The table had been cleared, and mugs had been filled with ale and wine. All attention focused upon his father. The clan held their collective breath, waiting for news and the tale of his journey. William rose from his place and pounded the hilt of his dagger upon the wooden surface of the table, signaling his intent to speak.
“Long live King James.” William raised his cup. The hall reverberated with cheers. William raised his hand for quiet, his gaze sweeping the hall to encompass all of them. “’Tis good to be home with kith and kin,” he announced to the approving murmur of their clan. “I have much to tell, but before I begin, I have a surprise which concerns my son and the future of our clan.”
His father turned to face him, and a prickle of unease raised the flesh on the back of Malcolm’s neck. William once again raised his goblet as if to toast. Time stopped as Malcolm listened to the words his father spoke so that all could hear.
“As you all ken, ’tis well past time for Malcolm to take a wife and to give us an heir. I am happy to announce that I have contracted a marriage for him with the daughter of the earl of Mar, our neighbors to the north.” With a satisfied look, he once again swept the hall with his gaze. “’Tis a good match, and ’twill strengthen our clan. She holds vast lands near our allies, the Sutherlands. She is a comely lass as well,” he remarked with a smile. “She and her parents arrive at Moigh Hall within a se’nnight.”
Not a sound came from the hall as all sat in stunned silence, their mouths agape, their eyes riveted upon the drama playing out upon the dais.
Malcolm watched the color leave his wife’s face. Her hand covered their bairn in a protective gesture, and her eyes fixed upon the table in front of her. He didn’t need the skills of a truth-sayer to sense her hurt and humiliation. His gut ached. He had caused this. Never again would he leave to chance anything so affecting to the feelings of those he cared for.
“I am sorry, Father, but it canna be.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
What, Malcolm? Do you defy me in this?” Malcolm’s father faced him with an incredulous look.
“I am already wed.” Malcolm placed his arm around True’s stiff shoulders. “Lady Alethia and I took our vows before God and our clan almost six months past in November. We are handfasted.”
Malcolm watched his father’s jaw clench. His mother accused him with a look, and True’s eyes remained fixed on the trencher in front of her. He ran his hand over his face and wished he could turn back time.
“Come, Malcolm.” His father left the dais abruptly. “To my solar.”
He followed his father and tried to compose himself. ’Twould do no good to lose his temper. As soon as the door shut behind them, his father took his seat and turned to face him, his expression somber.
“When exactly did this handfasting occur?” William gritted out through his clenched jaw.
“Shortly after we retook Meikle Geddes.” So many decisions concerning their clan had taken place in this room, with his father sitting in that very same chair. How many times had he dreamed of the day the chair and the decisions would be his? Malcolm took a deep breath. “And you have no’ yet heard what has transpired between our clan and the Comyns since.”
“Liam told Robert, who has spoken to me briefly about it. Dinna change the subject. Was your letter regarding Meikle Geddes sent to me before or after you wed?”
“After.”
William slammed his fist down on the table, causing an inkwell to bounce and spill. “And you did no’ think to include this bit of news? You did no’ think to tell me? God’s blood, you have put me in an awkward position.”
“Nay, Father. You did that on your own. I never asked you to arrange a marriage for me, nor did I give you my consent. I am a man grown—”
“Your union has no’ yet been blessed by a priest.” William rose from his place and began to pace. “A couple can decide to walk away from a handfasting.”
The intensity of his father’s glare made him feel like he was once again a lad of eight caught in some mischief. “It makes no difference.” He widened his stance, folding his arms over his chest. He knew his father’s thoughts and wanted to head them off. “Our union will be blessed within a fortnight.”
His father scowled at him. “Or you can keep the woman as your leman, and marry the earl of Mar’s daughter as your laird and father bids you.”
Malcolm’s temper slipped. “The woman has a name. She is Lady Alethia Goodsky, the daughter of a king, and she is my wife. I will have no other.”