Page 21 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

She licked her lips as she’d done at the kirk before her whispered vows, and then nodded once.

“Give me three minutes to collect Uinnseann,” he whispered, breathing in the mingled scents of lavender and heather that intoxicated his senses more than any dram.

Even if he could not have her, he desired nothing more than taking her away.

* * *

For a brief moment after the handfasting, Ellen supposed she’d lived through the worst of it. Then she remembered first the feasting and later, the wedding night, were still to come.

At least she’d known a little of what to expect from having attended the celebration of Jory and Finn’s nuptials. She was prepared for the dancing and looked forward to the food, but the unbridled joy for the prodigal lairdling was altogether different than the hesitant way the Chattan clans had come together to celebrate the former Shaw Wretch.

And yet, perhaps she was misreading cues as an outsider, but there seemed to be an undercurrent of discontent simmering. Also unlike at Jory and Finn’s wedding, all eyes were on her every moment. No matter which way she turned, someone wanted a bit of her, until she wasn’t sure there was anything left to be taken. From the time they’d left the kirk, she’d not had a moment’s peace. Especially from him—from his gaze.

Ellen kept herself moving, afraid that if she stopped she might actually collapse. With every step, he watched her, marking his territory, igniting every inch of her skin. As her mother had suggested, she drank wine and then more whisky, in an effort to first cool herself, and then to burn him out of her, but it was no good. He watched, and then he followed her, and she couldn’t help fearing that he found something in her to be lacking. Had he overheard Logan’s ridiculously impassioned plea? Honestly, where could her cousin have taken her that she would wish to go?

She wasn’t gracious enough with the guests, outgoing enough when dancing with his family, light enough on her feet, demure enough with acquaintances. Just generally not enough.

Unlike the ring he’d given her, she was simple, plain, incapable of even imagining a band so fine as the one now resting on her fourth finger. The silver sparkled in candlelight and fairly glowed in the dark, and the red jasper stone was more exquisite than anything she’d ever seen. It truly was a ring for a lady, and she was an imposter, never intending to keep it on her hand.

She was supposed to be a nun, not the Lady Kintail of Castle Leod. What would the big MacKenzie do when he realized he’d been duped?

It all got on top of her, overwhelmed her—the merriment, the joy, the expectation. It had become nightmarish, as if each laugh were a taunt, each friendly face jeering at her to come clean and show her true nature.

Afraid of vomiting all over her mother’s partially ruined dress, she’d escaped from the swarming, demanding crowd, to gulp in fresh, cool air.

But first Logan and then Silas had found her, each offering his own plan to escape.

And even though it would hasten the next torment, that insidious expectation, it was as he’d said at their first meeting better to have it over quickly, so she had agreed. Now she sat sideways upon the terrifying grey steed as her husband, her husband, held her tight against his chest to keep her from sliding off the saddle. Together they rode away from their own celebration to the site of their newly shared home.

How strange to think of a place she’d never set foot inside as her home, but so it must be until she managed to depart for distant shores.

Ellen had little time to dwell on the impropriety of resting so close against a man, even one who had been named her husband that very day. Nor could she contemplate the roughness of his countenance or the gentleness in his touch, or the smell of pine resin and moss. None of it stayed in her head for long, shoved aside by the sheer terror of hanging onto the horse for dear life. Horses were for admiring and fearing from afar, not for flying headlong to one’s doom. Except apparently on one’s wedding day.

Leod was about the size of Tordarroch, where Finn had grown up and where his brother had hosted his wedding, perhaps a little smaller than Castle Moy where Ellen had spent part of her youth. It emerged impressively from the shadows as their horse trotted up the lane.

Rather than stopping at the stable, Si rode right up to the entrance, where a young lad raced to meet him and take the reins.

He swung himself off the beast, then lifted Ellen in his arms, but instead of setting her feet squarely on the ground, he rumbled, “Believe it’s customary to carry the bride inside, if you’ll allow me, ’Lady ’Len,” and when she didn’t protest, he proceeded to do just that.

Only once inside did he let her down, steadying her with both hands on her shoulders.

Some small part of her expected him to ravish her the moment the door closed, but he leaned back against the opposite wall, trying to shrink into the shadows and asked, “Like a tour?”

Ellen nodded, dread building in her stomach. She supposed it must be a game which would end precisely when they reached his bedchamber, but he took up a torch in his right hand and held out his left for hers.

She hadn’t joined hands with any but her sister or Jory in as long as she could remember, and her palm looked like a doll’s alongside his, but his grip was light and comforting.

“The Hall, of course,” he said, staring fiercely at the wood panels that lined the walls, as though they offended him. After sweeping the floor with his boot, he led her towards a staircase, and up to the second floor where he pointed out his father’s chamber, and then an alcove next door stacked with crates and all manner of detritus, before waving dismissively.

“This was the chapel once,” he muttered almost to himself, and his frown deepened. He turned that same scowl on Ellen, as though he’d read her mind, and with it, her intentions to leave him for the Church, and this time she did wither under his gaze.

“Mmphm,” he growled, and turned back to the stairs, leading her down, down, down, walking quickly, as though Ellen’s presence inside his home made him unhappy with it, and he was already regretting the solemn oaths of the day.

A scurrying as they entered the kitchen conjured images of dreadfully large rats, and she shuddered.

“Cold?” he asked, moving to stoke the fire, even as she shook her head, and then rummaging in a basket behind two urns of milk. “Mrs. Kynoch always keeps fresh bannocks if you know where to find them,” he said, handing her one, and after the rich smells of the wedding feast, the simple roll was exactly what she wanted, but she reached for it hesitantly.

“Go on then, you’ve not had so much as a bite all day, I’ll warrant.”