Anne hurried up the dungeon steps, thankful her task of caring for Niall Campbell was over. His wounds had been tended, a light meal served, and he was now resting, a thick fur provided him against the room’s chill. Later, after he’d had time to sleep, she’d return with some wash water and a fresh shirt to replace his dirty, tattered one.
But, from the haggard look of exhaustion on his face, later was hours away. For the time being she was free of him, free of the disconcerting emotions he so easily stirred. She meant to spend that free time outside, breathing the fresh Highland air.
The day was nearly spent. Savory smells of roasting meats and yeasty breads filled the air. Anne sighed contentedly. How she loved this time, when the dying sun cast its mellow glow upon the land, when the day’s struggle and strife were over and the only labor left was the satisfying contemplation of one’s accomplishments.
As she strode into the main hall and toward the huge open doorway, a loud commotion reached her. From the outer bailey came the sound of men’s shouts, the clang of weapons, and the stamping and snorting of nervous horses. She stepped into the keep’s inner courtyard. No one was about. Anne’s pace quickened.
She was out the gate and halfway across the outer bailey before a servant scurried by. Anne grabbed her arm. “What’s amiss? Why is everyone rushing about?”
“Rushing about?” the little maidservant panted. “Didn’t ye know, ma’am? It’s the Campbells! They’re at our gates, a whole army of them! Och, it’ll go bad for us now, verra bad!”
Anne turned to the parapets where, even now, MacGregor clansmen were massing, the stiff wind flapping their red tartans about their legs like crimson flames. The stout form of her father paced the walkway. She headed toward him.
He was staring out over the hills, his features grim. Anne followed his glance and gasped. There, in what seemed an endless array of tartan hues, was a vast army. Though Campbells were most prevalent, Anne could also make out the colors of several other clans. Campbell allies, one and all, she thought bitterly, and armed to the teeth for war.
“Give him to us, MacGregor!”
Three Campbell men rode forward. From her vantage point, Anne recognized one of them as Niall’s mad cousin, Hugh.
“Give us our tanist or ye’ll rue the day ye so foully took him!” the oldest of the trio, a tall, bearded blond man, shouted.
“And who are ye to threaten me?” Alastair MacGregor boomed back at him. “I’ll keep yer man as long as I please, and no amount of threats will make me give him up before I’m ready. Ye’ll not menace me from my own castle!”
“Och, and will we not?” The sandy-haired Campbell gestured about him. “Think long and hard, man. On the morrow, at dawn’s first light, we’ll ask ye again.”
Before her father could reply, the leaders turned their horses and galloped away, their army following swiftly behind. On a distant hillock they halted. As Anne and her father watched, the warriors began to set up camp.
“What will ye do, Father?”
“And what do ye suppose?” he snapped, his eyes burning with a mixture of rage and frustration. “They’ll lay siege if we don’t give him up, and how long could we last?” Alastair gripped the stone wall, his shoulders hunched in despair. “Och, curse the day I ever laid eyes on that man,” he muttered half to himself. “Curse the day I ever entrapped Niall Campbell! I should’ve known a traitor helps neither side.”
“What are ye saying? How did ye entrap Niall Campbell?” Anne’s nails sank deep into the flesh of his arm. “And what do ye mean, ‘a traitor’?”
He shook her hand away. “Leave me be, lass! I’ve got to think! Got to find a way out of this that’ll save both our hides and our honor.” Her father stalked off, his head bent in thought.
Anne turned back to the scene outside the castle walls. Lovingly, her gaze swept the wooded glens, the bracken-strewn hills and meadows, the rocky crags. MacGregor land.
For eight years now they had borne the periodic raids, the dreaded attack of intruders. Today, however, was the culmination of their deepest fears. The nightmare had at last become reality in an army standing ready to destroy them. And there was naught they could do about it.
“What do ye want of me?”
Niall stood before Alastair MacGregor, groggy from being dragged from a deep slumber, his hands and feet in shackles. His glance strayed to the deep, stone-cut window across the chief’s room. It was pitch black outside. What time was it? Midnight or past?
