My Highland Bride (16 page)

Diarmuid nodded toward the head table again as he plopped his empty cup back onto the table with a loud
thwack
. “They say Sutherland comes from Ireland.” Diarmuid nudged harder against Colum and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial slur. “Ye know the Irish canna be trusted.”

Colum ground his teeth against the urge to flip Diarmuid backward off the bench. “Yer mother was Irish, Diarmuid.”

Diarmuid frowned and rolled his eyes toward the ancient rafters, stained nearly black from years of smoky fires. He rubbed his chin and thoughtfully nodded. “So she was.” Scowling at the main table again, Diarmuid scratched the side of his head with his knuckles. “But ne’er mind that—how did an Irishman end up chieftain of such a powerful Scottish clan?”

“I ha’ no way of knowing and nor do I particularly care. My only concern right now is that the man wants m’woman.” Colum clenched the mug of ale until his knuckles popped.

“If yer afraid this suitor will be the one to win her over, then make yer claim, man.” Diarmuid suddenly sat straighter on the bench, his attention perked like a hunting dog on point. With a subtle wink to Colum, he grinned at the serving girl standing in the kitchen archway and motioned her toward them with a wave of his empty mug. “What I fail to understand is why Sutherland has ye so rattled. Ye nay even bothered comin’ to the meal when the others showed up asking for Lady Kenna’s hand.”

“The Lady Kenna was nay so cross with me when the others came.” A frustrated snort escaped Colum as he spun his mug in one hand, then took another long draft of the tangy liquid. The welcome burn trailed down to his belly. Wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, he stared at the worn scratches running the length of the table as he spoke. “I dinna think she has the patience to wait until I have our home built and readied. The more she helps tend the wee daughter of our chieftain, the more difficult life with Lady Kenna becomes. She is quite…tense.”
Tense
wasn’t exactly the perfect word to describe the mess his relationship with Kenna had become, but it was all the information he was going to share with Diarmuid. The man gossiped worse than the servants.

“Yer a strange man, Colum Garrison.” Diarmuid rolled back on the bench and swung one long leg over it. “If the woman gives no care as to where she lives, why the hell should ye care if ye live in a croft or a keep?”

“Because she deserves better. Her sister is married to m’chief.”

“Aye. Well.” Diarmuid nodded as he rose from the bench. “There is that but yer damnedable pride will surely be yer undoin’, ye ken.” Opening his arms wide, Diarmuid winked at the curvy maid heading his way with another tankard of ale. “Come t’me, m’fine beauty. Do ye no’ think an evening stroll in the gardens would be lovely after the clutter of this room?”

The well-endowed girl giggled behind one hand. Her eyes sparkled an unspoken
yes
as the swing of her hips grew even more pronounced.

Diarmuid’s grin widened as he wrapped one arm around the girl’s waist and looked back over his shoulder at Colum. “I know women. If ye want the lass, ye best get on wi’ the claimin’ or lose her to the likes of Sutherland.”

Why was it everyone knew what he needed to do and felt compelled to give him their damn opinion? Colum drained the remainder of his ale and slammed his cup back onto the table. The clatter echoed through the now silent hall. All conversation had ceased as one by one, every head turned toward the archway.

And there she stood.

Colum shifted on the suddenly-much-harder bench. Kenna still wore that damn dress that accentuated the depths of her deep green eyes and offered up her creamy bosoms on a platter.
God help me.
He had loved her since the day she dropped out of that storm cloud and landed at his side. The woman had sealed her claim on his heart when she had threatened to pelt him with a stone from the cairn. Damn, but he loved a fiery woman. Colum squirmed again, glaring at the rich sheen of the emerald dress and how it accentuated Kenna’s every curve.

Colum held his breath as Kenna floated across the floor with the grace and surety of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and was no’ afraid to claim it. As Kenna moved down the center aisle, she smiled and nodded to all in the room. When her gaze settled on Colum, her eyes narrowed the slightest bit and her full pink lips flattened into a disapproving line.
Aye. That settles it then. Mo nighean donn is still thoroughly pissed.

Chieftain Sutherland stood as Kenna reached the head table and paused before going to her seat. Colum flattened his hands on either side of his mug and dug his nails hard into the rough grain of the wood plank table. The urge to unsheathe his sword and leap over the table burned through his flesh. His palms itched with the want of it. If Sutherland so much as dared breathe the wrong way, Colum would slit the bastard’s throat at first chance.

