Why amI so disoriented? Was there something in me wine?
That was an unpleasant thought.
She glanced down at herself. Her plain green wool dress seemed unruffled and untorn. A careful movement located no bruises or soreness in her body, nothing to indicate she’d been roughly handled. Besides her pounding headache, she seemed to be in fairly good health.
Well then, no sense in delaying.
She stepped around the tent and immediately found herself swept up by the crowd.
The Leanan Festival grew busier every year. People loved the mystery of all the masked faces, adoring the idea that a laird might dance with a dairymaid, the two of them wearing masks with no idea of the other’s identity.
There’d be food, drink, dancing, and things to buy. People often said that they spent half the year talking about the Leanan Festival and the things they’d done there, and the other half looking forward to the next one.
Of course, for Skye, the festival was just business.
A few curious looks were thrown at her as she elbowed her way through the crowd.
I need to find Creighton. I should tell him what happened to me. Or rather, tell him that I daenae remember what happened to me. Why do I nae remember? If somebody put something in me wine, Creighton needs to ken. And perhaps Laird Bryden should be warned, too.
She paused, standing on her tiptoes and craning her neck, trying to see above the crowd. Creighton was tall; she should be able to spot him. She’d ken it was him, even with the mask.
Her brother had warned her to stay close to Creighton.Hewasn’t pleased with her agreeing to the bride swap treaty.
“It’s only for a year,” she murmured to herself, repeating the phrase she’d said countless times to herself, to her family, to everybody. “Just a year. Twelve months, maybe less. I daenae have to actually marry him at the end of it—and I certainly willnae—and then there’ll be peace.”
But nae before I get me revenge on the man who killed me faither.
A gaggle of giggling girls pushed past her, and Skye grabbed one of them by the shoulder.
“Forgive me, but could ye tell me where I can find Laird Bryden? He may nae be masked,” she asked, offering an apologetic smile.
“I think I saw a man in Bryden tartan over there,” one of the girls answered, pointing. “There are soldiers around him, though. He seems on edge. Everybody does. Hardly surprising, considering.”
“Considering what?”
The girls stared at Skye as if she’d grown a second head.
When it became obvious that she was not going to get an answer, Skye sighed. “Thank ye, lassie,” she said, then moved past them.
The girls eyed her curiously as she walked away. When her back was turned, they began whispering urgently to each other.
She rolled her eyes.
Ridiculous.
She immediately felt a little guilty over her harsh thoughts. After all, they were here to have a good time and relax. Let them giggle if they wanted.
She threw a quick smile back over her shoulder, to reassure them that all was well, but the girls only stared back at her, wide-eyed.
Or maybe they’re just a wee bit soft in the head.
She walked on, pushing unceremoniously through the crowd. More stares followed her, a sure sign that she’d been recognized. As the sister of a laird and the cousin of another, she was fairly well-known.
At least half a dozen serious marriage offers had come in for her from various clans, either from the laird himself or on behalf of a son, brother, or some other relative. Marrying her would ensure good relations with Clan MacColl and Clan MacCrimmon.
That’s what I am, I suppose. An asset.
She pushed that thought aside.