Alastair watched the guards shut the door behind them before answering. “We’ve a problem.”
Niall’s attention riveted on the older man. “We do? And what might that be?”
MacGregor cursed silently. Even in chains the arrogant young whelp refused to make it easy. Something inside him hardened. Well, he’ll not best me in this. I’ve naught left to lose . . .
“Yer clan camps outside the castle,” Alastair said. “They demand yer return.”
Niall shrugged. “Then it’s simple. Give me to them.”
“Nay, it isn’t simple at all. MacGregor honor couldn’t bear such disgrace.”
Tawny-brown eyes studied him. Alastair saw understanding flare in their depths.
“As ye say,” Niall admitted at last. “Highland honor’s never a simple matter. I ask again. What do ye want of me?”
MacGregor’s hands clenched. His heart quickened in excitement. “An end to the feud.”
“And how do ye propose we do that?”
Alastair shrugged. “How else but in the age-old custom of joining the clans? Ye’ll take my Annie as wife.”
Niall stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head.
“Nay, it cannot be. I’m honored by yer offer, but I cannot wed yer daughter.”
“And why not?” Alastair eyed him calmly. To find offense at the refusal would only weaken his plan. “It’s a marriage made in heaven. My Annie’s a beautiful, kindhearted lass, if a wee bit headstrong. Still, from what I’ve seen of ye, ye’re just the man to tame her. She’s well built, healthy, and will bear ye fine sons. What more can a man ask? It’ll join our two clans and put an end to the feud.”
“Indeed, she seems all ye’ve said and more.” Niall ran a hand through his hair. “The problem lies not with her, but with me. I still mourn my wife.”
Alastair nodded sympathetically. “I can well understand yer hesitation. I, too, lost a beloved wife. But it’s been a year, a fair time for mourning. Ye’re the chief’s son and clan tanist. Ye, of all men, recognize that the people’s welfare comes before yer own desires, however justifiable they may be. None will condemn ye for ending yer mourning, not when it’ll also end the feuding.”
“And I don’t care what anyone thinks!” Niall’s tall frame tensed in anger. “Who’s to say a year’s long enough? I’ll not shame the memory of my wife for anyone! Do ye hear me, MacGregor? Not anyone!”
Alastair’s jaw clenched. This was proving more difficult than he had anticipated. He hadn’t counted on the man’s deep emotions for his wife clouding his judgment. “And I say, think again. Ye’re hardly in a position to refuse. Though ye managed to escape death once, I’ve naught to lose now—and ye’ve everything.”
Niall laughed. “And do ye think I believe ye’d kill me with a Campbell army outside yer gates? Yer castle would be overrun, every man, woman, and child put to the sword. It’s the Highland code.”
“Who said I’d kill ye?” MacGregor shook his head, a grim, deadly smile twisting his mouth. “I’m not fool enough to make a martyr of ye, to return ye clothed in the glory of death. Nay, I thought rather to send ye back a little less a man than when ye came.” One of his bushy gray brows lifted. “Even if the act was the end of me, as long as ye lived, there’d be no further retribution against my people. If ye get my meaning?”
Niall stiffened. The man must be addled even to suggest such a thing! He shuddered at the thought then, regaining his composure, looked deep into the MacGregor’s eyes. His enemy’s gaze was as firm as his own.
He’s backed to the wall. All that’s left is his honor. And that, Niall well knew, was a life-or-death matter.
But where was the honor in shaming his beloved’s memory? Though he was far from wanting another wife, the MacGregor lass was comely, and many marriages had been made for less than romantic reasons. He never hoped to have again what he’d had anyway. Surely that kind of love came only once in a lifetime. But to wed before he had mourned as he saw fit . . .
“If ye did such a thing, what good would I be to yer daughter then, man?” Niall inquired coolly, determined not to give the MacGregor an inch in this battle of wills.
The look of surprise on the man’s face salved some of Niall’s wounded pride. He made his decision. All issues of love and honor aside, if for no other reason than to discover the traitor, he knew he had to survive.
“Ye’re a hard one, MacGregor.” He sighed. “I’ll give ye what ye want, but ye must meet me halfway. After all, I’ve my pride to consider, too.”
