The Firebrand (16 page)

Ector wiped the rain out of his face. “But I swear I heard someone say that they saw the lass heading to Effie’s cottage about noon.”

“That’s halfway around the blasted bay!” Wyntoun exploded.

Ector shrugged sheepishly. “It could have been just talk, master. I mean, Coll’s eyes are dimmer than an auld cow’s. Ye’d think she was everywhere else this morning. I mean, she wouldn’t be tracking across the island, when she had a nice dry keep to sit in, would she?”

“I’m telling ye, I saw--”

“Hush, Coll.” Bull nodded his big head toward a nearby hut. “Here she is now, master, coming out of Lame Gerta’s cottage.”

Wyntoun turned as Adrianne closed the driftwood gate of the tiny garden enclosure around the cottage. Her dress was dark with mud practically to her knees. She had thrown a MacLean tartan over her head and shoulders. But even from here, he could tell that the wool was soaked through.

“Be off with you,” Wyntoun growled as he pushed through his men and started toward the object of his search.

She did not see him, practically colliding with him before looking up. “Wyntoun!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Or is it Blade, this morning!”

Damn, he thought, why couldn’t she look more like some pop-eyed sow? Her cheeks carried a blush of wild rose from the cold. Her eyes, large and clear and violet blue, gave no hint of trouble or chaos or even mystery. By the saints, she looked like a goddess.

“Adrianne!” he said, finally finding his voice. “Where have you been?”

“Wyntoun, there are far more interesting ways to start a conversation than saying ‘Where have you been?’ all the time.”

“I’m sure there are far, far more things I might have said, but I was attempting to be civilized.”

“And is that a struggle?” she asked sweetly as the pirate felt his temper rise another degree. She patted him on the arm and looked over his shoulder toward the castle atop the hill. “If we are heading in the same direction, I would be more than willing to give you a quick lesson on the topic of conversing properly.”

He knew he was scowling with a ferocity that made men cower before him, but she didn’t seem to pay any attention to it, skipping around him and starting up the hill toward the keep.

Wyntoun paused for a long moment in disbelief and watched her go. She appeared completely unconcerned with the magnitude of his anger or with the fact that she had caused it.

“Adrianne,” he growled, striding after her.

“Very well! So you’ve decided to walk with me,” she said brightly when he caught up to her. “Now, the proper way to--”

“I don’t give banning hag’s ballocks about the proper way to start a conversation.”

“Oh, I’ve never heard that one before!” She glanced at him with surprise. “Is this a sailor’s curse? Could I use this with your men?”

He took hold of her arm roughly and yanked her to an abrupt stop. She had to be daft to not feel threatened in the face of his fury.

“Nay, you may
not
use it in talking with my men. In fact, since we are talking about proper conversation, you will not curse at all while you are my wife. And another thing, you will not leave the castle without telling someone where you go. Adrianne, you will not behave irresponsibly during the
short
time
that our marriage lasts…even though you have behaved this way for your entire life.”

Adrianne looked hard at his hand gripping her arm, and then met his gaze. He could see the blazing fire in them, and almost laughed. She might put on an attitude of calm, but the fire was always smoldering just beneath her skin, ready to burst forth at the smallest provocation.

“And what, may I ask, is the reason for your harsh words and rough treatment of me this morning?”

He let go of her arm, oddly disappointed that she chose not to lash him with her barbed tongue. He frowned, prodding her further. “And why am I not surprised? ‘Tis only natural that you should be oblivious to others around you.”

His words clearly stung her, but she came back at him after only the shortest pause.

“I do not care to repeat myself, Sir Wyntoun, but in this case I will make an exception.” A small finger poked him in the chest. “‘Twas your wish that our marriage be in name only. Therefore, I will show you due respect when we are in the presence of your people. But beyond that, do not expect me to stop breathing. I will not be worn like an ornament, wife or no. I will never be some docile creature who puts her own intelligence and will on a shelf to pacify the whims of a ‘masterful’ husband.”

“Then ‘tis best that we made the arrangement that we did.”

