“Careful, Clara,” he said against her ear. “I’ve got you.”
She set her head against his shoulder to steady herself. All she needed to do was say the words, and it would be done. She could go inside and rest. Maybe even get some bread to settle her stomach. She just had to finish it.
She reached up and touched his face, investing all her strength in saying the words Beitidh had told her.
“My groom,” she cried.
He caught her hand and pulled it back from his face. His other arm pressed her tight to his body, steadying her against him. “Clara, don’t say anything—” he began, but she wouldn’t be stopped now. It’s what the crowd wanted. And she never minded kissing him anyway.
She used her free hand to grab his broad shoulder and jerked herself high enough to press her mouth to his. It was a perfunctory kiss. He had not helped her do it, being more occupied in keeping her from falling, but she managed the feat. Finally. Their lips had touched enough that it probably worked for the play, though she thought Liam could have made a better show of it.
Then she allowed herself to fall backwards some and cry, “My lord lives!”
The crowd cheered, but the MacCleal’s voice boomed over it. “You are wed then? To my son?”
Loughton’s arm tightened around her. His face was a hard mask of fury at his father. “Don’t answer—”
“Yes!” she cried. “We are wed.”
She felt Liam’s sigh as if it went through his whole body. She frowned, not understanding his reaction. Had she done a bad job?
Meanwhile, the laird clapped his hands. “It is done!”
“Clara!” That was definitely Aaron, but she could not see over Loughton’s shoulder enough to find her brother.
“Let me—” she began, but her words were cut off as Loughton swung her into his arms. She cried out in shock, but then she relaxed as his arms gripped her tight. Ah! It was so lovely to be held like this. No need to support herself on wobbly legs, and all the time in the world to nestle against his broad chest. She let her head drop into the space between his head and shoulder, and she inhaled his scent.
“Hold tight,” he said to her. “I’ll get us clear.”
She didn’t understand what he was saying until a few moments later. It seemed as if everyone was guiding them into the castle. Dozens of hands were pushing them forward, others were clearing the way ahead.
Oh yes. Bride and groom would have to go into the castle at the end of the performance. That made sense. She even managed a wave to the crowd as he carried her inside. She’d thought that they would be free once they made it through the castle door, but they were followed. The men pushed them on, climbing through the tower stairs and into a bedchamber.
It wasn’t her bedchamber. She saw that immediately. She also saw it when Mairi stood inside the room glaring at her as if she were vermin dragged into the castle. Clara felt her ire rise at that. She hadn’t wanted to play the role of some ghost bride, but she’d done her best to make everyone happy.
Fortunately, before she could say anything, Mairi turned her tart tongue on the men following them.
“Out! Out you go! Get out!” She shooed them back and back, closing the doors until all the revelers were on the outside, leaving the three of them on the inside.
Lord Loughton set Clara down on the bed. His bed, she now realized, as she looked about the room. They were in his bedroom. Those were his items of clothing hanging in the wardrobe.
“It’s done then?” Mairi asked.
“Aye,” Loughton answered, though he sounded none too pleased about it. Then he squatted down in front of Clara. “How much have you had to drink, Clara? How are you feeling?”
She blinked at him. “Lady Beitidh said it was part of the play. That I was supposed to drink it.”
“LadyBeitidh?” Mairi snapped. “She’s no lady at all.”
“What?” Clara asked. “But she said—”
“Never mind that now,” Loughton interrupted. He looked back at Mairi. “Get her some food and water. I’ll explain it to her when she’s sober.”
Mairi’s brows shot up nearly into her hair. “You’llexplainit? Like it’s a way to cook a pheasant. You’llexplainthis to the Sassenach?”
“Enough!” Loughton said, the word loud enough that Clara pressed a hand to her head to steady it. The word echoed inside her skull.
She must have made a sound of distress because he immediately moderated his tone. “Sorry, Clara. Mairi, go. Get us some food.”
“It’s right over there, you idiot. Do you think I’d be in here for any other reason?”
Clara looked over to where a tray of bread and cheese sat, as well as a full pitcher of water. Oh good. She reached out, but Liam was there before her. He handed her half the loaf of bread.
“Start on that,” he said. She did. And while he was filling a cup with water, he looked over at Mairi. “Keep the bastards out,” he said as he glared at the door where the sound of a drinking song came through loud and clear.
“Aye,” Mairi said. “I know my duties.” Then she snorted as she headed to the door. “Explainit,” she mocked. “What I wouldn’t pay to see that. Best you keep your sword handy, Liam. I hear she’s already knocked you one this day.”
And on that, she maneuvered her way out the door while the men still clustered outside roared in enthusiastic approval.
