Page 30 of A Wife for the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #3)

Alasdair stood by the entrance of the Great Hall, and a small part of him wondered just how many more of these greetings he could take.

Every villager who had walked in had stopped to acknowledge him, and soon, his ears could almost hear nothing but the continuous flurry of Me Lairds.

At some point, it no longer sounded real.

“Thank ye,” he had said over and over, his hand tightening around his goblet.

His patience thinned with each “thank ye,” and a part of him wondered who he would snap at.

Some carried gifts, offerings wrapped in cloth or baskets tied with rope.

He thanked them all, motioning for his guards to drop the items at the corner of the hall.

The pile grew—jars of mead, cuts of venison, bolts of cloth.

Each token was meant to win favor, though Alasdair doubted half the villagers meant it from the heart. Still, tradition was tradition.

When the last of the line slowed, he lifted his goblet and took a long sip.

The ale was sharp, grounding him. He looked around the hall for a few more minutes, searching for anything out of the ordinary.

When he was satisfied, he turned and made his way to the other entrance, where his man-at-arms stood.

“How’s it going?” Alasdair asked, his voice pitched low.

Nathan shook his head. “More people than we expected. We searched plenty at the gate, but we cannae line them up and prod them like cattle. Nae without raising suspicion. Some slipped through unchecked, me Laird. I am certain of it.”

Alasdair’s jaw clenched. “So long as they remember where they are.”

Nathan gave a tight nod.

Alasdair left him and moved toward Conall, who was leaning against a pillar with his usual calm. His brother-in-law raised an eyebrow at the look on his face.

“All well?” Conall asked.

“Aye. For now,” Alasdair said, though his gut told him otherwise. “I only hope it stays well until this night is over.”

Before Conall could press, a villager approached, his hat in his hands and his smile shy. He held out a small clay jar.

“This is for the lady,” he said. “She healed me braither when the fever nearly took him. I have little to give, but I made sure this was the best honey from me hives.”

Alasdair accepted the jar with a nod and passed it to a guard. “She will appreciate it. Thank ye. Now, go, eat, drink, and make merry. Tonight is for celebration.”

The man beamed and melted back into the crowd.

Conall tilted his head. “Does that ever grow old?”

Alasdair huffed a laugh. “Ye have nay idea.”

Conall gave him a brief nod.

Alasdair wanted to say more, but a sound at the far end of the hall, for some reason, turned everyone’s head. The doors opened, and for a full minute, the music seemed to stop. Alasdair swallowed, noting the way silence pressed through the crowd.

He turned, and his chest tightened.

Lily stood at the other end of the hall, her hands clasped before her. She was dressed in blue.

Blue.

His favorite of the dresses he’d bought her. The one he was certain she wasn’t going to wear.

His heart sped up at the sight, and he almost didn’t know what to do with himself.

It was like he completely lost control of his mind.

Like he had died and gone to heaven. Her skin shone in the light, and the silky blue brought out the color of her eyes even more. He didn’t even know that was possible.

For what must have been the first time that evening, he felt relaxed. Without hesitation, he dropped the cup and crossed over to where she stood, his eyes glinting with nothing but pride.

“Ye wore the dress,” he said, his voice calm, even though everything in his head screamed.

She wore the dress.

She lifted her chin. “Daenae make a fuss over it. I had nothing else to wear.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Aye. I am sure that is the only reason.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What other reason could there be?”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “For what it is worth, ye look… breathtaking.”

Her lips parted, but she did not respond.

He offered his hand. “Dance with me.”

Lily gave a soft laugh. “We never got to the dancing part at our?—”

“Our wedding,” he cut in.

“Handfasting ceremony,” she countered smoothly.

“Right,” he said with a grin. “As if that makes much difference.”

She said nothing more, but she placed her hand in his, and they both stepped to the center of the hall, along with other couples. The music grew gentler, and they began to sway to it.

“So,” Alasdair said, keeping his eyes on hers, “which of the angels must I thank? For ye arenae ignoring me tonight.”

