Devil in a Kilt (10 page)

Robbie
shifted his position on her lap and the cuddly, warm weight of him softened
her heart and strengthened her resolve. Glancing at him, she saw he sat
rigidly, innocently mimicking his father, glancing neither left or right, his
hands fisted tightly in his lap.

He
stared fixedly at the mug of goat's milk a servant had placed before him, his
face, so like his father's, now pale and tense. He obviously struggled as
diligently to ignore his sire as he in turn struggled to ignore his son.

It
was unnatural for a lad to be so nervous, yet how could he be aught but shy and
frightened of a father who'd shunned him?

And
it was equally unnatural for a father to shun his son.

Gently,
Linnet rubbed Robbie's shoulder, hoping to soothe him, extraordinarily pleased
when he didn't pull away, but leaned into her hand as if he welcomed her touch.

His
acceptance of her filled her with a contentment she'd never known, swelling her
heart with love for the child she could now call her own.

If
her husband would respond as willingly to her overtures, mayhap she'd have half
a chance at bringing the two of them together. The occasional covert glances he
slid his son's way gave her hope.

But
one look at his unyielding profile left no doubt as to the enormity of her
task. Still, even if he cast her aside as a woman, denying her a child of her
flesh, she'd be forever thankful for his giving her his son to love.

With
a tender hand, she smoothed Robbie's hair from his forehead. On her honor, she
pledged to bring warmth and love into his life. As long as she could remember,
she'd tried to believe all things happen for a reason.

A
good reason.

‘Twas
oft difficult to see at first, but she'd found if one practiced patience, time
usually revealed the answer. Duncan MacKenzie's son needed her, and if the
saints had seen fit to send her to help him, she'd humbly accept the challenge.

A
tiny voice deep within told her she needed him, too. She didn't doubt it
either.

With
a single finger, she touched the exquisite belt circling the lad's small hips.
'"‘Tis a bonnie belt you wear, Robbie," she said, hoping to ease him
out of his shyness. "I dinna think I've e'er seen one so fine."

She
was rewarded by a bashful smile that faded all too quickly. "Fergus made
it for me," he told her.

"And
who is Fergus?"

"He's
Papa's sene'chal," Robbie piped in answer. "He gave me my plaid,
too."

"Did
he now?" Linnet said, not missing the way her husband chose the moment to
loudly clear his throat as if to drown out the boy's words. "And a
handsome plaid it is. Do you know what the colors mean?"

Robbie
nodded solemnly, then began to recite, " ‘Tis green for the forest and
fields, and blue for the sky and sea, drawn through with white for...
for—" he stumbled over the words, looking up at her with troubled deep
blue eyes so like his father's Linnet's heart constricted.

Biting
his lower lip, the lad struggled to recall the lines of the verse.

Her
husband drew a deep, audible breath, then supplied, "White for purity,
red for blood and bold warriors ..."

"...
and all mean freedom, fairness, honor, and courage," Robbie finished, his
small chest appearing to swell with pride upon each word. Afterward, he bestowed
a look of pure hero worship on his father.

But
though he'd helped the boy remember the words, Linnet had sensed rather than
felt Duncan MacKenzie stiffen beside her at each line of the verse his son had
so valiantly recited.

"And
after that fine recital, I'm thinking ‘tis time for you to go abovestairs to
your bed," Marmaduke said, pushing back from the table. With a pointed
look at Duncan, he lifted Robbie into his arms. "A future laird needs his
sleep if he is to grow broad enough shoulders for his future position, does he
not?"

Duncan
nodded stiffly but said nothing. Only when the Sassunach and Robbie were a good
ten paces away, did he call out to them. " ‘Twas good to hear you recite
the meaning of our colors, lad."

Though
a clear afterthought, the words heartened Linnet. ‘Twas a start. Robbie's gaze
clung to his father as Marmaduke carried him away. The sight made Linnet's
heart contract.

