Page 21

21: LEAVE-TAKING

HEADS BENT AGAINST a flurry of snow, the small party passed through the heavy gates and under the raised portcullis.

However, they found a commotion ensuing in the stable yard beyond.

Slowing her stride, her arm linked through Iver’s, Bonnie’s gaze swept the group of lathered horses and the warriors who sat astride them.

They were shouting at the helmed guards who now encircled them, spears raised.

Bonnie’s brow furrowed.

The newcomers wore clan sashes across their chests—of black and pine-green crosshatching.

She wasn’t familiar with the plaid, yet it seemed Iver was.

His arm stiffened against hers.

“The Douglases,” he murmured.

“Aye.” Beside him, the seneschal’s heavy brow creased into a frown.

“I was worried this would happen.”

“Where is the king?” One of the warriors yelled then, his angry voice cutting through the howl of the wind.

“Why does he not come out here and face us?”

Some of his companions thrust their fists into the air and shouted.

“Jamais Arriere!”

“Never behind,” Iver translated the French.

“It’s their clan motto.”

The warrior who’d demanded to see the king spied the approaching party then.

His gaze speared the seneschal.

“Stewart!” he boomed, swinging down from his courser.

“And where is our ruler? Ashamed to come out and face those he has wronged?”

“Calm yerself, Brogan,” Duncan greeted him, drawing to a halt a couple of yards back from the knot of horsemen.

“I don’t want any more blood spilled within these walls.”

The warrior, big and broad with close-cropped black hair, scowled.

“I shall not ‘calm’ myself.” He then went to move to his horse’s rear end and plucked something he’d pinned to its tail.

Crossing the remaining few yards between him and the seneschal, he then thrust what looked like a sealed roll of parchment at him.

Stewart took it, his expression shuttered.

“What’s this?”

“Letters of safe conduct.” Brogan Douglas’s mouth twisted, and he spat on the ground.

He then turned on his heel, glaring up at the keep that loomed to the north.

“Yer promises are worth horse shit!” he roared into the wind, clearly hoping the king was listening at one of the windows above.

“Hear this, ye lowland fazart … from this moment forward, clan Douglas disavows our oaths to ye and yer house!”

“Well, that was pleasant.” Lennox removed his cloak inside the entrance hall to the castle and shook off the snowflakes.

Bonnie tensed. They’d left the seneschal and the Stirling Guard to deal with the angry Douglases and retreated indoors.

Yet there was something in Lennox’s voice that made her wonder if his sarcasm was directed at the incident they’d just witnessed or the wedding ceremony.

It could have been either—since Iver’s brother hadn’t smiled all morning.

She hadn’t spent any time with the man, yet if her first impressions were correct, Lennox wasn’t at all like his elder brother.

Both were quick-witted, yet there was an edge to Lennox.

Like Iver, he was tall and strongly built, with penetrating midnight-blue eyes and striking features.

However, his hair was dark blond rather than pale and cut short in an aggressive style that suited his unfriendly demeanor.

Iver heaved a sigh and turned to his brother.

“We all knew a reprisal was coming,” he replied, his brow furrowing.

“I fear this is just the beginning of things.” His attention shifted to Bonnie then, and his expression softened.

“I like the snowdrops in yer hair.” Lennox made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, yet Iver ignored him.

“The color of the shawl suits ye too … as I knew it would.” He paused, his mouth lifting at the corners.

“But ye will need to dress warmly today, for the weather is turning against us.” He took off his heavy woolen cloak and wrapped it about her shoulders.

“But won’t ye need this?” Bonnie murmured, even as she pulled the cloak close.

It smelled of pine and leather, and of him.

Iver’s mouth quirked.

“Fear not, I have a fur mantle upstairs.” He glanced over at Lennox once more.

“Tell Campbell, we’re ready to leave.”

His brother favored him with a curt nod and stalked off.

Iver watched him go, a crease forming between his brows.

“I don’t think he’s happy about all of this,” Bonnie murmured when Lennox was out of earshot.

Iver gave a soft snort.

“No, he isn’t. But don’t worry about Len. He just has to get used to the idea, that’s all.” He shifted his focus back to her, his brow smoothing.

