Page 3 of Scottish Rose: Coira

“You did. All of you,” said the man, glancing over to Coira. She was the only one wearing a veil with a crown of flowers around her head. “Ah, I am guessing you are the bride,” he said to Coira.

“I – I am the bride,” she admitted, startled that the man had spoken to her. She could barely answer him since she felt so scared. The soldier was a fierce, big man that looked like he’d just come from the battlefield. She could swear she smelled the sweat from the soldiers all the way across the room.

“Who are ye?” asked Effie, standing up and waddling closer to Coira, letting her pregnant belly lead the way. She was more like a mother to Coira than a sister since their mother died birthing Coira. Aye, Effie always wanted to protect her.

“I thought someone here would realize who I am,” said the man, lowering his weapon and glancing around the room. “I am Sir Lance de Selby. I am here to make an alliance by marrying a woman named Coira MacDuff.”

Chapter 2

Sir Lance de Selby didn’t expect this threatening reception when he entered the Horn and Hoof. After all, he was the groom! Supposedly, this was a neutral place to meet, but he was getting the idea that perhaps the Scots had lured him into a trap. He didn’t know any of them personally, except for the chieftain, Storm MacKeefe. Storm was the one who set up the alliance in the first place. Unfortunately, Lance didn’t see him anywhere.

“Tell yer men to drop their weapons,” said the Scot with the two different colored eyes that reminded Lance of the devil.

“Not until you do the same.” He kept his focus on the Scots with their weapons drawn.

“Let me through,” said a man that Lance was relieved to see. Storm MacKeefe made his way down the stairs and through the crowd.

“Laird Storm MacKeefe,” said Lance. “I would clasp your hand, but I’m afraid to even nod because of the blades pressed up against my throat.”

“Lower yer weapons. All of ye,” said Storm, nodding to the rest of the Scots. “After all, this man is the groom just like he says.”

The men lowered their swords.

“Sir Lance, I’d like ye to meet Onyx, Aidan, and Ian.” Storm introduced Lance to the men who had just held swords to his throat.

“Forgive me if I just nod,” said Lance, not wanting to get too close.

“Grandda, bring some Mountain Magic for our guests,” Storm called out.

Lance scoped the area, still playing it cautious. He didn’t like being so far north. His small traveling party of knights and soldiers would never have a chance against so many Scots. All he wanted to do was to collect his bride and get out.

“Here’s some of the best drink ye’ll ever taste.” An old man made his way through the crowd with two tankards in his hand. He gave one to Storm and the other to Lance.

“Sir Lance, this is my grandda, Callum MacKeefe,” Storm told him. “He is the proprietor of the Horn and Hoof. Everyone, please toast to the bride and groom.” Storm raised his cup in the air.

“Mountain Magic for everyone,” called out Callum in a crackly, old voice. The people all cheered and grabbed tankards from the trays of passing serving boys.

“I must warn ye,” said Storm. “Take it slow because my grandda’s Mountain Magic is probably stronger whisky than ye’re used to.”

Lance heard the Scots sniggering from behind him and didn’t want to be the brunt of any joke. “I’ve had my share of whisky in my life, MacKeefe. I assure you, I can handle anything you throw at me.” Even more laughing followed his statement.

Just to prove his point in front of the Scots, as well as his new bride, Lance raised the tankard to his mouth and drank down the contents in several gulps. Instantly, he felt the fires of hell burning a hole in his gut. He coughed and bent over gripping his stomach. The empty cup dangled from his fingers.

Coira watched in horror as the unsuspecting guest downed the fiery potion too fast. Her mouth dropped open, and her heart went out to the naive man. Mountain Magic was so strong that she’d heard the story about how, at one time, it knocked Storm MacKeefe unconscious for days. It took a long time to get used to it. And no woman, except for Kyla, could even drink the potent brew.

“Storm warned ye,” said Onyx with a chuckle, taking a drink. “It’s no’ for the faint of heart.”

“That’s right,” said Ian, slapping Onyx on the back, gripping his tankard in his other hand. “After all, Dagger should ken more than anyone how strong the brew is. It knocked him on his arse, and people thought he died on his twentieth birthday.”

“I had twenty drams of it,” Onyx reminded him.

“Ye were flat on yer arse, so dinna deny it,” Aidan said with a chuckle.

“Och, stop all yer fussin’, ye three.” Kyla walked up, pushing her small body between the three big, burly Highlanders. “Ian, give me some of yer Mountain Magic. I’m parched.” She ripped the tankard out of his hand and downed the entire contents before handing the cup back to him. “Coira, are ye no’ goin to come over and meet yer husband-to-be?”

“You – you just drank that entire cup of . . . Mountain Magic?” Lance staggered a little and shook his head in disbelief. The potent brew was already making him dizzy. This girl was a small thing but yet acted as if she drank naught but water.

“I did,” she said. “I’ve been drinkin’ it with my brathair and these two since I was a wee lass.” She thunked her palms against Onyx and Ian’s chests.