“Aye, ‘tis best.” Her hand dropped to her side. As she turned her head, he caught a glimpse of a tear welling in her eye. “I have no time left for riddles or rhymes. Blast me if it suits you, but do it as we walk up to the castle. I’m certain a legion of workers are awaiting my return. I wish to cause no further hardship for anyone else. Do not detain me any longer.”

“Very well!”

“Very well!”

She turned and glided away from him, climbing the hill effortlessly. Standing and watching her slender back, Wyntoun couldn’t help but feel as if he had been the one scolded. As if
he
were the one at fault! How did
that
happen? he thought, frowning.

This was not good. The blasted woman was playing with his mind.

****

The huge pawlike hand of Alexander MacLean drew his wife’s smaller one from the depths of her fur cloak and gathered it in his own. He frowned at the troubled lines marking her fine, pale brow.

“Mara, my love, there is nothing more to fret about. You’ve done excellent work preparing for this wedding. Wyn finally has found a suitable match, and they are about to take their vows.”

She nodded absently and glanced over her shoulder at the large throng of clan folk who had gathered in the little kirk. The crowd spilled out the door and into the kirkyard, and Mara could hear the celebratory sounds of pipers and singing already starting outside. Inside, the brightly appareled company was restless with anticipation.

“I know what troubles you. You’re upset that we did not wait the three weeks for the reading of the banns.”

She shook her head and gave him a dismissive slap on the arm.

A devilish gleam crept into the laird’s eyes. “Ah, I have it! You regret not having the time to send for Wyntoun’s aunt from the MacNeil side. You wished the abbess could have come in from Barra for the ceremony...I think that is a very lovely thought, Mara. You certainly are a--”

“I wished for no such thing, and you know it!”

“Then what is the problem, my love?” He caressed her hand, his voice gentling to a whisper. “You’re acting as if all the troubles of the great world are lying on your wee shoulders.”

“Hush and look at the two of them, Alex,” she said softly as the chapel quieted and the old priest turned to the altar and the ancient cross hanging above it.

“Aye,” he whispered. “They’re an impressive pair, those two.”

“Nay,” she shot back, frowning. “Look at them closely.”

Alexander peered at the two standing before the altar. “They look well enough to me, lass.”

She gave him an impatient jab in the side. “Look at the way the golden sunlight plays in her dark locks. Look at the blush that livens her skin. Look at the way the dress molds her body. Well enough? She looks like a heavenly spirit come to earth. Is she not the loveliest woman you’ve ever seen?”

“I am a happily married man, and the loveliest woman is standing beside me.”

“You are a sweet old fool, Alex. But seriously, look at her. She’s an angel.”

“Nay, I’ll neither look nor admit to such a thing.”

She shook her head at him. “Then look at Wyntoun.”

“Aye, the lad is magnificent.” Alexander cocked his head and looked more critically at his son. “I did tell him that he should have worn his black clothes. After all, he is the Blade of Barra and has an image to uphold. Do you not think there is something infinitely more mysterious about him in black?”

The priest’s voice rose and fell in the measured cadences of the mixed Latin and Gaelic. The congregation shifted restlessly behind them.

“I don’t mean what he is wearing, you oaf,” she scolded. “Look at the way he keeps his distance from her. He has not once touched her hand, nor even brushed a shoulder against her.”

“Considering all the lad will be touching before this night is over, I do not believe--”

“This is not the time to be obscene, Alexander. I am serious.”

“Aye, so am I.” He shrugged, looking at his son again. “It could be the nerves. Wyn is a fighter and a planner, Mara. He fears no man, but he’s avoided this marriage business for quite some time now. Knowing him, he is probably trying to think ahead to every complication this marriage might produce. Why, the lad is probably trying to devise a solution to some possible problem, at this very moment.”

The priest raised up his hands in offering, and then turned and preceded his acolytes down from the altar. Wyntoun turned and faced Adrianne, and she hesitantly placed her hand in his.

“That’s not it,” Mara murmured quietly under her breath, staring at the safe distance that still separated the two. “But whatever is going on, I believe I will get to the bottom of it--and soon.”

