Page 17 of Marry the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #1)

CHAPTER 17

Conall looked at his reflection in the small mirror in his quarters, scowled, adjusted his torc, and brushed back a stray lock of hair for what felt like the hundredth time that day. The wedding ceremony would begin in just over a candlemark, and he wanted to look his best—as much as it was possible, that was, with the scar that marked his face and tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He was hardly ashamed of his scar—and he certainly wasn’t a man given to fretting over his appearance, which he rarely gave so much as a thought—but he did wish, at that moment, that it was slightly less prominent. Or that it was older, more weathered and less visible. As it was, the scar was still a livid line across his cheek and an all-too-apparent reminder of the worst moments in his life, which had conspired to bring him to this day.

A knock on the door made him turn away from the looking glass, relieved by the interruption.

Oliver was standing on the other side, also dressed in his formal tartan—the same outfit he’d worn for his wedding to Emily. His face might be unmarked by scars, but it was marred nevertheless by the heavy expression of sullen anger and suspicion that he’d worn ever since their brother had died. An expression that had only intensified following Brigid’s arrival in his life. Sometimes Conall wondered if he would ever see his brother smile again.

Oliver was rarely one to waste words, and this time was no different. “There’s still time for ye to change yer mind, Conall,” he said without preamble, not waiting for an invitation before stepping into his brother’s chamber.

“I ken. But there’s nay reason I’d wish to change my mind, much as I ken ye wish I would.”

Conall strove to keep his tone civil and his temper under control. Today of all days, he did not want to argue with his brother by letting his demons get the better of him, but he had to admit that he was growing weary of Oliver’s continued hostility toward Brigid—and to himself.

“Conall, she’s Auchter’s blood,” Oliver began, repeating a refrain he’d spoken many times now in the lead-up to the wedding. “And ye ken full well that the old man didnae want a marriage truce with ye. He’d rather see us all dead and buried.” His voice was low, intense, and sharp. His eyes burned, his hatred for Eric Holdenson and Clan Auchter clear in every word. “The lass is likely just part of another trap of his. Ye cannae be too careful when it comes to Holdenson. I’m beggin’ ye to reconsider.”

Conall took a deep breath before he spoke, drowning the embers of anger that wanted to spark in iron discipline.

“I dinnae ken whether to be insulted on my own behalf that ye think I’d nae spot a trap set by that old bastard, or offended on my bride’s behalf that ye think she’s easily led and treacherous. Or maybe I should just be angry for us both?” he said, with a sharpness that should have served as a warning.

“She has three sisters who might act on her behalf, even if she’s honest enough,” Oliver retorted in a tone that suggested he did believe Brigid was treacherous but wasn’t foolish enough to say it outright. “If one of them should dare to?—”

“If one of them acts in a way we deem to be a threat to the clan, we’ll react as the situation merits,” Conall replied, remaining calm with some effort. “Until then, they’re guests of Clan MacKane, an’ my wife-to-be’s kin. I’ll nae have them threatened or treated like enemies, Oliver. Nae until they prove they are.”

Oliver said no more, but he continued to look unconvinced.

Conall sighed. He didn’t want to fight with his brother on his wedding day of all days, but he felt as if he was being given no option. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand Oliver’s anger or, indeed, share it. He’d felt the same dark rage himself the day before, when Laird Auchter showed up at his gates. But he was chagrined to see his brother lose himself to his hatred, so much so that there were times when Conall barely even recognized him.

He stepped forward and placed a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “I ken why ye’re worried, Brother. And I appreciate that ye’re makin’ such efforts to watch out for me—I do. But I dinnae want the hate and suspicion we feel toward Holdenson to consume our lives. It would make us just like him, and I’ll nae give him that victory—nor any other I can avoid.”

After a moment, Oliver relaxed, and some of the coldness left his eyes, though the wariness remained.

“I understand,” he said. “Or I suppose I can try to understand. Or to accept, if understandin’ proves to be beyond me. But dinnae expect it to happen overnight.” He looked away. “I still want vengeance for our brother, and this wedding…”

Conall smirked. “I ken. But consider this, Oliver—Auchter never claimed his daughter’s children. Nay clan has claimed them. But they have enough skills, or they’d never have survived when Blackwood passed. By marryin’ Brigid, we can bring all four of them into the clan. Three intelligent, pretty young lasses who can help our clan prosper. And if they choose to wed, and perhaps bring alliances as well…”

Oliver blinked. “Ye think they’ll join Clan MacKane when ye wed the lass, an’ they’ll help cripple Auchter either by marryin’ or by whatever other skills they might possess?”

“Aye.” Conall shrugged.

He’d originally offered Brigid marriage as a form of vengeance, though he’d not shared this plan with Oliver. A way to force the old man to honor the truce, or face scorn for attacking his kin by marriage.

His reasons for choosing Brigid to be his wife might have changed since then, but that didn’t mean he no longer wanted vengeance or that he wouldn’t use any opportunity to punish Holdenson. And if he could punish his enemy by a method that used his own bitterness and spite and folly against him—a far better form of vengeance than needless bloodshed, as far as Conall was concerned—then so much the better.

Though perhaps Oliver felt differently. He and his brother had different temperaments, after all. Conall studied his brother’s face, wishing he knew what the younger man was thinking.

Oliver had calmed down by now, and some of the anger had faded from his features, but he still didn’t look remotely happy, and Conall wasn’t sure he ever would.

He sighed. “If ye dinnae wish to stand beside me today, Oliver, I will understand,” he said quietly. “Ye’re my only remainin’ brother, and I want ye beside me, where ye belong, but I willnae force ye if ye feel it’s too much.”

“Nay.” Oliver shook his head firmly. “I’ll be at yer side. ’Tis my place, and I wouldnae want anyone else to stand with ye.”

