Each time she hoped he was there, in her chambers, reaching for her as he did in her dream.
Yet with every break of morning, her chambers were empty.
And the tears began anew.
Where are ye, Sawny? Ye vowed to be with me always! Why did ye leave me?
Chapter Ten
Sawny
Och, my head.
A burning ball of fury erupted in Sawny’s chest, hot enough to shove the chill away.
He was not at his wedding.
Worse, he did not know where he was, or what had happened to him.
And the unconstrained thoughts whipping around his aching head were not helping him at all.
Despite the pain, he knew he had not made it to his wedding this day.
Or had it been yesterday?
How long have I been senseless?
He peeled one eye open halfway and grimaced at the aching throb in his skull. He held his head as he glanced down at his prone body. He yet wore the clothing that he had on when he rode to the loch. Not his wedding finery or clan plaid.
That had to mean whatever happened with him and his splitting head occurred before his wedding.
Which meant he had left Adaira waiting for him at the church.
Nay, he had beenforcedto leave Adaira.
Her image came to his eyes, as clear as if it was midday, in her moss-hued gown that fitted her to perfection and showed off her full bust for his eager eyes and matched her green eyes, making them bright enough to rival the sunlit glen in spring. Her blonde hair danced in a cloud around her head, and her wide smile was warm and inviting.
At least in his mind, she was smiling.
Right now, if hehadleft her at the altar, she was probably sobbing herself sick.
Her father and brothers must be searching for him to remove his head from his body. Having left her before marriage, Sawny knew without a doubt that they would want his head on a platter to serve to the Glenachulish daughter.
Adaira.
His mind buzzed in his head. What happened that prevented their wedding? Was that the intent of those who had forced him here, to stop the wedding? Or did these nameless men grab him because he was a Keppoch MacDonald? Or was he simply in the wrong place at the wrong time?
The image of Adaira faded, and he rubbed his throbbing face, trying to remember. His fingers brushed over a lump the size of a chicken egg above his temple, crusted with dried blood.
He pulled his fingertips away and rubbed them together, trying to think past the pain in his head.
The reason his head ached and why he could not recall what had transpired. The reason he was unconscious for what seemed to be a day or so at least.
Someone had struck him on the head.
Or had he fallen?
His thoughts slowly strung together like threads on a loom.
