her in a castle the size of Eilean Creag.
So
why did he have such a nagging feeling in his gut? Scowling, lest anyone dare
think he was anything other than displeased, Duncan glared across the bailey,
watching the rowdy celebrants file into his keep.
"Are
you ready to join the festivities?" Sir Marmaduke clamped a hand on
Duncan's shoulder, urging him down the chapel steps. "‘Tis no such thing
as a wedding feast without the bridegroom."
"Aye,"
Duncan darkly agreed. "I daresay I canna make myself scarce, can I?"
As
they crossed the bailey, the cause of his foul temper became more clear with
every step he took. He feared Linnet MacDonnell would prove more than he'd
bargained for.
Much
more.
And
that was a notion he did not care for at all.
"Out
of our way, make way for the lady," Lachlan shouted, forcing a path
through the knot of merrymakers blocking the entrance to the castle. Once
inside, he tried to propel Linnet forward, but she stopped him by digging her
heels into the rushes spread upon the floor.
"Is
aught amiss, milady?"
"That
is what I would know." Linnet raised her voice to be heard above the din
in the great hall. "I dinna see Robbie in the crowd nor in the
chapel."
"Nay,
you wouldn't have," the squire said, raising his voice as well.
"Why
not? Surely he should have been—"
Lachlan
suddenly grabbed her arms and lifted her out of the way as two wrestling
Highlanders lurched past them. "Here is not the best place to stand,
milady. Please allow me to escort you away from the door, then I'll explain
about Robbie."
Without
further explanation, the squire ushered her toward the raised dais at the far
end of the hall. While crowded upon her arrival the night before, the great
vaulted chamber was now fair bursting with revelers. Ne'er had she seen aught
to compare with such an elaborate celebration.
Someone
had even strewn the floor rushes with fragrant meadowsweet, rose petals, and
thyme. ‘Twas a grand spectacle that made her father's feasts at Dundonnell seem
paltry.
A
score of trumpeters, high above in the musicians' gallery, competed with the
gay shouts and laughter that filled the vast room and a trio of minstrels
paraded among the celebrants, loudly singing bawdy songs.
Trenchers
of bread and numerous silver jugs of ale and wine already stood upon the
trestle tables while an endless stream of servants carried in platters of every
imaginable delicacy from the kitchens.
But
Linnet wouldn't let the finery or tempting array of festive dishes sway her
purpose. When they reached the high table, and Lachlan pulled back an
elaborately carved high-backed chair, she remained standing.
"Where
is Robbie?"
"In
his bed, milady," the squire told her. " ‘Tis sick he is."
"What
ails him?" she asked. "Do you know?"
"Aye,
it's his stomach. Cook allowed him to eat too many custard pasties."
"Then
I shall go to him," Linnet stated, stepping back from the table.
Her
intention appeared to make Lachlan nervous, for he shot a quick glance across
the hall toward the entrance they'd just left. "Sir Duncan willna be
pleased if you're not at your place when he enters the hall."
"And
I could not partake of a single morsel of food if I dinna look in on the lad.
Do you know if your liege laird has sent anyone to see to him?"
"Cook
sent one o' the laundresses up to his chamber earlier, but Sir Duncan willna
ken the lad's abed." Once again, Lachlan glanced at the far door. "He
angers easily, so we try not to bother him overmuch about Robbie."
"Bother
him?" Linnet eyed the squire sternly, the self-pity that had
overcome her in the chapel now replaced by anger. "I'd say ‘tis the wee
lad who's bothered if his belly is hurting him."
Lachlan
nodded but said nothing.
"I
would ask a favor if I may?"
"You
have only to state your request." He bowed low. " ‘Tis pleased I am
to serve you."
"Do
you remember where my chamber is?"
"Of
course, milady."
"Then
please fetch my leather satchel. When you return, I should like
So
why did he have such a nagging feeling in his gut? Scowling, lest anyone dare
think he was anything other than displeased, Duncan glared across the bailey,
watching the rowdy celebrants file into his keep.
"Are
you ready to join the festivities?" Sir Marmaduke clamped a hand on
Duncan's shoulder, urging him down the chapel steps. "‘Tis no such thing
as a wedding feast without the bridegroom."
"Aye,"
Duncan darkly agreed. "I daresay I canna make myself scarce, can I?"
As
they crossed the bailey, the cause of his foul temper became more clear with
every step he took. He feared Linnet MacDonnell would prove more than he'd
bargained for.
Much
more.
And
that was a notion he did not care for at all.
"Out
of our way, make way for the lady," Lachlan shouted, forcing a path
through the knot of merrymakers blocking the entrance to the castle. Once
inside, he tried to propel Linnet forward, but she stopped him by digging her
heels into the rushes spread upon the floor.
"Is
aught amiss, milady?"
"That
is what I would know." Linnet raised her voice to be heard above the din
in the great hall. "I dinna see Robbie in the crowd nor in the
chapel."
"Nay,
you wouldn't have," the squire said, raising his voice as well.
"Why
not? Surely he should have been—"
Lachlan
suddenly grabbed her arms and lifted her out of the way as two wrestling
Highlanders lurched past them. "Here is not the best place to stand,
milady. Please allow me to escort you away from the door, then I'll explain
about Robbie."
Without
further explanation, the squire ushered her toward the raised dais at the far
end of the hall. While crowded upon her arrival the night before, the great
vaulted chamber was now fair bursting with revelers. Ne'er had she seen aught
to compare with such an elaborate celebration.
Someone
had even strewn the floor rushes with fragrant meadowsweet, rose petals, and
thyme. ‘Twas a grand spectacle that made her father's feasts at Dundonnell seem
paltry.
A
score of trumpeters, high above in the musicians' gallery, competed with the
gay shouts and laughter that filled the vast room and a trio of minstrels
paraded among the celebrants, loudly singing bawdy songs.
Trenchers
of bread and numerous silver jugs of ale and wine already stood upon the
trestle tables while an endless stream of servants carried in platters of every
imaginable delicacy from the kitchens.
But
Linnet wouldn't let the finery or tempting array of festive dishes sway her
purpose. When they reached the high table, and Lachlan pulled back an
elaborately carved high-backed chair, she remained standing.
"Where
is Robbie?"
"In
his bed, milady," the squire told her. " ‘Tis sick he is."
"What
ails him?" she asked. "Do you know?"
"Aye,
it's his stomach. Cook allowed him to eat too many custard pasties."
"Then
I shall go to him," Linnet stated, stepping back from the table.
Her
intention appeared to make Lachlan nervous, for he shot a quick glance across
the hall toward the entrance they'd just left. "Sir Duncan willna be
pleased if you're not at your place when he enters the hall."
"And
I could not partake of a single morsel of food if I dinna look in on the lad.
Do you know if your liege laird has sent anyone to see to him?"
"Cook
sent one o' the laundresses up to his chamber earlier, but Sir Duncan willna
ken the lad's abed." Once again, Lachlan glanced at the far door. "He
angers easily, so we try not to bother him overmuch about Robbie."
"Bother
him?" Linnet eyed the squire sternly, the self-pity that had
overcome her in the chapel now replaced by anger. "I'd say ‘tis the wee
lad who's bothered if his belly is hurting him."
Lachlan
nodded but said nothing.
"I
would ask a favor if I may?"
"You
have only to state your request." He bowed low. " ‘Tis pleased I am
to serve you."
"Do
you remember where my chamber is?"
"Of
course, milady."
"Then
please fetch my leather satchel. When you return, I should like
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