Authors: Allison Butler
‘Only if you’re not doing it right.’
The noise from below grew deafening as they descended the steps. Kenzie forced her fingers to rest lightly on Lachlan’s arm instead of clinging. He didn’t need to know she was again nervous about facing his people. He didn’t need to know his presence soothed her churning stomach and gave strength to her trembling knees. This wasn’t the first time she’d felt more secure when he was close. And yet there was always a feeling of danger, too. How could she feel safe and threatened at the same time?
The puzzling thought disappeared as Lachlan halted in the pool of light at the bottom of the stairs. The noise of the rowdy banter slowly faded. Benches scraped across flagstones as men, women and children stood.
Knees locked, back straight, Kenzie held her chin high. Her gaze skimmed the tops of a hundred heads while she bore their inspection.
‘My fair and mighty people. I give you your new lady, my wife, Kenzie Elliot.’
A roar of approval rent the air, threatening Kenzie’s flimsy composure. Her fingers tightened on the muscular forearm she held. A large palm covered her white-knuckled hand and gently squeezed. She looked up into Lachlan’s ever-present smile. He winked. Her jaw dropped, and then her feet were moving across the floor to where two men, one old, one young, waited at the end of the laird’s table.
‘Kenzie,’ Lachlan said drawing to a stop. ‘This is my brother, Caelan.’
Kenzie nodded at the young man, who she gauged to be around fifteen summers.
‘Welcome to the clan, Kenzie.’ Caelan took her free hand and bowed over it as he spoke. Hair the same hue as his older brother’s surrounded a similarly shaped face, but his eyes were dark brown and the muscles about his mouth had to work before a smile graced his lips. ‘Father would be pleased,’ he added as he straightened.
‘Aye, he would,’ Lachlan said, still smiling. But the bronzed flesh beneath her fingers hardened to granite.
‘And about time, too,’ said the older man, stepping forward. ‘I am Murdoch, Clan Elliot’s steward.
She acknowledged the steward with another nod and read happiness in his faded blue eyes. Deep lines marked his kind face, and although his hair was thinning, it still held most of the dark colour of his youth, with only a light sprinkling of grey at his temples.
‘I suggest we sit and let the feast begin,’ Lachlan said, guiding her to one of two high-backed chairs positioned in the centre of the long trestle.
‘A good suggestion, Lachlan,’ Caelan said, following them to his place beside his brother, ‘else I fear the clan will storm the kitchens.’
Lachlan pulled out a heavy chair, assisted her onto the padded seat and pushed it closer to the table. He clapped Caelan fondly on the back. ‘You’re right. The smell of roasted mutton and deer has nae doubt set their bellies to growling since dawn.’
The moment Lachlan found his seat beside her, there was much scraping of benches and many sighs of relief as the entire clan resumed theirs. A string of servants flowed out of the doorway to the right and, under Murdoch’s direction, set steaming platters of meat, assorted vegetables, thick-crusted pies and baskets of dark, doughy bread on the laird’s table. Once this was done, the servants marched in and out of the kitchens delivering their goods to the remaining trestles in the vast chamber.
Delicious smells filled the air. The sight of juices trickling down the thick slices of venison sent Kenzie’s hands to her middle to silence her stomach’s pending growl.
‘Hungry, wife?’
Despite the heat filling her cheeks, she met her husband’s questioning look. ‘A little.’
‘Not long now. It isn’t often we have a priest at Castle Redheugh,’ he said, tilting his head to indicate the man chatting to Murdoch. ‘Father Tremayne has kindly offered to bless the food before we eat.’
The steward called for silence and the priest said a brief prayer blessing the fine fare, the wine and the newlyweds. As an honoured guest, Father Tremayne then joined them at the laird’s table, taking a place on the bench to Kenzie’s left.
She greeted the man of God with a smile before Lachlan distracted her by piling their shared trencher with sumptuous morsels from each dish and encouraged her to have the first pick.
Servants splashed wine into their pewter goblets and though Kenzie enjoyed the fruity flavour, she only sipped from her cup now and then. Not so Father Tremayne, who drank the heady brew like water and kept the servants running to and fro to satisfy his thirst.
When the feast was well underway, Murdoch settled onto the bench beside the priest and the two conversed as if they’d known each other for years. Lachlan continued plying her with food, but every now and then his attention fixed on something Caelan said. During these brief snatches of time, Kenzie had the chance to look around the Great Hall and observe those within.
