“No, I will fight him tae my last breath and I will never forgive you, Gaira, for finding joy in this heinous marriage, your silly notions be damned!”
Now the poor woman did erupt in tears, which made Alec so angry to hear her distress that he slapped Rowen hard on the rump, her shocked gasp giving him some satisfaction that she had ceased again to struggle.
“What? You strike me now, Mackay?”
He didn’t answer, but strode grimly toward the head table while the clansmen gathered for the wedding feast had grown quiet at the spectacle before them.
His bride tossed over his shoulder with his splayed hand still firmly upon her rump, and Gaira weeping behind him.
The woman’s sobs making him angrier still that Rowen would so unkindly abuse a kinswoman, which made him dump her unceremoniously in a chair.
Rowen’s eyes ablaze as she sought at once to rise. He pushed her right back down again, his hands pressing upon her slender shoulders to keep her still.
“Do you not recall your father’s rebuke?” he grated to her, though he cared not if anyone overheard him. “You shame the Sutherlands and you defy your king. Does your clan’s honor mean nothing tae you, woman?”
Alec knew at once that his stern words had hit home when her cheeks grew bright pink and she clamped her mouth shut as if to prevent herself from making another defiant outcry.
“Aye, that’s better. Mayhap you should apologize, too, tae your nurse. She’s plainly much devoted tae follow you into Mackay country so you’re not alone with no kin around you.”
That reprimand hit home, too, as Rowen glanced at Gaira with her expression softening right in front of him, making Alec’s breath seem to catch at seeing a different side of her.
A quieter side.
A gentler side as she reached out her hand to Gaira, who hiccoughed against her tears.
“Och, now, I didna mean tae hurt you. Come and sit beside me.”
Gaira swiped at her wet, flushed face and hastened forward, a smile breaking across her birdlike features that appeared to Alec like sunshine breaking through clouds.
Yet Rowen wasn’t smiling at all as Gaira settled into a chair next to her, but glared up again at him, though thankfully, she held her tongue against what he could only imagine roiled through her mind.
“Clansmen, I introduce you tae my wife, Rowen Mackay,” Alec announced to the silent onlookers while his father removed his cloak and sank heavily into his chair as if dismayed by everything he had witnessed.
Alec was dismayed, too, as he draped his own cloak over the back of his chair and sat down, but what was to be done about it? He was married now, a husband to an enemy bride, and he had to find a way to make the best of his predicament.
Meanwhile, Rowen continued to glower at him with her lovely jaw set tight as if the uttering of his surname attached to her given name had infuriated her—though still she remained silent.
A blessing, indeed, for Alec had stomached enough of her hollering and cursing for one day—and their marriage had only begun!
Impatiently he waved to the servants to start bringing in the food, the wedding feast a sham to him that he knew he must endure.
He had never been averse to getting married, but in his own time and to a lass of his own choosing. Now with both denied to him, Alec was grateful for his brimming cup of ale as he took a long draught to ease the bitterness threatening to overwhelm him.
“Heaven help me, I’m wed tae a drunkard, too.”
Alec’s cup stopped in midair and now he scowled at Rowen, who had tilted her chin as if daring him to retort.
He didn’t give her the satisfaction, but instead drained the ale and gestured for another, a buxom maidservant with dark brown hair rushing forward with a pitcher to oblige him.
The comely young woman’s breasts pressed against her bodice as she filled the cup to the brim while a snort of derision came from Rowen.
“And a lecher, I see.”
Alec clenched his hand around the cup, but still he said nothing and focused instead upon the sumptuous meal being served in honor of their wedding day.
Spit-roasted venison and braised duck along with golden-crusted bread to sop up the juices, his stomach grumbling again as servants heaped his plate and Rowen’s as well. She was no longer looking at him, but at the savory-smelling bounty placed in front of her while the priest intoned a blessing from where he stood at the entrance to the great hall.
A rather long-winded blessing that made Rowen mutter an oath and grab a slice of meat to shove into her mouth before the priest had finished, a look of pure bliss on her face as juice trickled down her chin.
