The Pledge by Helen Mittermeyer Page B

of foes was an even more delightful repast to ponder. Dishing up either wife or husband, or both, to torturers had the greatest
     appeal.Who first? Surely the least vulnerable would be the wisest. No sense setting up vigilance in one who battled well. Let the
     strongest go first. The gaze fixed on Hugh MacKay.
    “Very good,” Hugh said, leaning over her, his hands fitting around her waist. “Had I not moved you would’ve taken me to the
     healers instead of to our nuptial chamber.”
    “Release me.”
    “No, wife, I won’t.” He smiled down at her. “I told you what crossed my thoughts, sweet bride. How unkind to strike at me.
     I was only being truthful.” He grinned again. “How quick you were to retaliate. You’ll make an uncommonly good Scot.”
    “Do not downgrade a Welshwoman, sirrah.”
    He laughed. There was a melting in him when she joined him. He loved teasing her and for all her words, he knew she liked
     it. “You do not hate me, wife.”
    “No. Actually I would like to throw back my head and let levity take me as it does you.”
    Surprised, happy, he inched her closer. “Tell me you’re not insulted, but entertained.”
    She bit her lip. “I will admit I feel less threatened.”
    He chuckled. “I’ll take that. Worry not that you’ll lose your way on MacKay land.”
    “I must be alert… but this day had brought good feelings and I have enjoyed it.”
    His booming laugh echoed across the glen, bringingsmiles, inquiring looks, some frowns. “I regret not meeting you and courting you as I could’ve done.” Despite the good feeling
     he’d caught the word “alert.” It stayed in his mind.
    Stunned, she could only stare. “You are uninhibited, Hugh MacKay.”
    “I am. I still am sorry we did not have a courting.” His laughing eyes probed hers. Tell me what keeps you wary despite your
     mirth, good wife, he said to himself.
    “Why is that?” Foolish question!
    His hands tightened at her waist. “Because you’re very beautiful. Because you have a great kindness. Because your laugh is
     like the sweetest honey.” He squeezed her waist just a bit. “You joust with me, your wits are quick, and you’re unafraid.”
    “I… I am glad you are pleased.”
    “I am.” His words had unsettled her. “You are a woman of many parts.” She was struggling for composure. She didn’t want to
     give in to him. He would get through the barrier she’d made.
    “I should think so. I’m Welsh.”
    “You create a heat, milady. I fear that all around us can see your deep beauty.”
    “You must unhand me, sirrah. ’Tis not circumspect.”
    “’Struth, ’Tis, for this day you’re my bride, my beauty. Have you forgotten so soon?” He lifted her higher, her feet leaving
     the ground, until he could look into her eyes. He’d never seen such womanliness. Yet there was iron in her, mayhap embedded
     so deeply she’dnot shown it to many. He wanted to see it all, to know all about his intriguing, bewitching bride. “Though you have the courage
     of a warrior, you have the loveliness of the most beauteous of women. That pleases me.” When he saw how her eyes widened in
     surprise, how they searched his for the lie, he wanted to laugh. Little conceit had his wife. An amalgam of loveliness and
     goodness. No wonder other men had wooed her, had fought her betrothal to a MacKay. What had been the name? Tarquin of Cardiff.
     He’d remember it. Had he been the one who’d given her a son? Was he the one who’d known the delight of piercing her maiden’s
     veil? He was furious at the thought. A raging jealousy shook him that was most difficult to bury before reason calmed him.
     She was his now. No other man would get close to her. He smiled.
    “What?”
    “I think on your virtues, good wife.”
    “Virtues?”
    He chuckled when suspicion crossed her face. “Shall I list them?”
    “You might have to, Hugh MacKay. But first you must put me down for we draw eyes to us.”
    “No matter. ’Tis