Alastair smiled, sensing the victory within his grasp. He had won. Why not be generous? “Ask, and if it’s within reason, it’s yers.”
“I’ll need another year before my mourning’s done. I’ll handfast with yer daughter for that time, then wed her.”
Handfast, Alastair thought. Annie would balk at that unwed state worse than at marrying a Campbell. To live together as man and wife without a church-sanctioned ceremony might be acceptable to many, a “trial marriage” so to speak where both could go their way if things didn’t work out, but he knew his daughter. For all her flaunting of a woman’s customary strictures, she’d never go against the proper religious morals her mother had instilled in her. Yet, noting the determined set to his prisoner’s jaw, he also knew Niall Campbell wouldn’t budge from his offer. Annie would just have to understand.
A huge grin on his face, Alastair extended his hand. “We’ve a bargain. My Annie’s yers.” As Niall clasped his hand, a sudden thought struck him. “I’d be obliged if ye treated her kindly. It’s not her fault, whatever bitterness ye may feel toward me because of this. Don’t take it out on her.”
“Dinna fash yerself, man. I’ll not harm her.”
Yet, even as he spoke, Niall remembered the Reformed preacher who had just a year ago returned from Edinburgh to take up residence once more on Campbell lands. Malcolm Campbell, one of his father’s sisters’s illegitimate sons, was a narrow-minded witch fanatic who had already managed to stir the clan to the edge of panic. Niall wondered what the man’s reaction would be to Anne.
He turned to Alastair. “It’ll go hard for her, nonetheless. Her witch’s reputation has spread far and wide.”
A wild fear sprung to the MacGregor’s eyes. “Ye’ll protect her, won’t ye? She’s not a witch. It’s just her great healing skills and her strange gray eyes that give some folk pause. But she’s not a witch.”
“I know that, man. I’ll do what I can.” Niall paused. “One thing more. As we’re soon to be family, I can expect yer full measure of loyalty, can’t I?”
The older man’s gaze narrowed. “Ye already know the answer to that. What’s it ye want?”
“My capture. It was too easy, ye knowing when and where we were to attack. Who told ye, MacGregor?”
“I-I don’t know what ye—”
“No games, man! Don’t protect a Campbell from one of his own. Besides, he may have been the one responsible for the feud. Stranger things have happened. Tell me his name. Ye owe loyalty to me now, not him.”
Alastair shook his head. “I can’t tell ye that. I don’t know the man. He came to me alone and kept his face covered. He was a crafty one and full of hatred for ye, but why, I don’t know. He was careful to say little. I fear I can’t help ye.”
Frustration swelled in Niall, nearly choking him. Save for having his suspicions confirmed, he was no closer to discovering the traitor than before. His only advantage lay in the fact the man didn’t yet know that Niall suspected anything amiss. It was small indeed, but it was all he had. But not for long. He’d see to that.
“No one must know, MacGregor. Ye mustn’t reveal the fact ye told me this to anyone. Do ye understand?”
“Aye. Ye’ve my word on it.”
“Good. Now, how soon can the handfasting be done?” Niall skewered Alastair with a sharp glance. “I’ve a need to return home as quickly as possible.”
The MacGregor’s brow knit in thought. “I must tell Annie, give her time to accept it. And her possessions need packing. Do ye desire an elaborate ceremony?”
“Nay. We’ll save that for the wedding.”
“Then why not have it at midday? It’ll give ye time to rest and me time to break it to my daughter.”
“As ye wish, but we must depart immediately thereafter. Also, I’ll need one of my own as witness.”
“Yer clan will return at dawn’s first light. Ye can come with me to the walls and call one inside. But no tricks. I’ll not have ye shame my daughter by telling her I forced her on ye. Yer word on it, Campbell.”
Och, man, Niall thought. Suddenly ye’re caring for yer daughter’s feelings, after all but trading her off like some prize cow? With only the greatest effort, he controlled the sneer that threatened the corner of his mouth.