His mouth turned up ever so slightly at one corner—the closest he came to a smile these days.

“I may nae agree with every decision ye make, and I willnae pretend I dinnae have concerns, but despite all that, ye are my brother. I will stand with ye when ye wed.” He paused for a moment. “Besides, Emily promised I’d nae see the outside of a privy for a fortnight if I were foolish enough to let my feelings about Auchter get in the way of supportin’ ye today. And ye ken as well as I do that ye should never get on the wrong side of a healer.”

Conall laughed and saw some of the tension leave Oliver’s shoulders. “Och, and she’d make good on that threat, I’m sure.” He clapped his brother on the shoulder. “I ken ye speak from concern for me, and I appreciate it. But just for today, I would appreciate it if ye could keep yer thoughts to yerself, aye?”

“Aye.” Oliver nodded. His gaze flicked over Conall’s clothing. “Yer sash isnae straight.”

Conall swore and turned back to the mirror. “I just…”

Oliver chuckled and came over to help him, and Conall felt something in his gut settle—some knot he hadn’t noticed before.

He might not always show it, but he did not doubt that Oliver was on his side. And with his brother at his back, he could handle anything… including marriage.

“Och, ye look so lovely, Brigid. An’ this dress… ’tis elegant work.” Valerie looked up from a critical examination of Brigid’s wedding dress, her eyes shining with approval. “Ye finally learned the sewin’ skills I tried to teach ye, I see.”

Brigid blushed with pleasure. “I still dinnae sew as well as ye do, Valerie, but I did my best. And Emily helped me with the stitching. She’s been a good friend to me.”

“And she’s a skilled hand, too.”

Valerie slid delicate, experienced fingers over the stitching of the intricate knots that decorated the hem and sleeves of the pale green dress.

“And with more than just needle and thread,” Lily agreed.

Brigid had introduced her sisters to Clan MacKane’s healer over the evening meal, and Lily and Emily had enjoyed a long discussion about medicinal herbs and preparations, just as Brigid had hoped they would.

“She has much skill in herb lore as well. I hope to have some time to learn from her.”

They hadn’t discussed Conall’s offer to welcome them into Clan MacKane yet. Brigid knew her sisters were considering their choices, and the merits and dangers of both returning home and choosing to remain in the clan. She knew what she hoped her sisters would choose, but she also knew better than to try to press them one way or another. They would make up their own minds, in their own time, and there was little she could do to hasten or influence their decision.

Valerie tugged at the hem of the dress to straighten it, then rose to brush imaginary specks of lint off Brigid’s shoulders.

Lily finished styling Brigid’s hair, which had ribbons of emerald green—to match Brigid’s eyes, she said—and Clan MacKane colors wound through it in intricate braids, topped with a woven flower crown that reminded Brigid of the ones she used to make as a child.

“There. Ye’re all ready,” Lily said, standing back to examine her youngest sister, a look of intense pride on her face.

A lump formed in Brigid’s throat, unexpected tears pricking her eyes. Tears of happiness, tears of nervousness, and tears she couldn’t quite find a name for. Nostalgia, perhaps.

I wish Mama and Father were here today to see this. To be with me. I dinnae ken if Father would have wanted to give me away, but even if he didnae, just havin’ him here would have meant everything to me. And his men would have made a merry rabble among the guests, I ken, but I’d still welcome them. And him. And Mama’s smile…

Brigid took a deep breath and set those thoughts aside. She knew if she spent any more time thinking about her absent parents, she would start crying in earnest, and today was not a day for tears—unless, of course, they were happy ones.

It was her wedding day, a day she had never even dared to dream of. And her father might not be here to give her away, but she would walk down the aisle with her sisters at her side, until Megan and Valerie took their places as her witnesses, and Lily would give her to Conall in their father’s place.

Her oldest sister leaned in to wrap her in a warm embrace. “Ye can still leave if ye want to,” she reminded her, her voice low and serious.

“I ken, Lily,” Brigid said, smiling. “But I dinnae… I just… I dinnae ken… I’m happy, but…” she trailed off, realizing she had no hope of articulating the myriad of emotions that flooded her at that moment.

“’Tis all right,” Lily assured her, giving her a quick hug, careful not to disturb her dress as she did so. “’Tis understandable. Ye’re beginnin’ a new life in less than a candlemark.”

She patted her sister’s shoulder reassuringly until the odd tremors and the heat in her eyes receded.

A gentle knock sounded at the door before a maid appeared.

“My Ladies, the ceremony is ready to begin,” she said, doing her best to sound solemn as the occasion demanded, although her eyes shone with excitement.

The wedding of the Laird was an important event in the history of MacKane Castle, and no one in it was immune to the festive atmosphere that seemed to radiate from its very walls.

Brigid gave a nod and took a shaky breath to ground herself.

“Well,” she said with a nervous smile, then took in each of her sisters. “I suppose we’d better go.”

“Aye,” Lily said, stepping forward to take her arm and grinning reassuringly at her. “I suppose we should.”

Megan and Valerie fell into step behind them as they made their way down the long hall outside Brigid’s chamber and then downstairs to the antechamber that had been decorated for the wedding ceremony. They didn’t speak as they walked, but Brigid was grateful for the pressure of Lily’s hand on her arm and the comforting presence of her other two siblings, who stayed close behind them.

The doors to the room were closed as they reached them, but Brigid could hear the murmur of voices inside as Conall’s people—his council, his clan, and his kin—awaited her arrival.

And soon, they will be my people, too.

The sounds from the antechamber quieted, and then bagpipes began to play as the large wooden doors swung open, held by footmen wearing ceremonial dress.

Brigid took another deep breath, her hand tightening on Lily’s elbow, and took the first tentative step forward, toward the beginning of the life she had chosen a few days ago.