***

The intricate design of his broach turned out to be her salvation. Adrianne only allowed her gaze to travel as high as the piece of jewelry during the entire length of the ceremony.

Repeating the vows that she intended to break, standing before a throng of people who were soon to think her a traitor for not living up to her part of the union, was distressing, to say the least. She was not good at playing the part of a fraud. She wondered for a moment if one would burn in hell for committing such a sin as this. Probably, she decided. And yet, she would go through with this farce, since it was her best chance of saving her mother.

The loud cheer of the congregation greeted them as the priest gave the final blessing on their union. Still avoiding his gaze, she followed Wyntoun’s lead as he clasped her hand, and they both turned to the clan folk crowding in around them.

“Kiss!” A woman’s voice, which she could have sworn was Mara’s, sounded from somewhere in the front. There were more shouts to the same effect, but as Adrianne frowned at the thought of how such a display might affect their appeal for an annulment, she found herself being spun around and clasped in the brawny arms of the MacLean laird, himself.

The hearty hug Alexander gave her was enough to break bones, but she could not help but smile at the affection that was so openly displayed. It was a moment she would cherish always.

“I want to be a grandsire, lass. Bairns. Do not forget...lots of bairns! Could you arrange that for a broken down old pirate?”

She raised her eyebrows and then smiled weakly at the laird. From behind her, Wyntoun pulled her elbow, and she turned and looked up into his stern face. He nodded toward the warriors, sailors, and well-wishers from both the MacLean and MacNeil clans who had formed a line extending right out the door of the kirk.

“They’re waiting.”

“I’d wager any of these men would gladly volunteer to give a lesson or two to you on how to kiss a beautiful new wife, Wyntoun.”

Adrianne, surprised, glanced past her new husband to see Mara standing just beyond him, poking a finger into Wyntoun’s side. The small woman’s head did not even reach his shoulder, and yet the words drew response.

“Ma-ra!” he growled threateningly

“You know I love you as my own son.” She raised herself on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on Wyntoun’s cheek. “And, by the Virgin, you’ve done well, choosing this bonny lass as your wife. Now let us see if you can continue to do well...by keeping her.”

As quietly as she’d approached them, she drifted away and disappeared among the gathering.

Sensing his eyes on her face, Adrianne looked up and for the first time this day met his gaze. Harsh words had passed between them the day before. At this moment though, none of that mattered, for as she realized his intention, her treacherous heart began to drum in her chest.

“For the sake of those who expect such things.” His voice was a thick murmur as she watched his head descend—his gaze dropping to her lips.

It was a chaste kiss, a brush of lips. And yet, she began to tremble strangely at the feel of the softness of the touch, her heart racing at the memory of a similar kiss in his cabin. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from him. A look of intensity was etched in his face. His green eyes were relentless in their study of
her
face, as well.

Her gaze fell on his mouth. The kiss had been so quick that she yearned to feel the texture of those lips again. She brought a hand up tentatively and touched his lips with the tip of her fingers. There was softness and yet strength.

"Present her,” a voice called from the crowd. She recognized it as Alan’s.

“Not yet,” Wyntoun growled.

She could feel his strong fingers behind her neck, raising her lips to his. No longer gentle, the kiss this time was a plundering of her mouth, and all Adrianne could do was to clutch his tartan to stop herself from melting at his feet. He pushed down at her chin, and before she knew it, he was filling her mouth with his tongue, with his taste. His desire was so powerful that she found herself not helpless to it, but relishing it, rising to it, with feeling she’d never have imagined possible.

“You’ll have plenty of time for all of this.” The clap of Alan’s hand on Wyntoun’s shoulder caused him to break off the kiss. “Present her, you blackguard!”

Adrianne was certain her cheeks must look as if they were scorched. She glanced up to find him still gazing longingly at her mouth.

The time that they remained in the chapel was just a blur as Adrianne found herself aware only of
him
. And later, when the celebrations in the Great Hall were in full swing, she was again aware of the way his gaze drifted to her repeatedly.

“Is this part of what is expected, as well?” she found herself asking at one point when he entwined her fingers in his own and brought them to his lips.