Her brothers were waiting by the main gate when they entered, and as Conall helped her off her horse, she noticed that Maddock stood near Sawny’s horse, perhaps ready to catch him if he fell.
Truthfully, from how pale and sallow his skin was and his thin stature, Adaira marveled that he yet managed to remain upright at all.
Food. He needed food.
And rest.
She would give him both.
And if Adaira knew her mother at all, she knew Sorcha had crafted an immense feast in a matter of moments. Food was taken care of.
Once on her own two feet, she reached Sawny and they clasped hands. Flanked by Conall and Maddock, they entered the tower to cheers.
This was a celebration she would welcome, one she would revel in.
Because she was now Sawny’s wife.
And he was her husband.
And that was all that mattered.
Subdued though the feast was, the food rivaled that of any celebration, just as Adaira knew it would. She could only imagine the storm of her mother rampaging through the keep.
Sorcha did not disappoint.
The housemaids had set about lighting candles and putting out silver as the kitchen maids raided the pantry and set out platters of dried meats, summer fruit and vegetables, soups, and baked goods with preserves and honey. Any crumb or vittle that could be found in the kitchen was removed to the main hall and presented in a silver, incandescent glow.
Fiona and Blair beamed as they ushered Sawny and Adaira to their place of honor at the head table. Adaira tried not to notice how Sawny leaned on her as if his legs might not hold up his weight. She released a tight breath once they sat so that Sawny might have the chance to eat and recoup some of his strength.
Seamus raised a chalice high and the chatter in the hall died down.
“We have our own prodigal son this day!” he announced and her family applauded. Adaira slid her hand to Sawny’s arm, touching him as if to reassure herself that aye, he was indeed returned, and without a moment’s hesitation, he covered her hand with his.
“And with his return, the marriage of Glen Coe and Keppoch! May your lives together be long and fruitful!” Seamus finished.
Adaira turned her smile to her father. His toast was both generous and short, exactly what they needed. No long-winded sermons on marriage or love.
Now they, or rather Sawny, could eat. With a glance to her and a sly wink, Sawny turned to his bowl of lentil soup and dug in like the starving man he was.
His need for her satiated, he could satisfy his need for food.
Now that he was sitting this close to her and she was not otherwise occupied, Adaira assessed the condition of her new husband as she picked at her dried venison.
From top to bottom, he was a mess.
His body did not appear too broken, at least not from the what she saw outside his clothes.
She dreaded what she might see under them.
His greasy hair was matted in places and hung in his face in others. Between his hair and the dirt smudges on his face and arms, ‘twas evident he had not seen a bath in the past two months. His clothing was as filthy as his skin, baggy, and apparently not his. His skin, what she could see of it under the filth, was paler than hers and sallow, not the rich ruddiness of a hale man who spent much of his days out of doors in the Scottish sun.
Nay, he had the skin of a man who had been kept indoors for a while.
Had he been ill? The dark purple half-moons under his eyes and gaunt cheeks suggested that. Or had he been kept inside for other, more nefarious reasons?
Adaira shuddered.
Seamus approached and Adaira tilted her head to her father as he knocked his fist against the table top.
