Her cheeks pinked as she said the words, but Angus needed no other encouragement. He took her by the hand and spoke only to Graham on the way out. “Have Osla get started on preparing a feast. I will be busy for the next—”
His new wife placed her hand over his mouth and grinned. Angus gazed into her eyes and marvelled at the mischief he viewed there. Leaving his men behind, he grabbed her hand and left the great hall, taking the pathway leading to his chambers. He should have wine and food sent up, and a bath, and some fresh linens, and flowers. All the things that a lady should be showered with on her wedding day and night. Perhaps later there would be time for all of that. Right now, he needed to show her that there was no other creature in the world who meant more to him than her.
* * *
Rorie rode on ahead of his men, needing to feel the wind whip at his hair and the pounding horse beneath him. His blood was near to boil with fury over the events leading up to him losing Muren. But lose her he would not. His affection had grown for her since their betrothal last year, and he had gotten to know what lay in the woman’s heart. There was a kindness there like no other possessed. She was capable of more generosity and care than anyone he had ever met, and he would give his last breath to protect her from any harm.
He came to a crossroads: one path led home to his castle on Loch Kinellen; the other to Dunrobin Castle at Golspie, where Muren waited. What he had not told MacDonald was that the king had offered him lands as compensation for losing the betrothal to Muren. Lands that currently belonged to MacDonald, and that the king planned to take them into possession as part of their arrangement for Lady Annabella’s hand. Rorie now realized that MacDonald was not aware of that part of the arrangement. What a snarled-up mess this was.
Acquiring more lands was always desirable for a chief, but to lose Muren in the process and then end up at war with Angus would not be worth it. Rorie took the road leading east and toward Dunrobin. He would face Ronan Sutherland and make the man see reason. They had enjoyed an amicable relationship while Rorie’s father had lived, but since his death, Ronan had appeared greedy and interested in preying on Rorie’s grief in order to extend his own interests in the north.
He rode hard, stopping only to water and rest his horse, and by sundown he arrived at Dunrobin Castle. Rorie strode past the guards and walked straight to the great hall, where Ronan and his wife, Freya, were passing their evening meal.
“Where is Muren?” he asked.
Freya looked up from her plate and glanced at her husband, then frowned. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ronan placed his hand over hers.
“Muren has kept to her chamber of late. What are you doing here?”
“How formal we have become, Ronan. I used to be welcome at this table. Am I not still Muren’s betrothed?”
Rorie wanted to hear the lunacy from the man’s own tongue.
Freya pulled her hand back, then pushed her chair out from the table. “I will go and check on Muren. Rorie, I will let her know that you are here.”
“No,” Ronan said. “The decision has been made, and Rorie must accept it.”
“You and I entered into an arrangement in exchange for allegiance with the king and to compensate for Freya. Am I to be cheated out of this betrothal as well?”
“Careful with your words, lad,” Ronan warned, but continued to select pieces of meat from his trencher. He chewed slowly.
The man clearly did not care for a MacKenzie alliance any longer. Rorie slammed his hands down on the table. “I am no lad, Sutherland. I am chief of Clan MacKenzie, and I will have what is mine.”
Ronan stood. He was a man of considerable height and formidable temperament, but Rorie did not care. He would run the man, or any man, through in order to have Muren for his own.
“Is that a threat, MacKenzie?”
“Aye, I suppose it is. I should have known better than to trust a Sutherland. You have always taken what was not yours. You are no better than your father.”
The fist that struck his jaw came out of nowhere, and was followed by a high-pitched scream. Pain exploded on the side of Rorie’s face.
“Get out of my hall,” Sutherland said.
“Not without Muren.”
“Ronan!” Rorie turned to see Freya glaring at her husband. “This is ridiculous. You cannot possibly want her married to the Douglas. You would force her to go with a barbarian, just so that you can curry favour with the king? Do you care so little for her life that you would toss her into a pit of mangy wild dogs?”
Rorie caught the next fist that flew and held it aloft. “The next time you raise a hand to me, consider us at war.”
Freya placed her hand on Ronan’s arm and guided it back to rest by his side. “Leave now, Rorie, and let us all calm down before we address this issue again.”
Rorie had seen this woman’s effect on Ronan before, and knew that the man would not raise his hand again this day. He took the opportunity to step back.
“I will honour your wife’s request, but this is not done, Sutherland. Muren is mine and I will not allow her to be married off to a man who will destroy her very soul.”
“Leave now, Rorie,” Freya said again. “You have said your piece.”
Rorie nodded to Freya and left the hall. What more could he do without his men to back him? Ronan was not acting rationally. Muren was his only sibling, and was the kind of woman a man should cherish and protect, not send away like a lamb to the slaughter.