She searched for Ailsa and found her sitting two rows from the front. Her friend smiled at something the redheaded man beside her said. He grinned at Ailsa’s response. Seeing the young maid at ease in her new surroundings banished some of the worry stiffening Kenzie’s shoulders.
Aside from the ancient-looking weapons gracing the wall above the hearth behind her, there was naught decorating the hall, nothing that showed Clan Elliot’s wealth. Or lack of.
Putting a piece of tender meat into her mouth, she chewed and studied her husband’s people. The dresses adorning the womenfolk were of good quality wool. The men’s plaids and shirts were also fine, and not a single child looked ill-dressed or appeared to be cold.
Those who’d delivered the food and wine had found their seats once their task was done. But they didn’t all share a table set away from everyone else as servants did at Irvine. They were scattered throughout the hall, merrily enjoying the victuals and the company of those they chose to sit with.
From the smiles on every face, the hum of voices and rounds of laughter, the people of Clan Elliot appeared content. There was no segregation between servants and others. Was this the reason for the sense of uninhibited harmony suffusing the air? Such a feeling of serenity had been sadly lacking within the walls of Irvine Keep … within her life.
‘You seem distracted, wife.’
She stiffened at the quiet words spoken close to her ear. Her gaze sought out her maid. ‘Who is the redheaded man sitting with Ailsa?’
Lachlan shifted in his seat. ‘His name is Lundy. He is one of my best swordsmen.’
Kenzie suddenly recognised him as the man she’d mistakenly thought had been holding Ailsa prisoner the previous night.
‘If he looks familiar,’ Lachlan said, ‘it’s most likely because you met him moments before you swooned at the sight of my blood.’
Kenzie straightened. Despite the humour in his tone, being reminded that she’d cut him was unsettling; that she’d swooned, annoying.
‘You may rest easy where your friend is concerned. Lundy is a good man and will not harm her in any way.’
Kenzie didn’t know why, but she believed him. His reassuring words gave her the confidence to find out more about her husband through his people.
‘And the man on Ailsa’s other side?’
‘His name is Duff. Iona, Clan Elliot’s healer, tells me his name means “dark”.’
Kenzie studied Duff’s dark hair and serious expression. He appeared unapproachable. ‘His name suits him.’
‘Duff is not an Elliot by birth. Not that anyone knows for certain. But he has proven his loyalty numerous times since he stumbled out of the woods and attacked me.’
‘He attacked you, yet he resides beneath your roof?’ She turned and stared at Lachlan Elliot in disbelief.
His smiling eyes met hers. ‘You cut me, yet I married you.’
How could she forget?
‘Duff was five summers and I was seven,’ Lachlan continued. ‘I was also bigger than him.’
‘But why did he attack you?’
‘I asked him who he was.’
‘And?’
‘He threw himself at me. We later learned that other than his first name, he had nae clue as to where he’d come from or who his parents were. He still doesn’t know.’
Kenzie turned back and studied Duff. She knew her name and who her parents were, yet having been overlooked, forgotten by both her mother and father, she’d felt neglected all her life. How much more difficult would it be not knowing
who
you were? Duff suddenly didn’t appear unapproachable any more. He looked vulnerable, alone.
‘The two sitting beside Duff are Adair and Callum. They too know nothing of their origins. But along with Duff and Lundy, they are my most trusted men.’ The steward appeared and began gathering the remnants of their meal from the laird’s table. ‘As are Murdoch and my brother Caelan.’
Kenzie stored the information away and couldn’t help thinking she and her new husband had something in common. While she cared and provided for unwanted women and children, Lachlan Elliot appeared to take men with no names into his castle and give them a home.
The servants stood from their places and carried the platters from the tables back to the kitchens. They swiftly returned bearing high-crusted pies filled with stewed apples and an assortment of fruits, some dried, while others swam in thick, sticky syrups.
‘Your servants and guards take their seats among the rest rather than sitting with others of their ilk.’ Kenzie plucked a dried prune from a platter and nibbled its bitter-sweetness.
‘They all have duties and tasks to perform, whether they’re stablehands, washerwomen, swordsmen or cooks. But they are equal as people and are free to sit where and with whomever they choose.’
