Page 37 of Moon Craving

"I know. 'Tis why I have chosen to allow Abigail to get the things."

Niall laughed. "His wife will be grateful."

"'Tis another reason to allow Abigail leeway in this."

"Aye."

The Balmoral might now be his ally, but Talorc did enjoy needling the man.

Just when Talorc was considering the possibility Abigail had taken refuge in the

cottage rather than merely gathering her belongings, she came out. She was carrying one

large and two small bundles.

He glared. "You'll not wear English clothes as my wife."

"I left all but what I wear now behind," she said, showing more sense than he

thought one born a Sassenach might have. "These are the gifts, my sewing and other

personal things, and herbs for healing."

The English baron and his wife had come out of the chapel and had spent the last

few moments haranguing the priest. But even a holy man knew better than to question the

will of the Sinclair. He had refused to demand further concession on the wedding vows.

So, now they were shouting at Talorc, demanding to be heard.

Talorc derived marginal pleasure from ignoring them. He looked at the

MacDonald. "Do you have a woman who can help my wife don my colors?"

The laird of the Lowland clan nodded. "Aye, indeed."

He waved his wife over and told her what Talorc wanted. The redheaded woman

gave Talorc an approving nod before going to Abigail and guiding her back into the

cottage, after handing her bundles to Talorc's warriors.

The English baron had given up on the wedding and was now demanding Talorc

share the nooning meal with them like a civilized man. As if Talorc desired to be such.

Idiots.

"Surely you wish to partake of the game you hunted yesterday for just this

occasion."

He had hunted to avoid spending more time than necessary with the English. He

had given his game to the MacDonald as thanks for the use of the clan's holding to host

the wedding demanded by their king's edict.