“Ye’ve my word on it, not that it’ll matter. Yer daughter’s too clever not to guess the truth.” Niall laughed. “I don’t envy ye the task of convincing her. I may yet get out of this. Then what’ll ye do?”
The MacGregor’s face reddened. “For all her spunk, my Annie’s an obedient lass. She’ll obey her father, and no mistake.”
Niall’s dark brows arched in challenge. “Then call her, man. Now. Let’s get this settled once and for all.”
Anne awoke to her serving maid shaking her. “Ma’am? Please, ma’am, yer father’s calling for ye.”
“What?” Anne sat up, brushed the hair from her eyes. “Father? Did he say what he wanted?”
The little maid shook her head. “Nay. I was only told to dress ye, fix yer hair, and send ye on yer way as quickly as possible.”
“Then let’s get on with it.” Anne sprang from bed. “At this hour, I fear it must be important.”
It had to have something to do with the Campbells, perhaps even Niall Campbell himself, Anne mused ten minutes later as she hurried down the chill stone corridor toward her father’s chambers. But what would her father need her for? How could she be of any help? Well, no matter. She paused to smooth her dress and hastily braided hair before knocking on the door. One way or another, she’d discover the answer soon enough.
“Come in, lass,” her father’s voice beckoned at her first knock.
Hesitantly, Anne pushed open the door. Her father and Niall Campbell stood together, warming themselves at the hearth. She walked in.
“Close the door and come here, lass.”
Anne quickly did as she was told. “Aye, Father?” She searched his face in concern. “Ye called me. What troubles ye?”
Alastair gestured toward Niall. “We’ve come to an agreement that’ll end the feuding.”
Her gaze swung to meet Niall Campbell’s. “Is it true? Ye’ve agreed to end the feud?”
He nodded.
“But how? What common ground could ye two possibly find? What honorable recourse to ease the wounded pride of both sides?”
A strange light flared in Niall’s eyes. “I’ve no talent for smooth words, and I won’t lie. Ask yer father. It’ll come better from him.” He looked at Alastair. “I’ll wait at the window, give ye a moment of privacy together.”
Alastair nodded. Both he and Anne watched as Niall took a seat across the room. Then Anne turned to her father.
“What did he mean? Why should an end to the feud cause me pain?”
“Och, lass.” He sighed. “Hear me out before ye fly into a rage. It was, after all, the best, the only thing, I could do.” He took her by the arms. “I’ve given ye to him.”
Shock warred with anger until Anne could barely speak a coherent word. “What? Y-ye did what?”
“Ye heard me, lass. I gave ye to Niall Campbell.”
“Ye gave me to . . . to him?” Anne’s voice rose on a thread of hysteria. “But why? He doesn’t want me!”
Niall winced at the naked anguish in her words, knowing full well their truth. Pity slashed through him. Though it was evident she was just as adamantly against their union as he, Anne would suffer far greater consequences. She’d be the one to leave her home and adjust her life to his. She’d be the one to lose the freedom she so dearly cherished, not to mention the opportunity to heal, for it would be far too dangerous for her to roam about ministering to his more superstitious clan.
Perhaps she didn’t realize that yet. Niall prayed so, for the knowledge might be more than she could bear. Better to break it to her later, after she’d had time . . .
“Nay!”
The cry wrenched free of the muted speech coming from across the room. Niall jerked around. At that moment Anne turned to him. Their gazes met, his eyes locking with tear-bright silver.
“Nay,” she whispered, the entreaty so direct and personal it sliced right to his heart.
He quashed the unexpected impulse to go to her, gather her into his arms and comfort her. Instead, he forced his glance back out the window. It’d do no good, Niall told himself.
What could he promise her anyway? He didn’t know if his people would ever accept her or if she’d find happiness at Kilchurn. And he had no hope of love to offer. Better she seek what comfort she could from her father.
“How can ye do this?” Anne demanded of Alastair, the tears now coursing unchecked down her cheeks. “How can ye give me to a man such as ye know Niall Campbell to be? He’s ruthless, cruel, and will probably ill treat me solely out of hatred for MacGregors.
Ye forced him into this. I know ye did!”
