Page 26 of Bride of the Wicked Laird (Sparks and Tartans: The MacKinnon Clan’s Romance #11)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
E verard ignored the grumbling members of the Clan Council as they took their seats in the feasting hall. He’d welcomed them with a handshake and a smile before Maxwell escorted each of them to their seats. Plentiful jugs of ale stood on the table.
He was pleased to see Fergus from Vatersay. At least there was one friendly face among them.
Starting with an apology for having recalled them so soon after their previous meeting, he was rewarded with at least a few approving growls, although there were still those who sat with grim-faced and arms folded.
Where tae begin?
He’d not mentioned the presence of Mistress Davina at Kiessimul, having kept his previous meeting focused on the issues with trade, Alistair MacDougall and Hugo MacRae’s mission to France.
“I’ll start this meeting with a story. After me meeting on the Isle of Mull with MacDougall, with the help of me crew, I rescued a young lass from drowning. Tae cut a very long story short, I extended hospitality tae the lass and she’s been with us at Kiessimul ever since, assisting our healer.”
“Why dae we need tae hear this, Everard?” One of the frowning grey-hairs asked. “Is there some point tae this?”
Everard forced a grin, and gestured with his hand. “In good time. I have much more tae tell ye before the point of the tale is reached.”
He continued, relating the events that had led to the Council meeting: Davina’s escape from the Priory where she’d spent her years from the age of eleven and her lost memory. All of this he mentioned, keeping the order of the events that had led to her encounter with Dùghall MacKinnon, and, finally, the terrible drama that unfolded after Davina went alone to the midwife’s house in the village, ending with the death of Murchadh MacKinnon’s men and his struggle with the MacKinnon.
The Council listened in silence as he relayed the details to them, but now, as he drew the story to a close, he was assailed with a babble of voices.
One of the men from the north of Barra hammered his large fist on the table for attention and got to his feet.
“It seems this lass is the source of a possible clash with Clan MacKinnon. Ye’ve told us little of who she is, only that she’s a convent-raised lass. Can ye nay pack her up and send her tae MacKinnon?”
Maxwell, who’d been leaning against the wall behind Everard, keeping his eyes on the Council members, stepped forward and spoke for the first time.
“And let MacKinnon finish what he’d started? Murder the lass? Were ye nae listening tae what me braither told ye?”
The man sat, shaking his head, and another man raised his hand.
“What have ye found out about this lass? Ye’ve nay told us who she is and why it is that MacKinnon was hunting her on Barra.”
Everard stood. “The point of the story, is that the lass we are keeping safe now at Kiessimul, is the daughter of MacKinnon’s late wife. It seems that her birth resulted from infidelity. MacKinnon wishes to rid himself of the sight of her and the constant reminder she brings of his cuckolding.”
Everard heard muttered expletives and the words “Cannae blame a lass who was married to that brute.”
He brought them to order. “Yer remarks are all very well, but I’m proposing that the lass be kept here under me protection. I have nay intention of returning her tae Mull, tae meet a bloody fate. D’ye nae understand? The MacKinnon wishes tae kill her.”
Another grey-hair spoke up. This was a distant cousin from one of the outer islands who Everard had little knowledge of.
“So, what ye’re asking us is tae enable ye tae bring upon us all a clan war waged by the MacKinnons against the MacNeils?”
Once again, voices broke out among the assembly. Everard allowed them to talk among themselves. It was obviously a matter which required discussion among each and every one.
He circled the table, refilling tankards and answering questions.
As the talk continued, Mildred came into the hall and walked quietly to Everard’s side. “Methinks this would be a good time tae provide some nourishment tae the Council.”
Everard nodded. “Thank ye. Mayhap some scran in their bellies will mellow their agitation.”
The maids entered with platters of bannocks, oat-bread, cheeses, apples and honey-cakes and the arguments continued, much subdued, while the Council members ate and drank their fill.
Finally, as all seemed replete from their repast, and those who had left the hall to relieve themselves were again seated, Everard drew the meeting to order.
“As is our custom, now is the time fer each of ye tae have his say in the matter I have put before ye. But…” He held up his hand, and a hush fell over the hall. “There is another issue I wish tae put tae ye. While ye are making yer minds up about the lass, Mistress Davina, who is our guest here at Kiessimul, I ask ye one further question.”
Maxwell raised a questioning eyebrow.
“It is me fervent wish tae wed the lady, and now, I beg the Council tae grant its blessing tae me betrothal.”
A gasp went around the crowd. The loudest gasp from Maxwell. Glancing at Everard, he shook his head as if to say this was a move doomed to failure.
Everard, continued, with words the Council knew well.
“As ye all ken, yer laird may nae wed without the permission of his Clan.” He turned to the first of the men, seated on his right, his uncle George, from the north, the brother of his and Maxwell’s mother, Agnes.
George rose to his feet. “I have many concerns. I dinnae wish tae see our clan clashing wi’ the MacKinnons, yet I willnae agree tae send a lass tae her doom wi’ a cruel man such as Murchadh MacKinnon. So, tae the first of yer requests, I agree.”
Everard breathed his own silent sigh of relief. “And what of me second request?”
