CHAPTER 1
“Last chance to change yer mind,”Laird Bryden murmured, swinging himself down neatly from his saddle. “Ye can still go home.”
“And have ye tell Laird MacColl that there’ll be nay lass? I daenae think so,” Nora muttered, clambering gracelessly down from her own saddle. “I can do this. It’s just a year. One year, for the betrothal period. As ye said, there was nay mention of a weddin’. Once the treaty is signed, I’ll leave.”
Laird Bryden eyed her thoughtfully, saying nothing. “A wise decision,” he said at last, offering nothing more.
The Leanan Festival was held across several long fields, scattered with sparse woodland. Tents sprang up everywhere, and people crowded around them like water parting around rocks. There were market stalls laden with food and drink of all kinds.
She could smell various roasting meats in the air, mingling with the smell of marzipan and other sweets. There were ale stalls, of course, places selling mead, beer, or even whiskey. Judging by the boisterous laughter and chatter drifting up from the edges of the fields, plenty of people had already imbibed plenty of it.
Large squares of each field were set aside for the dancers. Wooden planks were laid on the ground to form a rough, uneven dance floor. Couples were already swinging round and round, the boards clattering under their feet loud enough to drown out the music.
Every single one of them wore a mask. Some masks were elaborate, decorated with feathers, lace, beads, or paint. Others were simply strips of cloth tied over the eyes, with holes punched in them. Still, others wore full face masks, which were the most unsettling. Whether plain or patterned, these masks had holes cut around the nostrils and sometimes around the mouth to allow breathing, but most were just smooth, curved shields covering the face.
Nora’s mask was more like the latter than the former. She had sewn a face covering out of a piece of red cloth, creating a smooth, blank mask from her eyebrows to her chin. The edge around the eye holes was reinforced with black thread, but that was the only decoration.
It struck her belatedly that she should have picked a green mask to go with her muddy green healer’s cloak. There had been no talk of dressing her up or making her look pretty to meet herpossible betrothed, and frankly, Nora was relieved. It didn’t matter what she looked like. Or whathelooked like.
“Aye, the Leanan Festival,” Laird Bryden remarked, following her gaze. “They reckon that a fifth of all matches made in the Highlands are made here. And of course, over half of the treaties between clans, too.”
“I’ve never ken anyone who came here,” Nora confessed. “I always thought it was strange. A laird began the festivals, aye? To celebrate the day he met his wife?”
“That’s right. During peace talks, nay less. It’s a fine custom, in me opinion. We all come together to eat, drink, and dance. Nae that ye and I will be spendin’ much time doin’ any of those things. Keep an eye out for the MacColl tent. Ye willnae miss it, it’s bigger than all the rest. Laird MacColl wears a gaudy ruby ring.”
The structure towered over the other tents, and a platform was built within. There were no weapons at Leanan, of course, and no tartan was allowed, but a group of stern-looking soldiers gathered around the tent, unarmed but nonetheless intimidating.
“Posturin’,” Laird Bryden muttered darkly, nodding at their small group of soldiers to follow. “Last chance, Nora. Are ye sure ye want to do this?”
Nora hesitated for a moment before responding. She scanned the MacColl tent, and one man in particular drew her attention.Taller than the others, he slouched across the tent platform and sank into a high-backed chair. With a languid wave of his hand, he summoned a servant with a goblet of wine. Without looking at the servant, he took it and had a long drink. A ring caught the light on the middle finger of that hand—a flashy gold piece with a large red stone in the center.
Perhaps sensing eyes on him, he tore his gaze away from the wine and looked over at the crowd.
Nora thought he might be considered handsome, if one liked that kind of thing. Besides his height and obvious bulk—a warrior’s bulk, all broad shoulders and corded muscles—he had a well-shaped face, a long nose, a square jaw covered in black stubble, and messy brown hair that lazily curled to his shoulders. His mask was almost an afterthought, crookedly placed over his eyes. It didn’t hide much. But maybe he was not the type of man who cared about hiding his identity.
Not me type, she told herself sternly.I bet he thinks too highly of himself. And all that bulk willnae do him any good if he has to be dragged off the battlefield by some hapless healer.
His gaze skipped over her in the crowd, never pausing for an instant. Nora shivered.
Is that the man I’m goin’ to be betrothed to?
Nobody had said specifically that it was the Laird who’d asked for a lass, but she wasn’t a fool. It had to be him.
“I’m ready,” Nora said aloud, fixing an image of Margaret in her head. After all, she had nobody else. Her and Margaret, that was how it had always been.
Without me sister, who am I? What good am I?
“Let’s get this over with.”
Tearing her eyes away from the man whohadto be Laird MacColl, she found Laird Bryden eyeing her with mild curiosity. Like most lairds, he had a talent for hiding his real thoughts, and the curiosity almost immediately disappeared, replaced with a cool, blank expression.
“Then let’s go,” he said at last. “Yer future and the future of our clan awaits. Best nae to dawdle at a time like this, eh?”
Creighton eyed his wine, swirling it lazily around the goblet. Dallas had picked out the wine for today. Frugal as always, he’d brought the poor stuff, with the assumption that they’d have to share. It tasted like vinegar.
He sighed. What was it about festivals that seemed to drag forever? Everybody else was having fun, and yet here he was, trapped on this podium within his tent like a statue. Waste of time.
“Try nae to look so bored, me Laird,” Dallas’ voice came from behind him, gentle but firm. “There’s too much to observe at a place like this.”
