CHAPTER FOUR
T he feasting and drinking continued late into the night; the wine coursing through the guests’ veins lowered almost any inhibition the guests had. The men got rowdy, the women, lightheaded.
“Can ye hand me the platter of fish, please,” Paige said quietly.
“Finally, ye’re makin’ sense,” Ruben muttered while reaching for the platter.
Outside, a violent storm battered the hall, the rain splattering on the walls, the wind made the shutters vibrate and snap. Yet with the music and chatter, no one inside, no one seemed to notice.
When Galan left the dais to dance, Ruben kept his eyes on his sister: Norah had settled herself into a corner with a platter of sweet tarts and wine. Most of the men, warriors, were getting rowdy but he could see Galan was keeping to his word and between dances, was watching over her.
It was his wedding night, Ruben knew he was expected to be as drunk as any of the men here, yet he refrained; he wanted to be lucid.
He was a warrior first, a laird, so he knew he had to keep his head about him.
Moreover, he was in enemy territory, and the tentative peace they had brokered was still as fragile as flax rope.
Near midnight, the men and women rose to their feet, pushing the tables to one side as the music got louder.
“Do ye dance?” she asked.
“Nae much,” he said as the men and women began a lively reel. He cocked his head, assessing her body stance. “If ye want to dance, ye can go.”
She drew in her bottom lip and gazed at the people around them. When she released her lip, it glistened wet under the light from the chandeliers. His blood heated again.
“I think I will,” she said while pushing away from the table.
Now, he had two lasses to keep his eyes on. His gaze flittered to Norah, she was still in her place and he reminded himself to go and talk with her before she went to bed.
Relieved to get away from the intensity that was Ruben Miller, Paige had barely descended the dais’ stairs when someone claimed her hand.
Alick Fell was an older man, a retired warrior and a part of her father’s council. His hair touched with silver at the temples and his brown eyes gleamed in the light.
“May I have the honor of yer first dance, me lady?” he asked.
Paige smiled, “Aye, Alick. Ye can.”
Alick limped slightly as he danced, though that did not slow him down. She put her hand in his and let him lead her into the middle of the group as the tune turned lilting.
In place to dance, the villagers began to clap in time, Alick caught her hands in his and they spun around together. The beat was catching, and she matched his steps.
She’d loved dancing from childhood, always felt the music as alive as the air she breathed and the river that rushed pell-mell in the woods behind the manor house. As the dance got wilder, she found herself laughing aloud with the pleasure of it.
As she spun, she caught sight of her new husband’s assessing gaze—turned away. He was not even looking at her.
“Is McKinnon as bad as they say he is?” Alick asked as they spun.
“I—” she had to pause. “I daenae ken him that well yet.”
As much as she had called him a murderer and despised what he had done to her home, Paige did not want to badmouth him to anyone else. Her umbrage with McKinnon stayed between her and McKinnon.
The touch to her backside startled her but she dismissed it as a mistake. The first time. After another spin it happened again and she wondered if it was intentional.
By the third time, Alick was brazen enough to cup her backside. She was ready to push Alick away and leave the floor—when Alick was ripped away from her.
Ruben’s order to Alick was bone-chilling. “Enough.”
Alick looked to argue but the expression on the warlord’s face chilled Paige to her bones, even though she was not in the wrong. Wisely, Alick bowed and scurried away like a wounded mutt with its tail between its legs.
With how angered Ruben was, she expected steam would shoot from his ears any moment. As ridiculous as it sounded, such a display would ruin the glee of the celebrants, who were already circling the hall in their joyous, foot-stamping dance.
“Me laird?—”
He held her left wrist tightly and pulled her in like a fish on a line. He growled, “Were ye flirtin’ with him on purpose?”
“N-nay,” she stammered. “I would never do such a thing.”
She was keenly aware of the strength of her husband’s hands and the warmth of his gaze. Though his hold barely touched her, the fire that raced up her wrist made her shiver, hot and cold at the same time.
His breath brushed her ear in a low growl. “Remember who ye belong to now.”
Paige lifted her chin. “I will never belong to ye.”
She was breathless as the tune wound to a close, and he spun her into his arms when the music began again. He reached over and took her hand in his. “We’ll see about that.”
A man with a bone whistle joined the harpist as they leaped and spun, stamped their feet and clapped their hands.
Despite him saying he did not dance much, Ruben was a magnificent dancer.
He did not show any weariness, his breath still steady as he finished the leaping, whirling dance.
His broad, well-muscled chest was rising and falling as easily as if he’d taken a walk instead.
The blaze of the fires around the room made his skin gleam like burnished bronze. In the golden haze in the room, he looked gloriously divine, Lugh reincarnated. A blush swept up her neck, staining her cheeks and her heart thundered.
He danced with an intensity she always felt from him since she’s met him. She had thought he wanted nothing to do with her—but then he’d become so possessive and protective of her, it made her head spin.
What does this man want?
While catching her breath, she saw other men hesitant in approaching her. She wondered why, until she caught sight of her husband’s stern eye trained on them. When the men did approach her, it was to give them their best wishes and kiss the back of her hand. Certainly, no more dances.
Was it too early for her to suppose he did not want her but did not want anyone else to come near her either?
Think of it as a man’s perspective, a proud Scot’s perspective. He could nae let anyone disrespect his new wife and do nothin’ about it.
They danced another three times before Paige had to cry exhaustion and that she needed to rest.
Steering her away from the dancers, he said, “Yer faither has arranged for a marital bedroom for us—” Paige felt every drop of blood drain from her face. Ruben slid an eye to her. “—but I will nae be using it as intended. Nae here, nae now.”
“Meanin’—” she swallowed, “—ye will be usin’ another bed?”
“Aye,” he said as they left the main hall. The sudden quiet jarred her. “But at me home.”
The thought of being intimate with the man she despised made her tremble deep down inside. Her face must have shown her fear as the brute chuckled. “Drop yer shoulders lass, I never touch unwillin’ women.”
“Ye will never touch me,” she promised him.
His hand caged her chin again while a wicked emotion danced in his eyes. “I am sure I can change yer mind in a sennight.”
She pulled away, half-repulsed, half-fearful. “I will never let ye.”
With those words, she fled to her rooms and even though he did not chase after her, she slammed the door close and shot the bolt in place. Trembling, she backed away from the doorway until her back met the other wall.
Overwhelmed, she sunk to the floor, trembling. Frantic, her eyes darted to the window, and she lurched up to fling the window open. The rain had petered off and though it was pitch dark, she could see the wet ground.
Did she dare escape? It would be so easy to knot her bedsheets into a rope, clamber down and run. But to where and with what?
She stepped away, her head shaking. “A coward’s way out. And the king would probably send men to hunt me down, to boot.”
Her eyes dropped to the packed trunks at her door waiting to be transferred to a wagon or a carriage. Over a chair to her left, was a thick woolen travelling dress, ready for the journey on the morrow.
“Chin up,” she reminded herself. “Of all the times to be strong, ye’ve never needed strength like this before.”