This was just the latest in a series of miscalculations that jeopardized Patrick, their family, and their clan. His father should step aside before he ruined them all.
“I meant for her brother to see that she and the castle needed our protection,” his father said. “I expected him to agree to a quick marriage.”
“David Hume took her without the Douglas chieftain’s permission,” Patrick said.
Wedderburn had taken a calculated risk, wagering that Archibald Douglas would not divert his attention from his fight to gain control of the royal heir. Patrick would have done the same as Wedderburn if he sat in the laird’s chair instead of his father.
“He humiliated us,” Patrick said between his teeth. “Good God, Father, he released our warriors as if he had nothing to fear by letting them go.”
The Blackadder men had straggled in without their boots or weapons, and each one spoke in awe of the Hume laird’s skill with a sword. Patrick had been tempted to cut them all down.
“Damn that young Wedderburn,” his father said. “Who would have guessed he’d dare affront both the Douglases and us, and so soon after his father and uncle were executed?”
“I warned ye about him.”
The Humes were known for their fierceness and opportunism, and Patrick had seen David Hume fight at Flodden. The heir to Wedderburn had fought at the front on the Hume vanguard with impressive ferocity and a foolish lack of concern for his own safety. Against the odds, the Hume vanguard had succeeded in their part in the battle while others failed.
When the two Hume lairds saw that the battle was lost, they ordered their men to quickly collect supply wagons and what valuables they could from the dead, English and Scots both, and abandon the field. They were only robbing the English victors of a portion of their spoils, but that was not how most of the defeated Scots saw it.
“If Wedderburn took the castle yesterday,” his father said, shaking his head, “then ye can be sure he’s already wedded and bedded Lady Alison.”
Patrick’s control nearly snapped. At the thought of another man touching her, his hands shook with the need to sink a blade into his enemy’s heart.
Alison was meant to be his.
He had wanted her since he was sixteen and saw her for first time at her wedding to his kinsman. In the years since, his desire for her had grown to a fever. He had suffered every time he saw her with his Blackadder cousin, an old warrior who was past his time like Patrick’s father.
His only comfort was that Alison suffered too. Every time she looked at her husband, Patrick saw the distaste on her face. If she’d been happy with the old goat, he could not have borne it.
When she was finally his, they would make up for those lost years.
“Wedderburn believes he’s won, but he’s underestimated us, just as his father and uncle did,” his father said with a self-satisfied smile. “’Tis not the end of this.”
That was the one thing Patrick and his father agreed on.
CHAPTER 11
The hall was utterly silent as three hundred Humes waited for their chieftain’s bride to appear. David’s temper was rising by the moment.Where was she?
He felt like smashing furniture, but a strong leader controlled his emotions, so he remained still. As time crawled by, his men cast uneasy glances his way when they thought he was not looking. The only Hume who appeared at ease was Will, who was staring at the ceiling as if he could see the stars through the roof. Sometimes David found it difficult to believe they shared any blood at all.
He was steeling himself for the odious task of hauling his screaming and wailing bride down the stairs when a low rumble traveled across the crowded hall like a wave. His men parted, and there she was, standing under the arched doorway like an angel descended from the heavens.
Alison was breathtaking in a rich blue velvet gown that clung to her lithe curves. Instead one of those fussy headdresses he hated, she wore a simple, elegant one that framed her face like a portrait.
He was relieved she had come to the hall on her own, but she remained frozen in the doorway like a frightened doe ready to spring away at any sudden movement. With slow, deliberate steps, David crossed the room to her.
“I appreciate your coming down,” he said to her in a low voice, and grasped her hand before she could take flight.
He tucked it firmly into his arm and led her back across the room to the small table where the marriage contract was laid out. As she glided on light steps beside him, he took in his bride’s delicate profile and the dark braid laced with silver that fell enticingly to the small of her back.
As soon as they reached the table, he scrawled his signature at the bottom of the marriage contract. He held out the quill to her and hoped to hell he would not have to grasp her hand and force her to sign. When she reached for it, he let out the breath he was holding. Her fingers brushed his and sent a jolt of desire through him.
How long must he wait before he could take his bride to bed? The vows and the wedding feast were all that stood between him and what he wanted.
As Alison leaned over the table to sign her name, her braid fell over her shoulder. His gaze followed its path along the ivory skin above her bodice and over the curve of her breast. He imagined loosening the silky strands of the braid with his fingers and kissing the side of her neck as he unfastened her gown…
He was so caught up imagining the coming night that he forgot where he was, what he doing and why. It all came back to him with a start when Alison set down the quill and turned to him with all the color drained from her face. She had decided to accept this marriage with dignity because she could not avoid it, but the prospect of having him as her husband obviously horrified her.
