Many hours and countless leagues later, Ranald MacDonnell signaled the small party behind him to halt. Linnet’s pony snorted in protest, shifting restlessly as she reined him in. She shared his nervousness, for they’d reached their destination.
After a seemingly endless trek through MacKenzie territory, they’d reached the halfway point where Ranald claimed her husband-to-be would meet them.
Inexplicably beset by a tide of self-consciousness, Linnet patted the linen veil covering her hair and adjusted the fall of her mother’s worn but precious arisaid around her shoulders. If only she hadn’t coiled her long plaits around her ears, hiding them from view beneath her concealing headgear. Her betrothed thought her plain, but her tresses were bonnie.
Her brothers were e’er claiming her hair color rivaled the reds and golds of the most brilliant flame.
Would that she’d worn her hair loose. ’Twas embarrassment enough to meet her new husband, enemy or nay, garbed in little more than rags. At least her mother’s bonnie plaid lent her a semblance of grace. Even so, she could have kept a wee bit more dignity by flaunting, not concealing her finest feature.
But regret served no purpose now, for the forest floor already shook from the pounding hooves of fast-approaching horses.
“Cuidich’ N’ Righ!” The MacKenzie battle cry rent the air. “Save the king!”
Linnet’s pony tossed its head, then skittered sideways in panic. As she struggled to calm him, a double line of warrior-knights thundered into view. They came straight toward her party, forming two columns at the last possible moment, then galloping past Linnet and her small escort, enclosing them in an unbroken circle of mailed and heavily-armed MacKenzies.
“Dinna you fret, lass,” Ranald called to her over his shoulder. “We willna let aught befall you.” Turning in his saddle, he shouted something at her other brothers but the loud cries of the MacKenzies swallowed Ranald’s words.
“Cuidich’ N’ Righ!”
Their bold shouts echoed the MacKenzie motto. The proud words were emblazoned beneath a stag’s antlers on banners held by mounted standard-bearers. Unlike the warriors who’d charged forward, the young men held their mounts in check a short distance away. Four abreast, their standards high, they made an impressive sight.
But naught near as imposing as the dark knight who so self-assuredly broke their ranks.
Clad in a shirt of black mail, broad sword at his side and two daggers thrust beneath the fine leather belt slung low around his hips, he rode a huge warhorse as black as his armor.
Linnet swallowed hard. This intimidating giant of a man could only be Duncan MacKenzie, the MacKenzie of Kintail, her betrothed.
She didn’t need to see the green-and-blue plaid fastened over his hauberk to know his identity.
Nor did it matter that the helm he wore cast his face in shadow, almost hiding it from view. His arrogance came at her in waves as his assessing gaze scorched its way from the top of her head to the scuffed brogans on her feet.
Aye, she knew ’twas he.
She also knew the fierce warrior-laird was displeased with what he saw.
More than displeased… he looked outraged. Anger emanated from beneath his armor, his gaze traveling over her critically. She didn’t need her gift to know his eye color. A man such as he could have naught but eyes as dark as his soul.
Her finely tuned senses told all. He’d taken a good look at her… and found her lacking.
Sweet Virgin, if only she’d heeded Elspeth’s advice and let the old woman dress and scent her hair. ’Twould have been much easier to raise her chin against his bold appraisal did a veil not hide her tresses.
When he rode forward, making straight for her, Linnet fought the urge to flee. Not that she stood a chance of breaking through the tight circle of stone-faced MacKenzie guardsmen. Nor could she get past her brothers… at the dark knight’s approach, they’d urged their horses closer to hers. Their expressions grim, their hands hovering near the hilts of their swords, they warily allowed her betrothed’s advance.
Nay, escape was not an option.
But pride was. Hoping he couldn’t detect her wildly fluttering heart, Linnet sat straighter in her saddle and forced herself to match the glare he aimed at her from beneath his helm.
’Twould serve him well to know she found the situation displeasing. And ’twas undoubtedly wise to show she wouldn’t cower before him
Duncan raised a brow at his bride’s unexpected display of backbone. Rage had fair consumed him when he’d seen her threadbare cloak and worn shoes. Even the fine-looking arisaid she wore bore holes! All the Highlands knew her sire was a drunken worm of a man, but ne’er had he dreamed the lout would shame his daughter by sending her to meet her new liege laird and husband dressed shabbier than the poorest villein.