“May I present m’wife’s fair sister?” Gray stood and held an open hand toward Kenna. “The Lady Kenna Sinclair.”

“Yer keep is truly blessed with fine beauty.” Chieftain Sutherland nodded to Kenna as he settled a hand across his heart. “ ’Tis an honor and a pleasure to find m’self in such delightful company.”

Gray smiled and inclined his head in a subtle polite nod. His eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze slid from Ronan’s beaming face over to Colum and then smoothly shifted to Kenna. “Chieftain Ronan Sutherland has traveled quite the distance to meet wi’ ye, Lady Kenna.”

Damn ye, Gray. Damn ye straight t’hell.
Each time, just as the chieftain spoke; he stole a quick glance and made brief eye contact—’twas the hastiest look but just long enough to goad Colum like the jabbing of a sharp stick. Gray was pushing him to ask for Kenna’s hand when he kent damn well he couldna do it. Not yet.

Colum could bear it no longer. He had to get closer. Listening to their stilted conversation from this far away did him little good. He needed to be able to clearly see Kenna’s expressions and hear the nuance of her words. Staring at the woman’s delightful backside nay told him a damn thing about what whirled about in her head.

Colum rose from the bench, ambled his way around the perimeter of the room, and slid into his usual place as man-at-arms just to the back of the chieftain’s table. The tapestry of the MacKenna clan crest to the right of the hearth slowly wafted against his shoulder, as though supporting him in defending his woman. He rested his hand atop the pommel of his sword and widened his stance.
Much better
. From this position just behind Gray’s chair, he could see and hear it all…and pick up on any and all nuances. He caught Kenna’s attention, puffed out his chest, and smiled. Surely, from this perfect vantage point, he could manage any situation that might arise. A deadly calm settled through him—until Kenna rolled her eyes, then shifted her attention back to Gray and Sutherland.

Kenna moved forward, her face blossoming into an expression of delight as she smiled up at the visiting chieftain. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Chieftain Sutherland. I look forward to hearing more about your part of Scotland and Ireland.”

“Please, m’lady.” Ronan swiftly moved around the table until he stood directly in front of Kenna and held out his hand. “Please feel at ease to call me Ronan.”

Blood roared in Colum’s ears as Kenna’s smile widened and her hand slid into Sutherland’s extended palm. A red haze distorted Colum’s vision as the wily chieftain bent and lightly brushed a kiss across the top of Kenna’s pale fingers.

“And so I shall,” Kenna cooed as Sutherland released her hand and she daintily pressed it to the braided belt accentuating the curve of her fine hips and narrow waist. She lowered her gaze and peeked up at him with a teasing flutter of her long dark lashes.

Who the hell was this woman? Colum bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. Since when did Kenna act as breathy and flirtatious as a serving wench looking for a quick tumble?

A warning glance from Gray pushed Colum back in place beside the tapestry. He clenched his sword until his hand ached. Lore, what he wouldna give to cleave Sutherland’s silver head from his damn shoulders and set it on a pike in the center of the bailey.

“Perhaps the lady will see fit to join me in the garden for a breath of air after we enjoy this evening’s meal? ’Twould give us an opportunity to get to know one another better.” Sutherland had moved to Kenna’s side and offered his arm as soon as Gray had taken his seat.

Colum’s fist tightened on the pommel of his sword. Just as he suspected, not only did Sutherland walk the Lady Kenna to her seat, but the bastard plopped his arse down in the chair beside her. Serving maids hurried to gather up the visiting chieftain’s plate and glass and relocate them to his new position.

“Ahem!” Mother Sinclair thumped the heel of her knife hard atop the table and sat taller in her chair. “The only way the Lady Kenna walks in the garden with you is if I go too.” Mother Sinclair’s high-pitched voice increased in volume and rang out across the hall. “The Lady Kenna goes nowhere without a suitable chaperone.”

A tittering of laughter rippled through the crowd. All knew no man could best Mother Sinclair.

Colum relaxed a bit. Perhaps he wouldna be forced to kill Sutherland after all. If the man crossed Mother Sinclair, the feisty old woman wouldna leave enough of Sutherland to pray over.

Sutherland turned and nodded to the tiny old woman sitting at the other end of the long table. “ ’Twould be an honor to escort two such lovely ladies through the gardens.”

“Hmpf.” Granny snorted and made a face as though she’d just tasted something vile. “Don’t try to charm me with pretty words. I’ve heard them all.”

