Isle of Mull 03 - To Love a Warrior (15 page)

“I seek a treaty with your clan, a sort of temporary peace,” Ronan said.

“And why would we grant ye this, now, when our power is growing and victory is nigh.”

“Ye’re mistaken if ye think ye have the might to take my lands,” Ronan said. “If my will was guided by greed, I could take from ye all that ye see,” he said, lifting his arms to encompass the whole of the great hall. “But I care not for your lands. I wish only to nurture my own people. The only reason your tinkering has gone unanswered is because my warriors have been occupied visiting hell upon another foe, a common enemy to both the MacLean and MacKinnon clans,” he said.

Then Ronan grabbed the banner of the king from Hamish’s hand and thrust it toward Balfour. “Our king,” Ronan began, “the very king ye swore fealty to at Scone, has called his loyal subjects to war. Now is the time to take back our lands from the English. This is not a struggle for Mull. This is a fight for Scotland.”

“What do you seek from me, old man?” Balfour said.

“A promise of peace.”

Her eyes followed Calum who had stood and whispered something in Balfour’s ear, but Balfour shoved him aside with a look of fury on his face. “My brother advises me to end this feud now and slay every one of ye.”

The sound of steel being released echoed through the great hall as every MacKinnon held their sword or ax at the ready. “Put down your weapons,” Balfour said. “Thankfully, my feckless brother does not command my clan. I will grant ye your peace.”

“What about the recent attacks?” Ronan asked.

Balfour jerked his head at Calum. “He is a drunk, nothing more. There was no real will behind his efforts.” Calum’s eyes bulged with anger, but he made no attempt to stand up to his brother. He simply turned on his heel and stormed past the dais and disappeared once more behind the screen.

A smirk played at Balfour’s lips as his eyes followed his brother from the room. Then he turned back to face Ronan. “When the time comes, I too will march with my men for the Bruce. Ye can rest assured that both of my brothers will be joining me. That idiot there making love to his meal is my youngest brother, Finnean.”

Nellore glanced over at the high table. The small man did not look up as he shoveled another spoonful down his gullet.

“Not that Finn is much of a threat to anything more than a plateful of bannock,” Balfour said, laughing, but then his expression grew serious as he stepped closer to Ronan. “I will not lie to ye,” Balfour said. “I want your land. One day it will be mine. Ye can expect a different sort of attack from me when I’m laird, but I can hardly take control over Mull with the English breathing down my neck.” He raised his cup. “Drink with me, Ronan. Drink to secure our treaty. While we are away fighting the English, the Maclean will leave the north of Mull in peace.” He took a sip and then passed the cup to Ronan. “For Scotland,” Balfour said.

Nellore breathed the tension from her shoulders while she watched her laird share a cup with their enemy. Despite Balfour’s threats, a belief in the possibility of peace laid claim to her heart.

Nellore shivered. The new moon cast the courtyard of Dun Ara Castle into shadow. Garik’s hand pressed against the small of her back, urging her up the wide, stone stairwell and into the keep. Three days had passed since their excursion into enemy territory, three blissful days spent shirking as much work as possible while she savored her time with him; however, that night, when darkness had descended on Mull, an ill wind cut through her clothing with its icy fingers. She had tried to dismiss the notions of foreboding, but then a messenger had arrived from the keep, summoning her family.

“We leave by week’s end,” Ronan announced, his voice booming throughout the great hall.

Nellore stumbled back. His words had pained her no less than a physical blow. Just when Garik had been returned to her, she was to lose him again. She had known his time on Mull would be short, yet Ronan’s words tore through just the same. Perhaps, she had tricked her mind and heart into believing he would remain forever at her side. Her mind glimpsed the nights and days ahead—weeks, months, dear God, even years of suffering his absence, not knowing whether he lived or died.

The room began to spin. Fear clutched her heart. She fought to maintain control as she scanned the hall. She found her mother. Brenna’s features betrayed a whisper of pain that broke through her famed composure, but knowing her mother as she did, Nellore knew the true depths of the heartache Brenna fought to conceal. Then Nellore spied Rose, who stood alone with her sadness while she stared with longing across the room at Logan. The object of her unspoken affection was busy speaking with Ronan, but as if he sensed Rose’s gaze, he turned abruptly. Nellore watched as Rose and Logan stared at each other, their gazes filled with regret and yearning.