“Nay one,” Lily replied. “It’s just that me sister said something, and it made me realize perhaps I have been too harsh on ye.”

“Oh, did she now?” Alasdair teased. “Then maybe I should be the one ignoring ye.”

She laughed, and the sound was richer than he could have ever thought. “What are ye talking about?”

“I mean, ye have been doing the same all week. It only seems fair, do ye nae think?”

Her eyes flashed. “Well, could ye?”

The question struck deeper than he had expected. He drew in a breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I might comment on yer dress,” he said finally, his voice rough.

She rolled her eyes, though he saw the faintest blush rise to her cheeks. The music ended, and he guided her toward the high table, where the feast awaited.

“If I knew ye’d be such a gentleman,” Lily murmured, “I might have worn these dresses more often.”

“I’ve been as gentle with ye as a man can be, wife.”

She gave him a sharp look. “If ye consider abduction gentle, then we have different interpretations of the word.”

He chuckled low. “I could have been beastly.” Then, he leaned close enough that his lips brushed her ear. “Much more beastly.”

Color rose to her cheeks again, and she looked away.

When they reached the table, the members of the council all rose to greet them. Alasdair seated her at his side, his hand lingering on her back until she settled. They exchanged pleasantries with Colm, who wasted no time in striking conversation.

“How are ye finding the castle, me Lady?”

“‘Tis all right,” she replied carefully.

Colm gave a thin smile. “Then we should expect an heir soon, should we nae?

The words struck Alasdair, and he laughed. “How dare ye speak like that to a lady?”

Colm’s eyes turned to him, the uncertainty in them as clear as the candlelight. “There is nay necessity in being subtle.”

Alasdair shook his head. “And they say pirates are the crude ones.”

“The clan needs stability, me Laird.”

The words struck hot in Alasdair’s chest, and his eyes hardened just a little, while his voice remained just as casual. “Whoever dares ask me wife about an heir again will lose his tongue.”

The hall grew tense for a moment. Colm swallowed hard, his face paling. Then, he lowered his gaze to the table.

Alasdair took a sip of his ale, as if nothing had happened.

Her heart pounded at the thought of Alasdair being a gentleman for the umpteenth time this evening. Had he always been like this, and she had been too blind to see it?

She leaned closer to him anyway, her lips near his shoulder.

“Ye saved me,” she whispered, her voice filled with relief. “How could I ever repay yer kindness?”

Alasdair chuckled, the sound low and warm in her ear. “Och, I could think of a way or two.”

There it was.

That was the Alasdair she remembered.

The one she wanted to keep remembering.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Ye must always find a way to cheapen the moment, must ye nae?”

He shrugged, a grin tugging at his lips. “What did ye expect? I am who I am.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but before a word could escape, the far doors of the hall burst open. The slam echoed off the rafters and turned every head.

A group of villagers stormed in, armed with daggers and rusted axes.

Lily felt her skin crawl as a wave of horrified gasps rippled through the hall.

She watched the villagers push off tables and throw trays of food across the hall, nothing but anger in their eyes.

Their screams rent the air and the last shred of her courage.

Alasdair was on his feet in an instant. His hand caught her wrist and pulled her up. “Behind me,” he ordered.

Her body obeyed before her mind caught up. She stepped behind him, her heart pounding.

“Who are these people? Where did they come from?” she asked, her voice quivering with fear.

“If I have to guess,” Alasdair said calmly, though his shoulders were tight, “unsatisfied clansmen.”

“Unsatisfied?” She clutched his sleeve. “Alasdair, what is this about?”

Before he could answer, one of the men stepped forward. His face was hard, and his eyes burned with fury. He raised his voice above the silence.

“How can ye all feast with a laird like this? How can ye trust a man who came out of nowhere and claimed the title for himself?” His voice dropped as his eyes settled on Lily, who remained behind Alasdair.