Tamhas, looking a bit tattered about the edges with his overlong hair and grizzled beard, leaned in close and whispered in Granny’s ear. He rumbled out a soft chuckle as he slid an arthritic hand atop her narrow, blue-veined fingers resting beside her tankard.

Mother Sinclair’s face softened into a smile as she covered Tamhas’s hand with hers. Then her smile shifted back into a stern mask as she sat up straighter and cleared her throat again. “Whatever Kenna wishes.”

Sutherland smiled as he turned back to Kenna, lifted her hand from the table, and brushed it with an overly long kiss. “What say ye, m’lady?”

Colum ground his teeth as Kenna smiled up into Sutherland’s eyes. Indignant rage surged through him as Kenna beamed even brighter beneath Sutherland’s gaze and coyly tilted her head. “I think an evening stroll through the gardens would be lovely.”

Colum could take n’more. He strode forward as he spoke. “My chieftain—”

All heads turned toward him. A warning look settled across Gray’s face as he waited for Colum to speak.

“I would…” Colum’s voice trailed off as Gray lowered his chin the barest bit, just enough that Colum saw it.

“Ye would make the toast?” Gray supplied, speaking the words in slow, tensed hitches. His voice echoed with easily understood intent.

Colum’s temper abated the slightest bit. Gray was right: now was nary the time for a confrontation or challenge. Sutherland had acted the perfect, polite guest—so far. As much as Colum wanted to slit the old chieftain’s throat, ’twould be less than honorable to treat the powerful man in such a way. Not only would it cast Clan MacKenna in an unsavory light, but killing Sutherland would more than likely infuriate the living hell out of Kenna. The woman abhorred bloodshed. He could already hear her exasperated rant.
“You wouldn’t claim me as your own until you got so jealous your temper killed an innocent man? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Colum sucked in a deep breath, tamped down the temper passed on from his warring ancestry, and nodded. “Aye.” He pulled a full tankard from the wooden tray balanced on the serving girl’s shoulder. He raised the mug high in the air and roared the MacKenna cry.
“Aut agere aut mori.”

Either action or death.

Chapter 18

Colum edged back another step deeper into the shadows. As the shining orb of the moon climbed higher, the darkness surrounding the scattered clusters of shrubs and trees in the private garden slowly disappeared. He backed tighter against the stone wall guarding the circumference of the grounds. Where the hell were they? Kenna had agreed to walk with Sutherland in the gardens. He had distinctly heard her say it, even though his rage had nearly blinded him to everything but the vision of Sutherland’s neck twisting between his hands.

Dried leaves skittered across the ground in the gentle breeze. Somewhere nearby a brittle twig snapped beneath a foot. Colum held his breath and listened closer. The soft murmur of voices floated to him through the cool night air. That had to be them, although for the life of him, Colum couldna pick out Sutherland’s voice. He had no need to see the man in order to identify him. Sutherland’s voice was deeper than most and had an oddly lyrical cadence.

The speakers currently walking through the garden sounded more like a couple of women. Colum leaned toward the sound and concentrated.
Aye. Women. Kenna and Mother Sinclair.

“Why don’t you go back upstairs. This cool damp air can’t be easy on your bones. And your limping is worse. Is your hip bothering you again?” Kenna’s face seemed to glow as she quietly fretted about the older woman. Her fair skin shimmered pale and unhappy beneath the eerie light of the moon. The hood of her cloak slipped back to her shoulders as she kicked a stone out of her grandmother’s path. She moved slowly beside Mother Sinclair’s bent form, one arm supporting the slight woman’s extended arm.

“I am fine.” Mother Sinclair slowly straightened and squared her narrow shoulders. Her arthritic knuckles glistened white as she clutched the staff in her knobby fist, carefully setting it with each step. She shook a bent finger through the air as she spoke, keeping perfect time with her words. “A walk before bedtime is good for the soul. It prepares the body to travel the world of dreams. And besides…you’ve no business walking in the garden alone after telling Sutherland you were too tired to walk with him.”

A black form flitted out from the darkest shadows and darted toward the women. Colum tensed, then relaxed back against the cold stone wall. ’Twas nay some dangerous animal. ’Twas only the wicked feline, Kismet. The irritating cat must ha’ been enjoying a night of hunting among the herbs and flowers. ’Twas about time the wee troublemaker did something other than stir mischief.