Nellore closed her eyes and prayed for strength. She knew she did not suffer alone, and she was determined to be strong—strong for her mother, for her sister, for so many of her kinswomen who, like her, were fated to watch their men fade into the mist, hoping above all hope that they would return.

“Breathe,” she said aloud. The spinning in her mind slowed, allowing her to master the pounding of her heart. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she lifted her lids and met Garik’s wintry gaze. A quiet smile warmed their ice blue depths. “Do not mourn my absence yet,” he said softly as he brushed away a single tear that trailed down her cheek. “For we’ve much to do.”

“Aye,” she nodded while she swallowed down the remainder of her tears. “We must ensure ye’ve bannock and dried meat for your journey.”

He smiled down at her. “At this moment in time, I am not at all concerned about the journey. How could I be when we’ve a wedding to plan?”

“What wedding?” she said, and then her eyes grew wide. She threw her arms around his neck, and he lifted her off the ground.

“I mean to marry you before I leave,” he said softly. His lips grazed her ear as he spoke, sending shivers up her spine.

She drew back a little to look into his eyes. The love he bore her poured forth from his gaze, filling her with well-being. She entwined her fingers through his hair and pulled his lips hard against hers. The urgency with which she kissed him set her heart racing once more. She felt as though she were gasping for life as she hungrily sought his lips for more. She could not bear to lose his touch again. Tears sprang to her eyes. She tore her lips from his. He let her feet touch the ground, and then he clutched her close.

“Hush, my love,” he whispered. “It is the eve before our wedding. I would have you happy.”

His eyes held all the heartbreak she felt, but they also shone with hope. “Be my wife,” he whispered.

“Aye,” she blurted as she smiled through her tears. “There is nothing I want more,” she said. And then her tears were overtaken by laughter.

He smiled down at her. “Why do you laugh?”

“There is yet one thing ye must do,” she said.

He cupped her cheeks and slowly kissed her lips before vowing, “Anything, my love, all you need do is ask.”

“Nay, Garik, ‘tis ye who need to do the asking,” she said. “We need my father’s permission.”

He drew back slightly. “Yes, you are indeed right. I admit I had not considered that. Well, we’ve had the Speiring Night,” he said, causing her to laugh even harder when she remembered the night Garik had paid her father a visit with a jug of ale to ask for her hand in marriage. “True,” she said. “But ye do not have his consent to marry me so soon.”

“So soon?” he said. “We’ve been betrothed for two years.”

“Aye,” she said, “most of which we’ve spent apart.”

“I see your point,” he said. Then he winked at her and grabbed her hand. He led her through the crowd of anxious villagers toward her parents who were standing quietly in the rear of the great hall. Duncan wore a sad smile on his face while he held Brenna and Rose in a strong embrace.

“Duncan, I have a boon to ask of you,” Garik said, pulling Nellore close to his side. “I wish to marry your daughter.”

“I believe that is one boon I’ve already granted ye,” Duncan replied.

“Yes, you have,” he agreed, his eyes flitting from Duncan to Nellore and then back to Duncan. “But, you see, I wish to marry her tomorrow.”

Duncan’s eyes widened with surprise but then narrowed. “There’s no time. We’ve naught prepared. God’s blood, man, ye haven’t posted the banns.”

Brenna cleared her throat. “Duncan,” she began, “if ye recall, we did not exactly have time to post the banns of marriage before we wed.”

“Aye, Da,” Nellore chimed in. “Ye told me the story yourself of your unplanned nuptials.”

Duncan arched a brow at Nellore. “In our particular case, I was near death when we exchanged our vows. In truth, I do not remember the entirety of my wedding.” Then with a sigh he said, “But I will concede there was certainly no time to post the banns.”

“Have ye any other objection?” Garik asked.

Brenna and Duncan exchanged glances. Then they both smiled. “Ye have our blessing,” Duncan said.