“And worse, how can ye trust a woman who appeared just as suddenly, calling herself a healer? Who’s to say that the witch isnae poisoning our men or bleeding them for her sacrifices? ”

The words struck like a whip.

Witch.

Lily felt her blood run cold. She had been called many things, but never that. Nathan, who was standing beside them, drew his sword at once and stepped forward, but Alasdair raised a hand without even looking.

“Stand down,” he said, his voice firm.

Nathan obeyed, his blade lowering, though his eyes never left the man.

Alasdair stepped forward and cleared his throat.

Then, he narrowed his eyes at the man, before speaking.

“I have fought battles for this clan these past ten years. I have bled for ye, and I have faced death more times than I could count. I have been dragged into prisons and tortured by lairds who would have burned yer villages to the ground. And this was before I revealed who I truly was to ye all.”

He paused, and Lily’s heart stuttered.

Where was he going with this?

“Where was this doubt then?” he bit out. “Where was this suspicion when I held the line and kept swords from yer throats?”

The crowd shifted uneasily.

“As for me wife,” he continued, his voice darkening. “Instead of calling her what she is—a skilled healer who has saved more men than ye could count—ye dare call her a witch ? Ye dare speak of sacrifices? For shame.”

With deliberate calm, he drew his sword. The sound of steel sliding free rang in the tense silence, and he set the blade flat on the table before him.

Lily swallowed. The gesture, for some reason, felt even more dangerous than if he had raised it.

“I see this can only be settled one way.”

The spokesman sneered. “Ye daenae scare me, ye impostor of a laird.”

The others muttered in agreement and stepped closer, their weapons raised.

Alasdair tilted his head slightly. “Then go on. Who wishes to start this little dance?”

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then, three men lunged.

The clash of steel against steel tore through the hall as Alasdair met them head-on.

His blade cut the first man’s axe clean from his hands.

He swung again, striking the second across the arm and sending him stumbling.

The third roared and came forward, but Alasdair sidestepped and slammed his fist into his gut, shoving him down.

Gasps filled the air as the fight broke wider. Nathan and Finn leapt in as well, their swords flashing as they blocked the rest of the intruders. The village men and the council members scattered, dragging the women and children to the walls.

Lily gripped the table behind her, forcing herself to stay still, even though her chest rose and fell too fast. Her eyes were still on Alasdair, who moved with a deadly grace. It was almost like the way she’d seen him fight shirtless in the garden the other day. Except here, he looked unstoppable .

She was so focused on him that she didn’t see the shadow looming at her back. A rough hand seized her from behind, and a strong arm locked around her chest and pulled her back hard.

Before she could gasp or scream, the cold steel of a dagger pressed against her neck.

“Ye look quite spectacular, me Lady,” a voice grunted into her ear, sending ripples of fear down her chest.

“Alasdair!”

His head snapped around, and his expression made her freeze. The calm Laird was gone, and in his place stood something far more dangerous.

The man who held her sneered. “One wrong move, me Laird, and I will?—”

He never finished.

Alasdair lunged, his sword flashing like lightning. With one swing, he cut the man’s wrist. His dagger fell, and a shrill scream escaped his lips. Before he could move, Alasdair pushed forward and drove his blade straight through his chest.

The man crumpled at Lily’s feet, dead before he hit the floor, and the hall went still.

Alasdair’s eyes flicked to Lily, nothing but complete fury in them.

“Whoever wishes to try their luck…” He turned slowly, his sword still in hand. “Come at me.”

No one moved. The fire in his voice, the blood on his blade, and the fury in his eyes held them back.

“Very well, then. I ask ye all to get out. Ye arenae welcome here.”

The guards surged forward and forced the intruders back, disarming them and driving them out the doors. The men cursed, but none dared make a try for their confiscated weapons.

When the hall grew quiet, Lily realized she was still standing where the man had held her. Her breath came in shallow bursts, and her blood ran cold.

She had known Alasdair was strong. Dangerous even. Hell, she had seen him fight before. But never like this.

Something about it terrified her, and yet, deep inside, it comforted her.