Gillian felt tears in her eyes as she met the brave smiles of her injured clansmen, all of them bandaged and stitched and bruised, and just as tearfully relieved to seeheralive and well.
From there, Donella led her to Kinfell’s great hall. Conversation stopped when she entered the room, and eyes turned to look at her. Gillian felt herself grow red. Then one after another, folk rose from their seats. The men reverently removed their bonnets and regarded her with such admiration, she wished she could disappear into the flagstone floor. She wasn’t invisible now.
“Heroic,” she heard as she passed. “Warrior maid, brave lass.”
But she wasn’t. She was only Gillian—shy and quiet,private. She felt panic rise in her breast at the attention, and she looked around the hall, seeking John.
She found him at the very end of one of the long trestle tables. He regarded her quietly, his expression closed, just the way he’d done the first night she’d been at Carraig Brigh, when Fia warned her away from him. And what would her sister say now? Gillian didn’t care. She loved John Erly. She’d tell him when they were alone again. For now, his steady gaze gave her the confidence to walk through the adoring crowd. Davy MacKenzie came for her, striding across his hall. He kissed her hand with a resounding smack and led her to a seat at the high table between himself and his mother.
A toast was raised to Gillian. Then another. People were whispering, grinning, and pointing at her.
She could barely see John from where she was sitting. The men were looking at the Sassenach among them with suspicion or curiosity. The MacKenzie lasses cast sidelong looks at the handsome stranger and giggled.No, he didn’t have a tail under those tight breeches.She could assure them of that. A flush of heat and desire suffused her body. She gripped her cup tightly.
“You’re recovered, Mistress MacLeod?” Davy MacKenzie asked her.
“Yes. I thank you for your hospitality for myself and my clansmen,” she said, and he grinned, letting his eyes roam over her.
“’Tis my pleasure. The Sassenach says ye must leave tomorrow, if you’re to be in Edinburgh in time for your wedding. Seems soon, given the shock ye’ve had. If ye’d rather bide with us here at Kinfell awhile—”
Gillian cast a glance at John, saw him watching her over the rim of his cup. She held his gaze. “Thank you,” she said again. “But we really must go.”
Davy set his cup down with a thump. “Well then, since your tail will be laid up here and unable to travel, I’ll escort ye myself—with a suitable number of my own men, of course.”
Gillian looked at him in surprise. “Oh, but I have Callum and John—”
“Who?” Donella asked.
“The Sassenach,” Davy said to his mother, his lips twisting. “He says he’s Alasdair Og Sinclair’s captain of the guard. Callum MacLeod says the lasses love him.” He swept a stern glance over the women in his hall and frowned a warning at John.
“A Sassenach among Scots,” Donella murmured, as if it were a marvel—or a curse.
“He saved my life,” Gillian said.And stole my heart. Nay, not stolen—she’d given it willingly.The organ in question thumped against her ribs. Davy frowned, and Donella looked at Gillian as if she was making up tales. “John’s to—” Gillian’s breath hitched. “He’s to give me away at my wedding.” Would he still? She wanted to get up and cross the room, throw herself into his arms, give herself tohim.
“Ye’ll take Florrie with ye as well,” Donella said, as if John posed some dreadful danger. “Ye should have a woman by your side.”
“I’ve always been safe among my kinsmen,” she said. “Callum is like a brother to me.”
“Buthe’s not,” Donella said and pointed at John. There were two lasses giggling with him now. He was flirting, making them blush and simper—until their menfolk came and dragged their women away. John showed no regret at their going. What was he thinking? His expression told her nothing. The mask was back in place.
As soon as the meal ended, she was crowded by admiring MacKenzies, all wanting to kiss her hand, bid her welcome, and thank her for ending Rabbie Bain’s reign of terror. Because of her, they could sleep soundly, feel safe again. Then the MacKenzie’sseanchaidhpicked up his harp and began to sing. It was the tale of a lass who’d fought a dozen outlaws and vanquished them all. It wasn’t until her name came up in the chorus that Gillian realized he was singing abouther.
“Nay,” she denied, glancing at Donella.
“I didn’t,” she said to Davy. But they weren’t listening. She looked at John, and he grinned at her, raised his cup, and saluted her. He was enjoying her fame, undeserved and unwelcome as it was. She felt a blush bloom, half shyness, half frustration. What was she to do? Of course, the ridiculous story would die away when she left Kinfell.
But at the moment, everyone in the hall clapped their hands and joined in the chorus as they raised their cups to her.
“I—I’m very tired,” she whispered to Donella, overwhelmed. “Will anyone notice if I slipped away?”
Donella smiled. “You’re as modest as ye are brave, aren’t ye? But even lasses who vanquish outlaws need sleep.” She waved her hand, and the music stopped.
“Mistress Gillian is for her bed. She’s tired,” she called, rising.
She looked across the room at John, but he shook his head almost imperceptibly. She felt breathless with disappointment.
As she left the room, she replied to a hundred wishes for a pleasant night’s sleep, and as many gushing expressions of heartfelt thanks before she escaped to the silence of her room. She lay in the quiet darkness in a thick feather bed, covered with plaids and eiderdowns, and knew there were four strong men guarding her door.
She wished she were back in the wee shelter in the wood, on a prickly bed of fir branches with John.
