the fire.
