The minister, looking confused and a bit flustered, pronounced them man and wife. Annista swayed on her feet.
Och, what had she done? Sworn away her future, her life. For the sake of revenge.
A strong arm came around her waist. She could feel Alan MacKallan looking down at her. She tried to draw away, moving by instinct, and he said, “Steady. I thought ye were goin’ to fall.”
He spoke low so only she could hear the words. Startled, she looked into his eyes. Dark they were but nay, not brown. The color of rain clouds on an autumn day.
“Ye may kiss if ye choose,” said Neilan MacKallan, trying hard to sound jovial and failing miserably. “Ye be husband and wife, after all.”
Annista pulled away from her husband. He’d already broken his promise not to touch her, at least in her eyes. Of course, if he supposed she was about to swoon—
His supposition may have been right.
Before Annista could think farther, a disturbance occurred at the door of the chapel. The heavy door creaked open, admitting a flood of the pretty daylight that was immediately obscured by a large shadow.
Annista had forgotten how big Evan MacKallan was. He had his brother’s height and breadth of shoulders but would make two of Alan in bulk, with a neck like a bull—a red Highland bull, if such could be said of a man.
Indeed, he bulled his way into the chapel, the clothing he wore dirty and rough, his hair disheveled, boots clattering with offensive haste on the holy stones. Everyone turned to stare at him.
He paused half way down the aisle, his shadow preceding him, and wagged his wild head. “What is all this, then? And why was I no’ invited?”
“Evan,” said Earl MacKallan.
The man who had cost Robena her life.
****
Alan’s first instinct when his brother came blundering down the aisle was to push Mistress Annista behind him. Protect her from whatever violence Evan might bring. He could see at once that Evan was drunk. Capable of most anything.
But the woman at his side did not want his protection, did not welcome his touch. He’d felt her stiffen when he caught her up from, as he thought, swooning.
So he edged away from her and, as so often before, sought a way to draw his brother’s attention.
Like a lightning rod, he was, and had been in the past. Father could take care of himself, aye, but he’d often deflected Evan’s anger from Mother if he could. From the house maids. Even from the stableboys with whom Evan was so impatient.
He’d taken many a blow as a consequence. His brother was older than he was, stronger, and did not hold back. In recent years, Evan attacked him less frequently, being able to do less damage.
He should have protected Robena. That delicate, gentle girl with the meek spirit. But how could he? Evan was her husband, and any interference Alan attempted on Robena’s part just made Evan more furious and violent with her. A fool could see the best thing Alan could do was back off and keep out of it.
Or so he’d thought at the time. Who would have supposed Robena would end up dead?
But she had been a perfect target for bullying, had Robena. And when the two of them were alone in their chambers…
He shoved that thought from his mind and fixed his gaze on his brother. An unholy grin spread across Evan’s face.
“Wha’ is this, then? A wedding?”
“Evan,” Father repeated, “tak’ yoursel’ away out o’ here. Do no’ disgrace us.”
“Nay, Father, no’ such haste. I wish to tak’ a look at the bride. Robena’s sister, aye? Though one would ne’er think it.”
He shambled forward, his feet too large for the rest of him, and stepped with deliberation around Alan to eye Annista.
Alan’s wife.
Och, he did not want her to be his wife, to be sure. She did not want it either. Yet if Evan thought he could discomfit or threaten her—
He took a decided step forward. “Back ye off,” he told Evan.
