With a final look toward his betrothed to mark her image in his mind for the next fortnight, Sawny exited the hall. He had not lied to the man, though. Reade deserved to know the truth.
Facing threats from an overbearing brother was like swatting away a fly. Sawny had told Adaira that he would face down a thousand men with but a sword for her. As a wild and lawless Keppoch MacDonald, he had squared off with more than his fair share of men and came out the victor. ‘Twas why his clan was renowned as barbarians.
Barbarian or not, in truth, Sawny would face down more, a legion of demons or all the archangels in God’s heaven to be with her.
And in a dozen days, Reade and Adaira’s family would know that for certain.
Chapter Five
Thefollowingmorning,Sawnyrose with vigor, ready to keep himself busy for the next fortnight so the time would pass quickly. His mother, Margaret, busied herself making plans for his obligations in his marriage, but for the rest of the hours in a day, he would have to occupy them some way. Otherwise, he might go mad in the waiting.
A fortnight was a long time without a bit of quim. Especially Adaira’s quim.
He had donned his plaid and just grabbed a bannock from the kitchen when his mother swept in.
The woman, her lush chestnut hair piled high on her head and covered with gold-edged kerchief that draped past her shoulders, swept into the kitchens like a queen among peasants. Her beauty in the Highlands was legend, with sharp cheekbones, smooth skin, and even teeth hidden beneath rosebud pink lips. His father called her statuesque as a compliment, and he was completely enamored with her. Theirs had been a love match on his father’s side, an arranged marriage for his mother, but Bruce had vowed they would not wed unless Margaret too loved him. Then he had done everything in his power to show her his love and open her heart, and soon after she had fallen for the thick, dark-haired Keppoch MacDonald.
And he never stopped showering her with love. They were the most passionate couple Sawny had ever encountered.
Before himself and Adaira, that was. His parents had served as excellent role models for him.
Marrying a Keppoch, however, was a precarious thing — they were barely hanging onto their land, were known as reivers and thieves, and now with the concerns over King William’s demand for an Oath of Allegiance from the Highland clans, the Keppoch MacDonalds were not in the best position, politically.
Yet, thieves they were, because Bruce MacDonald had stolen Margaret Ross’ heart as readily as he stole a MacIntosh cow.
But then, Margaret Ross must have been a thief herself, Sawny mused, because she stole his father’s heart the moment he laid eyes on her.
Exactly like Adaira stole his. That first meeting, she had been so bold in her speech, held her chin high despite her shorter stature, and had blushed appropriately when she leaned over and displayed her ample bosom to his eyes.
Aye, Sawny might be a thief but ‘twas Adaira who stole his heart that day.
“Sawny, dear, your father would have a word with ye.” His mother’s voice was loving despite the pretentious timber of her voice. Her voice was as statuesque as the rest of her.
“More politicking?” he replied with a groan.
He was so weary of Highland politics that had plagued his kin for decades.
Decades.
Longer than he had been alive.
And now, those politics encroached on his relationship with Adaira.
Sawny knew quite well that his family was overjoyed with the match, because it strengthened MacDonald power in the north.
But he did not want the dirty grip of politics to touch his love with Adaira. It was too pure to be stained by those complications. He could fight off a man – how did one fight off the auspices of politics?
Margaret cupped her son’s chin in her cool hand.
“Perchance nay. Perchance discussion about your upcoming nuptials. That we must find larger chambers for ye afore ye wed. The lass canna stay in that rat-hole ye sleep in.”
“I rather like my rat-hole,” he protested with a smile, then nodded. “Aye, ye are correct. I may no’ have a care, but I’d prefer something more appropriate for my wife.”
Margaret’s eyes crinkled at his words. “Wife. Och, I canna believe my oldest is to take a bride. Where has the time gone?”
“Stolen by mischief and age, dear mother,” he answered and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek.
Everything about his mother exuded cool, which is why her loving words and touches, which she gave so freely, seemed surprising no matter how often she gave them.
