Onora drew back slightly. “Only the threat of it?”
“Aye. Well… He did toss me onto the bed, and he joined me there, and took… certain… liberties.” Her body trembled at the mere memory of it.
“You didn’t try to fight him off?”
“Of course I did, but he’s very strong.”
“Mm. I did observe that.”
“You’ve met him?”
“Aye. He visited your bedchamber this morning to have a brief word with me after he saw you. He came through the door, bold as a bull, and informed me that he was the new laird. He then told me to return to my own apartments, and that I could keep my jewels.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. He walked out before I had a chance to speak. He didn’t seem interested in hearing what I had to say anyway. He was very impatient. Appeared to be in a great hurry.”
A hush fell over the crowd just then, as the great Lion entered the hall and took a seat in her father’s chair at the head table, which was draped with a white cloth and adorned with pewter bowls of fruit and flowers. A servant brought a jewel-encrusted goblet of wine and set it down in front of him. He picked it up and reclined back in the chair.
Onora watched him with interest. “I learned today that he was banished to the Hebrides for the past two years, and while he was there, he had an oracle for a lover.”
“Anoracle?” Though Gwendolen did not wish to know anything about his past lovers, she could not deny that this particular piece of information fascinated her. “Was she genuine? Did she predict things?”
“Apparently so. She told him he would succeed in his quest to regain control of Kinloch, and that his time would come, that he would achieve all his dreams. You know—the sort of thing that encourages a man’s passions.” Onora twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “PerhapsIshould call myself an oracle.”
Gwendolen ignored the silly remark. “Where is this oracle now? Please do not tell me that she followed him here.”
“No. He left her behind in the Hebrides. From what I understand, she was a crafty little witch. And I mean that in the worst possible way.” Onora sipped her wine and watched Angus over the rim of her glass. “How was he, when he came to you?”
“How do you mean?”
“Was he a good lover?”
Gwendolen sighed with discontent. “How would I know? It was the first time anything like that ever happened to me, so I am in no position to make such an assessment. And can we please talk about something else? The man is my enemy. I do not care if he is a good lover or not. It won’t matter.”
Her mother took another sip of wine. “I think you may discover that it matters very much. Even more so,becausehe is your enemy.”
Gwendolen watched her future husband converse with a MacEwen warrior, who stood just below the dais, seeking to make a good impression, no doubt. “I don’t understand you.”
“No, clearly you do not, but you will eventually, and you may come looking for my advice—at which time you will have a world of wisdom at your fingertips. Then we shall see who brings whom under control. You may be surprised to discover you have the upper hand.” Onora raised the goblet to her lips again and watched Angus carefully while she took a long, slow drink. “At least he’s handsome. Imagine if he had the face of a boar.”
“Mother.”
She turned her sparkling eyes to Gwendolen. “Promise that you will at least try to charm him. You know what they say—you can catch more flies with honey…”
“I don’t want to catch him. I want him to leave. Which is why we must send word to Murdoch and tell him what has occurred. The sooner he returns, the better. If he could come with an army…”
“Mm,” her mother said. “I suppose that is the responsible thing to do.”
Gwendolen looked around the room with dismay. “Sometimes I wonder why I am so devoted to you.”
Onora beamed a smile at her. “Because I am your mother, and you adore me.”
Ten servants entered the hall carrying platters of warm bread, fresh out of the oven, which they placed on the long trestle tables. The hum of conversation and laughter in the room died away as the clansmen and women moved to find seats at the benches.
“I suppose it’s time we joined our enemies,” Gwendolen said. She made a move to leave, but her mother caught her arm.
“Wait.” She spoke in a more serious tone. “You should know, Gwendolen, that Angus has ordered his men to refrain from helping themselves to any of our women, especially those who lost husbands in the battle today. The women are all to be given time to grieve. Only then will the MacDonald clansmen be permitted to make wives out of them.”