Garik threw his head back and whooped. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted above the din of the great hall. “There is going to be a wedding. I marry Nellore on the morrow.”

The hall erupted with cheers. In moments, Bridget and Anna were at her side and wedding plans ensued. Rose squeezed Nellore in an enthusiastic embrace. “Ye will be the most beautiful bride,” she said, promising to put the finishing touches on Nellore’s wedding clothes. Anna put herself in charge of decorating the kirk and Ledaig House. “I love winter weddings,” she said, her silver eyes dancing. Then she leaned in and placed a kiss on Nellore’s cheek before darting from the hall. Soon Nellore was swept away on a wave of her womenfolk with Brenna and Bridget in the lead.

That night Nellore soaked in a bath scented with lavender oil. She felt surrounded by the blessing and magic of her clan. All of the ladies had set to baking and cooking for the morrow’s feast. Despite the scarcity of time, Bridget swore there would be joints of beef, rabbit stew, barley and plenty of bannock. The sun was not far from rising when Nellore, Brenna, and Rose at last settled down to sleep in a room in the keep.

Nellore’s eyes sprung open when a sliver of light crept through the closed casement, announcing the sun’s arrival. She leapt to her feet and rushed to wake her mother and sister.

“Morning could not have come soon enough,” Rose said, laughing as she hastened to gather up the bride’s wedding clothes. Nellore stood while Brenna, Rose, and Bridget dressed her. She wore a soft green tunic embroidered with yellow flowers at the neck, a belt with golden threads, and a cloak of emerald, the hood of which was adorned with fur.

Brenna smiled, her deep blue eyes alight with tears. “Ye’re a vision,” she said as she stood on her tip toes and rested a garland of holly on Nellore’s unbound, black curls.

All eyes shifted toward the door when they heard a soft rapping. “’Tis time, ladies,” Duncan said, peering inside.

On her father’s arm, Nellore waited while the doors of the great hall opened. The sky was bright, despite the veil of white clouds obscuring the mid-morning sunshine, and a soft snowfall dusted the village and the surrounding moorland. They left the keep, walking down the wide, stone stairwell and then through the castle gate beyond the courtyard. Her clan already lined the village path leading to the kirk, and when she appeared they began to cheer. They had no flower petals to throw. Instead, they waved pine branches, the emblem of their clan, as she passed. After, they fell in line behind her. As the procession grew, so too did her excitement until she felt she would nigh burst with joy.

When they neared the kirk, she spotted Mary who jumped with glee. Nellore waved and called out in greeting to her dear friend. And then a flash of red darted toward her. Maggie, now five years old, threw herself into Nellore’s arms. Nellore laughed and kissed her before Mary pulled the wee lass back into line.

Nellore turned then and faced the kirk. There he was. Her heart swelled at her first sight of Garik. He wore his finest black leather jerkin, a belt embroidered with silver threads and a black cloak hung about his broad shoulders. The smile on his face made her knees weak. It was all she could do to keep from throwing herself into his arms just as Maggie had done to her only moments before.

Duncan must have sensed her sudden desire to race forward because he smiled down at her. “Steady now. We are almost there, lass.”

Laughter burst from her lips. “Ye ken me so well, Da,” she said before pressing a kiss to his cheek. She could not remember a time when she felt more full of life or more aware of the true blessings of a heart well-loved.

At last, the stone steps of the kirk lay behind her and she stood face to face with the man she had loved since she was naught but a child. She stepped away from Duncan and threw her arms around Garik. Joyous laughter spread throughout the gathering as he swept her into his arms and kissed her long and hard.

The priest cleared his throat. “We’ve not come to that part yet,” he said with a glint of mischief in his eye. He did not begrudge the young lovers their happiness.

Nellore gave the Mass its solemn due, and when the priest prayed for the Lord to bless their union, she whispered her own prayer for Garik’s safe return. Her hand trembled while she extended her finger to receive his promise. As he slid a band of silver in place, the priest’s words filled her heart. “Remember, Garik and Nellore, that a ring has no beginning and no end just as your love must have no beginning and no end.”