‘They seem content.’
‘You sound surprised.’
‘Merely curious,’ she said, tearing another small piece of the fruit with her teeth.
‘Where and with whom did you sit at Irvine, wife?’
She chewed slowly. She’d taken her meals in the kitchens, in solitude, or with Ailsa and happily so. She was Lachlan Elliot’s wife, for now, but her empty childhood was none of his concern. She swallowed and said, ‘My name is Kenzie. I’d prefer you use it rather than call me wife.’
His eyes were upon her. She could feel the heat of his gaze, sensed his curiosity. Forcing her spine to relax, she eased back in her chair and turned to look at him. His eyes were indeed fixed upon her. The fingers of one hand clasped his chin, one finger alone stretched free alongside his closed lips, lending credit to his thoughtful expression. Her belly flipped as his intent regard roamed her face, as if measuring the shape and length and the individual features in between. Unmoving, her insides wound as tight as a bowman’s string, she made a study of her own.
Wheat-coloured hair brushed the collar of his ivory linen shirt, and although the laces at his throat had been pulled together and secured, the strings had parted to reveal snippets of tanned flesh beneath. The hide vest he wore fitted snugly. Its leather lacings were also drawn and tied, highlighting where his wide chest tapered down to his lean waist.
‘I am more than happy to call you Kenzie.’ His deep voice rumbled through her senses. ‘
If
you agree to call me Lachlan.’ She stared into his smiling eyes. The air in the room grew too warm, too dense to draw in. ‘Though I do have the right to call you wife, as we are married.’
‘A marriage, I must warn you, I plan to have annulled,’ she said, fighting to regain her momentary loss of concentration.
‘A plan, I must warn you, I am determined to discourage,’ he said, leaning closer. She pressed her shoulders into the timber support behind her, but couldn’t move far enough away to escape his masculine scent. His breath brushed her lips. ‘Starting now.’
Kenzie clutched the arms of her chair as her husband rose from his. An instant hush replaced the steady hum of voices. She scanned the sea of faces. Not one among them attempted to finish a conversation on a whisper. Every spoon lowered before reaching their mouths, wooden cups were set down upon trestles. All eyes were fixed on their laird. He’d said not a word. He’d simply stood. What kind of man garnered such undivided attention?
‘We Elliots have much to be thankful for,’ he began, his voice level but loud enough to reach those who sat at the rear of the hall. ‘Fine food, wine and ale, warm fires and a place to lay our heads.’ A round of ‘ayes’ followed each item he mentioned. ‘But it is the people we share our good fortune with who make the food tastier, the wine sweeter, our hearth’s flame brighter and our beds, well …’ He glanced at Kenzie, wearing a wicked grin.
A wave of heat splashed over her, scalding her from head to toe. She ducked her head as a rumble of knowing laughter rippled through the crowd.
Damn his smiling eyes.
‘I have finally fulfilled my father’s wish and wed.’
Murdoch raised his cup. ‘To Lachlan Elliot.’
Kenzie looked up and watched as every man, woman and child lifted their cups high before drinking to Lachlan’s father.
Wood clattered on wood as they set the vessels back down.
‘Not only have I gained a bonny bride—’ Lachlan said. The cheer echoing about the room forced him to pause.
Kenzie’s lashes lowered to hide her discomfort at his spoken untruth. No one had ever called her pretty. Her sister Jeanne was the one who received such praise. Did he think to win her with false words?
The cheering faded and Lachlan’s deep voice sounded again. ‘My marriage to Kenzie has also strengthened our position in the Borders, by forging an alliance with our neighbours, Clan Irvine. And none too soon, after last night’s skirmish.’
Her gaze darted to her husband’s face as a roar of approval shook the rafters. He’d wed her to strengthen his clan’s position, and her father would have strengthened Clan Irvine’s position in return. Not only was she a wife of convenience to protect Clan Elliot’s people, she was also a pawn in a game played by men in power.
‘Enough talk and stuffing of faces,’ Lachlan said. ‘Clear the tables. Fine-tune your fiddle, Tevis, and breathe air into that sheep’s bladder, Cam. My wife’s feet are itching to dance.’
Amid much scraping of wood on stone as men and women vacated their seats and wrestled tables and benches to the side of the room, Kenzie’s stomach plummeted to the supposedly itchy soles of her feet.