His uncle shook his head. “Nay, lad. Although I ken the lass taking the name MacNeil and becoming a member of the clan would provide greater protection fer her from the MacKinnons, I cannae agree tae our laird wedding a lass wi’out family. We dinnae ken her faither. When ye wed, it should be tae the daughter of another clan chief. Not a lass born on the wrong side of the blanket tae an unkenned faither.”
Everard winced at these words.
“Her maither, the late wife of Laird Murchadh MacKinnon was the Lady Sorcha, daughter of Nicol, Laird of Clan Comyn,” he countered. He hoped to convince George and others who may hold similar views, by pointing out Davina’s noble heritage. His heart was pounding, it seemed as if his very soul now depended on the verdict his Council would deliver.
Until the meeting he’d been desperately seeking a way to convince the Council and keep her safe, when, all the time, the solution was simple. He should wed her.
Not only because a marriage would afford her the protection of Clan MacNeil, but because his heart belonged to her. He had given it without realizing, when he’d first brought her to Kiessimul, and every day since.
“I’m sorry nephew, but I cannae grant yer heart’s desire. I will nae agree tae ye wedding this lass.”
Everard took a deep breath. There was naught he could say in response. He counted to ten as he breathed out. He’d used all his words before the assembly and now he must await their judgment.
One by one they progressed around the group. Almost all agreed with Everard’s first proposal – that Davina should be allowed to remain under his protection at Kiessimul. But, apart from one sympathizer, there was universal nay-saying in respect to his request for the Clan blessing his proposal to wed Davina.
With a heavy heart he made his way with Maxwell to the seafront, needing to clear his head and rally his thoughts before the night’s feast with his Council members and their entourage. Feasting together after their meetings was something that usually brought Everard a good deal of pleasure. But tonight, he was not looking forward to sitting with them in the feasting hall, aware that their decision had robbed him of what he desired most. To make Davina his bride.
Maxwell attempted to soothe his ruffled feathers. “I didnae see that comin’ braither, although I willnae deny that Aileen and I saw something happenin’ between that two of ye. And I’m happy fer it and fer ye. They’ll come around in time. Ye’ve only tae wait. In the meantime, mayhap we’ll find the elusive Dùghall MacKinnon and put tae rest our wondering if he is Davina’s true father.”
Everard shook his head. “I dinnae wish tae wait. Yet I cannae wed the lass, fer nay priest will marry us without the approval of the Clan Council.” He ran fingers through his hair, shaking his head, before fixing a determined gaze on his brother. “However, there is one thing I can dae.”
Placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder Maxwell gave a sharp laugh. “I hear ye, braither. Ye’re considering handfasting?”
“Aye, that I am. ‘Tis nay the same as being wed in the chapel by a priest, yet ‘tis still a marriage fer love.”
Maxwell shook his head. “The Council will nay be happy when they find out what ye’ve done. Ye’re defying the Clan.”
Everard shrugged. “They may well be angry, yet many couples are wed fer life wi’out the blessing of a priest.”
“If ye’ll nae wait fer the Council tae change their minds, I understand ye have little choice if ye wish tae make the lady Davina yers.”
“I want nothing more,” Everard said simply.
Maxwell, seeing the determination in his brother’s eyes, could only nod. “Ye have me blessing as yer braither and as yer War Chief. She’s a bonny lass, and I understand yer wish tae make her yers. As fer Mackinnon? ‘Tis hoped he’ll hesitate tae attack her once she’s bound t’ye.” He snorted. “I’ll be by yer side when the Clan Council comes after yer blood.”
“If the lady agrees, we require two witnesses tae make our handfast legal and binding forever. Will ye and Aileen agree take on such a role?”
Maxwell slung an arm around Everard’s shoulders. “T’would be me pleasure braither, and I daresay Aileen will feel as I dae. And when the Council finally agrees, a priest will wed ye in the chapel.”
As the brothers made their way back to the solar, Everard roiled with an unholy mixture of happiness and dread. After all, he’d not yet asked Davina if she would wed with him, and his heart stuttered at the possibility she might refuse him.
He had yet to endure the night’s feast before he could ask her to handfast with him and for her to put him out of his misery by telling him yes.
He was charmed by the sight that met his gaze when they entered the solar.
Aileen was seated in front of the fire, her untouched embroidery on her lap, while Davina softly trilled the strings of the clàrsach , with a soft, sweet, melody.
He put up his hand, smiling, his heart warmed by the smile she sent his way. “Dinnae stop yer playing. “’Yer music is beguiling. It soothes me soul tae hear ye play.”
Davina played until the final notes faded, then she stood and curtsied to Everard.
“Ye have me grateful thanks, me laird. Ne’er did I dream I would receive a gift of such pure magic as this wee clàrsach .”
At once the encroaching misery was whisked away. An idea dawned. Let the Council meet the fair lass they were so against.
“Davina, I’ve nae heard such sweet music. Yer melodies are even more spirited and gracious than even me dear maither once played. Can I prevail upon ye tae play fer us and the Clan Council at the feast tonight?”
Aileen clapped her hands. “Och, that would be a great treat fer us all.”
Davina’s cheeks were pink. “How could I refuse when ye’ve endowed me with this perfect gift. I shall play fer ye tonight and hope there are other souls will enjoy the magic of this bonny clàrsach .”
She smiled at him, her cheeks flushing pink and he turned to liquid at the sparkle in her eyes as she met his gaze.