Alastair gently wiped her tears away. “It’s for the good of both our peoples, lass. He saw the wisdom, as ye must. Don’t fear him. He’s an honorable man. I know that now. He’ll not mistreat ye.”
“But I don’t need a husband!” she wailed. “I don’t want to wed!”
“Er, it isn’t exactly a marriage,” her father mumbled, coloring fiercely. “Or, leastwise, not for a time. Ye’re to be handfasted to him for a year and a day, until his mourning for his wife’s over.”
Anne jerked away, her tears staunched in her scorching anger and disbelief. “Handfasted? Ye’re handfasting me? I don’t believe it! Why not just give me to him as his mistress? As far as I’m concerned, it’s one and the same!”
“Now, lass.” Alastair moved toward her, his voice low with warning. “Calm yerself. It isn’t the same at all. Handfasting’s an ancient, honored custom. There’s no shame in it. Besides, he’s agreed to wed ye when the year’s up. Ye can’t blame him for wanting to mourn his wife, can ye?”
“Let him mourn the rest of his life for all I care!” Anne hotly replied. “It doesn’t matter to me! It’s my right as a Scotswoman to refuse this. I will not handfast or anything else with him!”
“And I say ye will!” her father roared, apparently at the end of his patience. “Ye’re still my child, my firstborn and heir. Our clan’s welfare, nay, its verra survival, is now in yer hands. Ye know where yer duty lies.”
He pointed toward the door. “Now go, and not another word from ye. The ceremony will commence at midday. The Wolf wishes to depart immediately thereafter, so see to yer preparations. I don’t wish to discuss this further!”
Anne opened her mouth to protest then, noting the tense, rigid expression on her father’s face, thought better of it. It was no use anyway. Her time was better spent attempting to make Niall Campbell see the sense of things.
She glanced to where the big Highlander stood staring out the window. “I need a few minutes, then, to speak with him,” she said, looking back to her father. “Before I’ll agree to this mockery of a union, we’ve some details to work out.”
Alastair’s gaze narrowed. “What are ye about, lass? If ye think to get him to reconsider . . .”
“And is that possible?” She managed a brittle laugh. “Well, we’ll see, won’t we?”
Muttering the whole way, her father walked to the door and exited. Anne wasted no time joining Niall Campbell. “What did my father promise ye?” she asked.
He half-turned, the vestige of a smile hovering about his full, firm lips. “My life and freedom. Can ye better that offer, lass?”
She couldn’t, and she knew he knew it. “Then yer mind’s made, is it?”
“It’d seem so. And what of yers? Are ye finally willing to yield and do yer father’s bidding?”
Anne sniffed in disdain. “Hardly. To my mind, handfasting’s naught more than an excuse for—”
When she caught herself in mid-sentence, Niall cocked his head. “For what? Fornication?”
Heat flooded her face. “Well, aye.” She forced herself to meet his amused gaze. “And I won’t do that, leastwise, not outside the bonds of holy matrimony. I love my father. I love my clan. But I love the Lord Jesus above even them. I won’t sin.”
“And have I asked ye to, lass?”
His softly couched question gave her pause. “Nay, not in so many words, but everyone who handfasts—”
“I’m not everyone,” Niall said. “I meant what I told yer father earlier. I need more time to mourn my wife. Mourn her in every way. I’ve no taste for fornicating with anyone.”
“Aye, ye say that now. But a year’s a long time. What if, in that time, ye change yer mind?”
“Then that’ll be my dilemma, not yers.”
She didn’t know what she had hoped for, but she wasn’t prepared for such a response. “So, ye’ll give me yer word our handfasting will be a chaste one?”
“Aye. Ye have it.”
“And what if, at the end of the year, I wish to return to my clan? Will ye allow me to sever the vows we’ve made?”
“Aye. I also think it only fair that I’ve the same option.”
Anne laughed then. “Och, that’s fair and more.” She held out her hand. “Then we’re agreed?”
Niall looked down at her outstretched hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, took it in his. “Aye, we’re agreed.”
The ensuing hours until midday flew by in a flurry of activity. From a place far removed, Anne watched the preparations for her departure. Her gowns were carefully folded, her slippers and small collection of jewelry wrapped in soft cloths, her beloved clarsach safely tucked among them all.
