wife into his arms and carried her out of the chapel.
Abigail's arms flew around his neck, but she did not fight him. Nor did she make so much as a peep in surprise. He looked down at her only to find her gazing at him with an expression bordering on panic in her dark brown eyes.
"You are mine now."
"I know."
"You have no need to worry."
"Was the wedding over? The priest did not say the final blessing."
"We spoke the blessing ourselves as befits my people."
"I did not think the Scottish were so different from the English."
"I am from the north. We have not taken on your civilized ways."
"A priest's blessing is civilized?"
"It is unnecessary. He spoke the words that made us man and wife and we said our vows."
"All right."
He should have been glad she gave up so easily, but again he worried about her spirit when faced with the people of his clan. They were not cruel usually, but they respected strength and abhorred weakness.
Sir Reuben shouted something behind them, but Talorc ignored the baron just as he had the man's wife.
His warriors had followed him out of the chapel and were already mounting their horses, clearly as eager as he to get out of the Lowlands. He went straight to his horse, but when he went to toss Abigail on its back, she squirmed from his arms faster than he would have thought possible for a human.
He grabbed her arm before she could dart to the cottage.
She frowned up at him. "I need my things."
"No."
She shook her head and twisted from his grasp with shocking agility.
He went to grab her again, but she backed up. "Please. I have gifts for Emily."
"She needs nothing from England."
"Thank you for your opinion on the matter, but I must disagree." She spun and headed toward the cottage.
She had disobeyed him. The shock kept him from going after her at first.
"What is she doing?" Niall asked.
"Getting her gifts for her sister."
"The Balmoral will not like his wife receiving tokens from our enemy's land."
"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.
When the other man did not seem to know he was supposed to shut
Abigail's arms flew around his neck, but she did not fight him. Nor did she make so much as a peep in surprise. He looked down at her only to find her gazing at him with an expression bordering on panic in her dark brown eyes.
"You are mine now."
"I know."
"You have no need to worry."
"Was the wedding over? The priest did not say the final blessing."
"We spoke the blessing ourselves as befits my people."
"I did not think the Scottish were so different from the English."
"I am from the north. We have not taken on your civilized ways."
"A priest's blessing is civilized?"
"It is unnecessary. He spoke the words that made us man and wife and we said our vows."
"All right."
He should have been glad she gave up so easily, but again he worried about her spirit when faced with the people of his clan. They were not cruel usually, but they respected strength and abhorred weakness.
Sir Reuben shouted something behind them, but Talorc ignored the baron just as he had the man's wife.
His warriors had followed him out of the chapel and were already mounting their horses, clearly as eager as he to get out of the Lowlands. He went straight to his horse, but when he went to toss Abigail on its back, she squirmed from his arms faster than he would have thought possible for a human.
He grabbed her arm before she could dart to the cottage.
She frowned up at him. "I need my things."
"No."
She shook her head and twisted from his grasp with shocking agility.
He went to grab her again, but she backed up. "Please. I have gifts for Emily."
"She needs nothing from England."
"Thank you for your opinion on the matter, but I must disagree." She spun and headed toward the cottage.
She had disobeyed him. The shock kept him from going after her at first.
"What is she doing?" Niall asked.
"Getting her gifts for her sister."
"The Balmoral will not like his wife receiving tokens from our enemy's land."
"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.
When the other man did not seem to know he was supposed to shut
Similar Books
Smoke from This Altar (1990)
Louis L'amour
No Place Like Home (Holiday Classics)
Fern Michaels
Husband and Wives
Susan Rogers Cooper
Flirting With Disaster
Sofia Harper
Slow Burn: Dead Fire, Book 4
Bobby Adair
Tangled Intersections
Eva LeFoy
Guildhall Guardian: Thamesian #1 (Thamesians)
Aidan Ladsow
Guilty as Sin
Joseph Teller
The Changing Wind
Don Coldsmith
The Designated Drivers' Club
Shelley K. Wall