Page 80 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

Roy released her, and she moved back as three stable hands entered, then paused when she saw their laird and lady standing soaked next to a toppled bucket. No one spoke.

Roy looked at the nearest man. The fellow immediately became fascinated by a saddle hanging upon the opposite wall.

“The well rope slipped,” Roy explained.

Donaldina covered her mouth. Her shoulders were shaking. Roy turned away before the stable hands witnessed him smile.

Behind him, Donaldina’s laughter followed him into the stable, warm as summer and far more dangerous than any festival road.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Donaldina had never seen so many people determined to enjoy themselves in spite of the weather.

The morning clouds had broken by the time the riders descended from Dun Ard into the valley, allowing pale autumn sunlight to spill across the road. Heather darkened the hills in purple-brown stretches, and the trees along the lower slopes burned with copper and gold. Hooves struck the damp earth in steady rhythm while the banners of MacIver and MacNicol moved together above the company.

Together.

Donaldina glanced toward Roy. He rode beside her upon his black stallion, dressed in dark wool and leather, with a MacIver clasp at his shoulder and the same grave expression he might have worn when approaching a hostile fortress.

“Ye are frowning at the festival,” she observed.

“I cannae see the festival yet.”

“Ye are preparing tae frown at it.”

His eyes moved toward her. “I was considering the northern road.”

“Of course ye were.”

“The woodland provides too much cover.”

“And the musicians may be armed with pipes.”

“They frequently sound as though they are.”

Donaldina laughed before dignity could prevent her. Several riders behind them exchanged knowing glances. She ignored them.

The market town appeared beyond the next rise, gathered around a broad stone square where ribbons hung between the buildings and bright awnings crowded the streets. Music reached them before the gates did: fiddles, drums and pipes competing cheerfully with the cries of merchants and the laughter of children.

The air smelled of roasting meat, apples, warm bread and woodsmoke. Villagers lined the road as the clans entered. Some bowed, while others waved. Children ran beside the horses until anxious mothers called them back from beneath the hooves.

Donaldina lifted her hand in greeting. Roy did the same, though his gaze continued moving over rooftops, alleys, and the edges of the crowd.

“Ye promised tae enjoy yourself,” she reminded him.

“I am enjoying meself.”

“Yer enemies must find ye delightful.”

“They rarely complain for long.”

She looked at him sharply. Roy’s mouth shifted. He was teasing her. The realization warmed her far more than the autumn sun.

They dismounted near the town hall, where the festival steward hurried forward with three assistants and an expression of profound relief.

“Me lady. Me laird. Everything is prepared.”

Donaldina noticed the order of the greeting. So did Roy. Neither corrected him.