Page 51 of Betrayed by His Highland Wife

With a head full of summer, he rose. The day filled with promise stretched out before him. Finally, it was here. His wedding day was dawning.

The morning had passed like a dream. Fitting his brand-new plaid, he had assembled, ready and full of joy, in the packed great hall. Everybody was waiting; the clan counselors and the elders all in the top rows; by their side, his sisters, their husbands, and all their children beaming, smiling.

"I've nae seen ye smile so much," Fiona had teased him, as she did up his plaid. On his shoulder was the clan brooch, twisted and gleaming, with the deep inset jewels within it. In his sporran, a second one, fashioned especially for Nora.

And beamed, William had. It was true, he was brimming with happiness. But even so, nerves jangled in the pit of his stomach. They were all there from the clan and the clans nearby.

Not to mention the Douglas clan. Only Laird Douglas and the representative from the Douglas clan were at the great hall. Sorcha was about to bring the bride into the great hall. If he'd thought about it for a bit longer, maybe it was a little strange. But right then. William hadn't, too buoyed up in the day and its excitement.

"Och, he wasnae this made up even when he invaded the Sassenachs!" Alasdair had laughed. And William had laughed, too. They were all there at the top of the clan, with the guests looking on, and his heart had swelled with pride. He could not even believe that someone like Nora would agree to marry him. Fondly, he thought of the match his parents had made all those years ago.

"I will honor them, an' her," he said, in a rare, quiet moment, as Alasdair waited beside him at the front of the hall. "I am blessed that I am destined with such a good match!"

The murmurings in the hall had grown loud. Fueled by wine, hearty drams, and lots of singing, a festive atmosphere had broken out. Behind them, the fiddlers had been playing, entertaining the crowd. All around, the expectation had built.

And then, a crack of uncertainty.

Widely, the hall doors flung out. William craned his head, searching for the first glimpse of his intended. His heart and his head were in tangles. He had probably consumed too many drams. At first, he was merry but by then a little woozy.

"She's takin' her time," William noted. He did not know what the time was, just that he had been here for an awfully long time. But then again, maybe it just felt like it. He had never gotten married before.

Smiling, Alasdair had glanced at him. But even he looked unsure, and, William noted, his eyes kept darting to the door, waiting for Nora to make an entrance. Yet, it never happened. The door opened, revealing a servant, bowed and sheepish for causing a stir. Swiftly, they passed with their flagons of whiskey.

The servant started offering refreshments to the unsettled crowd. Now folk were growing impatient; people were looking, whispering, pointing. William felt his heart grow cold but allowed the servant to recharge his cup. Taking a sip, he felt the bitter flame go down.

What is happening? Where is she?

Gently, Alasdair touched his shoulder.

"Dinnae fash," he murmured. "She'll be coming."

Just then, the doors opened again. This time, cheering. Everyone in the room burst into sound. Once again, the fiddlers recommenced playing, this time starting up the clan anthem. But then, confusion; a flurry of talking overwhelmed the hall.

The players paused on their note.

Murmurs rising, William looked about. A lone figure pushed through the crowd. Slowly, William picked her out.

It was not Nora.

Sorcha's gray presence unnerved him. Warily, she slinked through the hall as artful as a fox. It was clear she was uncomfortable.

Alasdair looked up. They all did. In his panic, William saw all the heads turning. The hairs on William's neck began to prick up. This was not good.

Sorcha came closer. "M'Laird," she said, with a quick curtsy.

William felt his heart rate increase. Swallowing it down, he attempted to sound cool.

"Aye," he said guardedly.

"M'Laird, can we go somewhere a wee bit quiet?"

The lady's eyes flashed at him plaintively. For the first time, William noticed their strange gray color. All of her seemed to be gray, from her hair to her plaid. William blinked. Perhaps it was white, but in this light, he could not tell.

"I-I am busy, Sorcha," said William in the understatement of the century.

Beside him, Alasdair raised a brow. "If ye cannae see, he is getting wed," hissed his friend, his pale blue eyes connecting with Sorcha's. Usually only one look of this sort was needed for servants to take the hint, but Sorcha was not a servant. Exactly.

Sadly, she shook her head.