Before
he carried Robbie abovestairs, Marmaduke turned. "Ho, Duncan, do not let
Fergus fetch the marriage stone until I return."

"Plague
take the fool stone and I'll have Fergus's hide if he brings it," her
husband groused even as the hall erupted in good-natured clamor, all present
calling for the stone.

Scowling,
Duncan shot to his feet. "Cease shrieking like simpletons," he roared
above the din. "There will be no marriage stone ceremony."

"Marriage
stone ceremony?"
Linnet asked when he sat back down.

Rather
than answer her, he pressed his lips into a tight line, his whole demeanor
stiffening.

"What
ails you, Duncan? There's ne'er been a MacKenzie wedding feast without
one!" A rowdy voice suddenly bellowed from the depths of the hall.
"And ‘Tis o'erlong we've waited to see you drink with yer bride!"

"Aye!
A drink wi' the bride!" A chorus of MacKenzie men chanted in boisterous
rhythm, raising their voices to rival the accompanying trumpet blasts.
"Long life and many bairns to the lady Linnet!"

Duncan
stared at the table, clearly growing more uncomfortable with each raucous
shout. As Linnet peered at him, Marmaduke slipped back into the seat beside
her. Through the commotion, Linnet thought she heard Marmaduke whisper she had
naught to fear, all would be well, but when she looked his way, he was calmly
sipping his wine and didn't appear to have said aught.

"Long
life and many bairns to Lady Linnet!" the clansmen continued to chant,
thumping their drinking cups on the tables and stamping their feet as a crusty-looking
elder clansman strode through their midst, a great silver goblet raised high
above his head.

Four
brawny warriors followed him. Together, they carried a large blue-tinted stone.
Elongated in shape and carved with ancient Celtic runes, its surface was smooth
except at the bottom. The stone's base appeared ragged as if it'd been wrested
from its original location.

But
what most caught Linnet's attention was the hole in its center. Her husband's
ill-tempered grousing wasn't needed for her to know this was the 'marriage
stone.'

And
now she knew its ceremonial purpose, too.

The
stone was a swearing stone. A
talisman.
The ancients believed if couples
clasped hands through the opening in its middle, their marriage would be
blessed.

A
joyous union filled with love, harmony, and many healthy bairns.

Linnet's
back stiffened at the implication. Now she knew why her husband had bristled at
the mention of the stone. He did not care to perform the ancient ceremony with
her, did not want to risk the chance the old gods' magic might exert an
influence over their union.

A
union he didn't even care to properly consummate!

A
fresh new burst of stamping feet and shouts dispelled Linnet's thoughts. The
seneschal and the four men bearing the stone had arrived at the high table.
Stopping before Duncan and Linnet, the old seneschal turned in a slow circle,
holding up the ceremonial chalice for all to see. The men with the marriage
stone held back, waiting until the couple partook of a shared drink before
carrying the stone forward.

A
jubilant cheer sounded when Fergus plunked down the huge drinking vessel,
filling it to the brim from the jug of hippocras.

"Hold,
Fergus," Marmaduke spoke up, staying the seneschal's arm, "the
hippocras may be too potent for the lady. What say you we dilute it with water
before she partakes of it?"

Fergus's
bushy brows snapped together in a fierce scowl, and he yanked his arm from
Marmaduke's grip. "Mayhap ‘tis too strong for a Sassunach lass, but not
for one born of our own Highlands," he scolded, pouring the blood-red brew
into the wedding cup. "I mixed it mesself for the occasion," he
added, as if daring Marmaduke to contradict him.

All
but the English knight roared with approval as her new husband dutifully lifted
the unwieldy chalice to his lips and drank from it.

"Leave
some for your bride!" someone boomed from the back of the hall.
"’Twill prime her for the bedding!"

Bedding?
Linnet's gasp was swallowed by the earsplitting laughter and jeering
that filled the hall. Heat flooded her as the image of her naked husband
straddling her flashed across her mind. Again, she saw him looming above her,
his arousal boldly proclaiming he'd felt the same stirrings she had.