A heavy pain settled around her heart. Despite the pact she and Niall Campbell had made, her situation had barely changed. Would there ever be reason to strum the curved wooden harp in Kilchurn Castle?
Soon, nothing remained save the traveling gown of deep emerald velvet and a heavy woolen cape to ward against the blustering spring winds. Her entire life, Anne mused sadly, had quickly condensed into a few bulky parcels.
One last time, she visited the keep’s private garden. The sturdier plants that had overwintered were beginning to sprout fresh shoots of green. Her beloved herbs. Life-giving, heart-and-body soothing. Would there be a place for them in her new life?
A sob rose in Anne’s throat. In but the span of a few hours, her life had completely changed. She had become a pawn to be manipulated at the whim of others. The freedom and control she had once had were now lovely illusions.
Aye, illusions indeed, Anne thought, for they were never more than that in anyone’s mind but my own. I’ve never had any power over my life, save what was permitted me.
She knelt to brush a bit of dirt from a chamomile plant. Soon their delicate, daisy-like flowers will bloom, and I’ll not be here to see them.
The realization stirred something, firing her resolve, feeding her wounded spirit. She rose to her feet, her hands clenched at her sides. She’d not let this defeat her! Though her circumstances may have changed, the Lord still called her to this work. The censure of others had never stopped her before. Why should it do so now?
She had risked death for a long while now. Even in Campbell lands, there was nothing more they could threaten her with.
Anne hurried away, soon returning with a trowel and an empty wooden box. A grim smile on her lips, she carefully dug up a sampling of every herb in her garden and placed them in the container. Somehow, she’d find a spot to transplant and grow her precious friends at Kilchurn Castle. She had to. Symbolically, their rebirth would also assure hers.
An hour later Anne stood alone in her father’s chambers, awaiting his and Niall Campbell’s return from fetching one of his men to witness the ceremony. Dressed in a green gown with fitted bodice and tight sleeves with their trailing edges, her hair gathered in a pearl-studded snood and topped with a small green velvet cap, her only jewelry, in deference to the journey ahead, was a long pearl necklace, knotted just below the high-collared neckline.
She jumped when the heavy tread of footsteps echoed suddenly in the hallway. Before Anne could compose herself, the door swung open. In walked her father, followed closely by Niall Campbell and another man. She swallowed hard and forced her gaze to meet that of the tall, dark-haired warrior who strode over to stand before her.
“Lass,” Niall’s deep voice rumbled, “allow me to introduce another of my cousins, Iain Campbell. Iain, this is Anne MacGregor.”
At mention of her name, the equally tall, dark-blond-haired man jerked his admiring gaze from her to Niall. “Anne?”
“Aye,” he replied tersely. “Pay yer respects.”
Iain, who appeared several years younger than Niall, looked back at Anne. He accepted her proffered hand. A pair of intensely blue eyes studied her for a moment, then his head bowed to kiss her hand.
“It’s my greatest pleasure to make yer acquaintance, ma’am. Truly, ye’re one of the loveliest women I’ve ever laid eyes upon.”
“And ye’re as gallant as any court gentleman to say so,” Anne murmured stiffly. “I hope we can be friends.”
A reckless grin split Iain’s handsome face. “If Niall hadn’t claimed ye first, I’d have liked to be more than friends. Still, fate being what it is, I suppose I’ll be pleased to settle for a friendship.”
At his blunt, forthright manner, Anne couldn’t help but smile. Here was one Campbell, at least, who seemed willing to accept her. Perhaps there was hope.
Niall cleared his throat. “Now that my cousin’s finished charming this gathering, let’s get on with the handfasting. We’ve several hours’ journey ahead, and I wish to be home before dark.”
Iain merely quirked an eyebrow in amusement, but Anne, irritated by Niall’s rudeness, shot him an icy glance. “Aye, by all means. I’ve no wish to deter ye from more important matters.”
He opened his mouth to snap something back at her, then thought better of it. It isn’t her fault, Niall reminded himself for the tenth time. Be gentle. It’s even worse for her.