Yet
he'd told her forthrightly he did not want her as a true consort... as a woman.

With
a bluntness that cut to her core, he'd taken the bruised feminine pride she
hadn't known she possessed and dashed it to the ground.

And
now his men would call for him to mount her, make her a woman before their
lusting eyes in a bedding ceremony?

A
new kind of chill stole over her. One of fear, a maiden's natural apprehension
at being mounted the first time.

And
one of shame should he be forced upon her by his men.

For
she couldn't bear it if he cringed in revulsion at being made to perform the act
of love with her.

"Ye've
dallied long enough, Duncan!" Someone suddenly yelled. "Pass yer
bride the wine, let her drink, and then, by thunder, make her a
MacKenzie!"

"Aye,
make her a MacKenzie!" others joined in.

Ribald
laughter rose to the vaulted ceiling, and the floor shook from a furious chorus
of foot stomping. And, try as he might to ignore the bad memories, the gay
ruckus reminded Duncan of another wedding feast long past and best forgotten.

A
time when he'd been young and thought himself in love.

Nay,
besotted.

And
the worthless marriage stone ceremony had failed to spare him grief!

Saints,
he'd been so thoroughly beguiled by his first wife's beauty and grace, he'd
ne'er have believed her perfidious nature had Saint Peter himself warned him.

Pushing
all thoughts of Cassandra from his mind, he dutifully offered his new wife the
heavy wedding chalice. "Drink so we can have done with this
foolishness," he said, his tone more harsh than he'd intended.

"I
care not much for spirits, sir," she said, taking the great chalice with
both hands but making no move to drink.

A
dark oath almost passed Duncan's lips before he remembered she was the daughter
of a drunkard. "You must not partake of much, only a sip," he told
her, surprised at the protectiveness he felt toward her upon recalling her
lout of a father. "I shall drink the rest."

He
watched closely as she raised the chalice and drank. He doubted she'd taken
more than a wee sip, but the potent wine left her lips looking soft and red.

Sweet.

Not
enticing as another woman's lips had looked on another wedding day, but sweet.
.. innocent.

And
more tempting than those of any practiced siren he'd e'er had the misfortune to
come across.

Faith,
but she tempted him beyond all reason.

Even
though, by all rights, he should be angry, and
was,
over her parading
the lad under his very nose. Tearing his gaze from her, Duncan gave in to the
urge and swore.

Mayhap
he should have sought a wife at court, an accomplished and cultivated beauty
whose polished charms would have reminded him so thoroughly of his first wife,
he wouldn't have had difficulty ignoring her.

Instead,
he'd burdened himself with a toothsome Highland lass whose lush comeliness and
blatant innocence intrigued him.

"I
canna drink more, sir," she said, setting down the chalice, the honeyed
softness of her voice fair unmanning him.

Fighting
to quell the desire she so unwittingly unleashed in him, Duncan snatched the
chalice off the table and downed its contents in one hefty swig. A loud roar of
approval went up from his men when he plunked down the empty chalice.

Despite
the look of alarm on her face, he refilled the large drinking vessel and
emptied it again before Fergus could launch into the marriage stone ceremony.
As if the disobedient lout had read Duncan's mind, his seneschal grasped the
curved horn he wore around his neck, brought it to his lips, and gave a sharp
blast.

At
once, the feasters fell silent. Those who sat, leaned forward, and those who
stood, inched closer. "The tale, Fergus," someone yelled from the
back of the hall, "tell us the tale!"

Lachlan
handed Fergus a
cittern,
and as he strummed a few chords to test it,
Duncan overheard the Sassunach whispering to Linnet.

"Fergus
acts as the clan
filidh,
or
fili"
Marmaduke told her.
"He never studied the bardic arts, so can't claim the true title, but he
is a born storyteller and deserves respect. At every MacKenzie wedding, he
tells the legend of the marriage stone."