Instead, he addressed the MacGregor. “The ceremony, if ye please.”
Alastair’s gaze skittered anxiously from his daughter to Niall, then he opened the small book he held. After a prolonged bout of throat clearing, he began to read. “We gather here for the time-honored ritual of handfasting. An ancient custom, it is, meant to prepare a man and woman for the lifelong partnership of marriage, binding them hand in fist for a year and a day. If any children be born of this union, custody and care are the father’s responsibility. If the couple parts at the end of the year, the mither’s reputation will not in the least be held in question.”
He paused to inhale a shaky breath. “Now, let them be brought before us.” He raised his eyes to Anne and Niall. “Take each other’s hand and step forward.”
A large, heavily calloused palm extended toward Anne. After a moment’s hesitation, she placed her trembling hand in Niall’s. There was a momentary squeeze, as if he were trying to reassure her. Then, as one, they moved to stand before the MacGregor. Out of the corner of her eye, Anne saw Iain take his place beside his cousin.
Alastair directed his gaze to Niall. “Repeat after me. I, Niall Campbell, do come here of my own free will, to seek the partnership of Anne MacGregor. I come with all love, honor—”
“I’m not a hypocrite, MacGregor!” Niall cut in harshly. “Leave love out of this or I’ll not make the vows.”
“A-as ye wish,” the older man stammered, apparently unnerved by the vehemence in Niall’s voice. “I meant no offense. It’s but the customary rite.”
“And I care not what the custom is,” Niall hissed through clenched teeth. “Now, get on with it.”
“I come with all . . . honor and sincerity, wishing only to become one with her whom I . . . er . . . I honor.”
He paused as Niall repeated the words. “Always,” Alastair then continued, “will I strive for Anne’s happiness and welfare. Her life will I defend before my own. All this I swear, on my word as a Scotsman and Highlander.”
Niall spoke the words after him. Then Alastair turned to Anne, guiding her in her pledge. Once she had finished, he withdrew two rings from his pocket. Made of plain gold workings, the pair gleamed with the patina of age and loving use.
“These were yer mither’s and mine.” His eyes misted as he smiled down at his daughter. “I know rings aren’t called for with a handfasting, but I’d still be pleased if ye’d wear yer mither’s.”
“Aye, Father.” Tears welled in her eyes. Though he was trying, in his own way, to make something more of this ceremony than it was, she hadn’t the heart to disparage it. “If it’d please ye.”
He handed the ring to Niall. “Place it upon her finger.”
Niall slid the golden circlet onto the third finger of Anne’s left hand. Then his gaze returned to Alastair’s.
“Would ye consider wearing my ring?” the older man asked. “Once before, it was part of a long and happy union. Mayhap it’ll bring the same fortune again.”
Niall gritted his teeth, a muscle twitching furiously in his jaw. It’s a farce, all of this, he inwardly raged, yet the old man persists in trying to force some romantic symbolism into it. Well, this goes too far! I won’t compromise my honor.
A gentle squeeze of his hand halted him. Turning, Niall found himself captured by a mesmerizing pair of silver eyes. Warm with silent entreaty, they pulled at him. He knew, for Anne’s sake at least, he couldn’t refuse.
“I-I’d be honored, MacGregor,” Niall mumbled, still ensnared by the strange feelings roiling within. He watched as the man presented his daughter with the ring and she placed it on his finger.
“As the tall grass and mighty trees bow beneath the force of the wind,” Alastair once more intoned, “so too must ye both bend when the storms of life blow strong. But know as swiftly as the storm comes, so equally swiftly may it depart. Stand strong always in each other’s strength. Together ye are one; apart ye are naught.”
He looked up at them. “Be faithful, one to the other. Ever honor each other. Help each other—and know now that ye’re truly one.” A broad smile lit his face. “It’s over, the handfasting ceremony, I mean. Ye may kiss her.”
Kiss her, Niall thought. Ah, well, she’s mine now and if it’ll put an end to this odious ceremony . . . He pulled her to him, his powerful arms encircling her, and lowered his head.