He then gave her the same slow, sensual smile he had after their wedding ceremony before he reached out and brushed a lock of hair off her face.

“Gather yer things, Bonnie … soon Stirling will be behind us.”

And so it was that Bonnie left Stirling Castle.

The fortress—where she’d been born, where she’d spent five and twenty years—was no longer her home.

Over the years, she’d ventured outside its walls to visit the riverside market in Stirling town or to celebrate one of the fire festivals.

But she’d never ridden through the gates on horseback before.

Indeed, she’d never ridden a horse.

Perched in front of her husband, her back nestled against the warm strength of his chest, Bonnie felt like pinching herself.

Was this real?

It was as if she were looking down on herself from above, as if she were living a scene from one of the tales she’d heard as a bairn—of a dashing laird sweeping a maid off her feet and carrying her away to his castle.

The snow fell heavily now, fat flakes from a pewter-colored sky, and worry fluttered up within Bonnie.

Should they have delayed their departure?

However, Iver was set upon leaving this morning—and she knew why, for she too felt the same urgency.

His proposal and their marriage had both been swift, and so would her leaving be.

In the wake of William Douglas’s murder, tension lingered within Stirling Castle.

The king likely didn’t know about Iver’s hasty marriage yet.

Iver would want to leave before James started asking any awkward questions.

Nonetheless, she couldn’t imagine the king cared, especially at present.

Bonnie glanced over her shoulder then, her gaze traveling to the crowd of servants who’d come out to see them go.

Huddled against the cold, they watched the party of twelve—the Campbell and the Mackay lairds and their escorts—ride out of the stable yard toward the gates.

Duncan Stewart stood near the front.

Catching her eye, he raised his hand in farewell.

However, unlike after the wedding ceremony, the seneschal didn’t smile.

Instead, his expression was somber.

Bonnie’s throat constricted.

She hoped Duncan didn’t regret helping her.

Her gaze then flicked to where Ainslie stood a few feet back from the seneschal.

The two women’s gazes met, and the ache in Bonnie’s throat intensified.

After their conversation in the laundry, she’d avoided Ainslie.

She’d thought she wouldn’t wish her well, and yet—to her surprise—the head laundress smiled at her.

Bonnie swallowed before returning the smile.

Maybe she was wrong.

Perhaps Ainslie was happy for her, after all.

Her attention shifted from Ainslie—and her smile faded when she spied her aunt and cousins amongst the crowd.

Bonnie swept her gaze over the three women one last time.

Her kin.

Jaw clenched, her faded straw-colored hair whipping in the wind, Bonnie’s aunt stood tall and stiff, clutching a woolen shawl about her shoulders.

The resentment in Lorna’s stare was palpable.

Likewise, Morag glowered at Bonnie, as if hoping that the force of her glare would strike her from her horse.

Bonnie was relieved to be beyond both their reach.

Drawing in a deep breath, she finally glanced over at Alba.

As expected, there was no hostility in Alba’s gaze.

All the same, she didn’t look happy.

The lass’s brow was furrowed, her face flushed, and she was blinking as if she was close to tears.

Maybe her relationship with her cousin might have been different over the years if Alba wasn’t so influenced by her mother and sister.

Even so, Bonnie wouldn’t forget how Alba had stood up for her in the kitchens.

Their gazes fused, and Bonnie smiled.

A moment later, she mouthed the words, Find yer fortune.

She hoped that Alba would break away from her mother and sister’s oppressive influence.

Nodding to her cousin, Bonnie turned from the watching crowd and focused on the gate that loomed before her.

Alba Fraser’s gaze tracked Bonnie through the fluttering snow as she neared the archway that led out of the castle.

Seated before that handsome laird, her cousin looked like a princess.

She had snowdrops woven through her fiery hair.

A short while earlier, as they sat around the table in the kitchens, Alba had learned the laird’s name was Iver Mackay, and that he ruled a large tract of land on the Kintyre peninsula.

And Mackay was a sight indeed.

Alba had never seen a man so striking, with his pale-blond hair cascading over the heavy wolfskin cloak he wore.

She remembered watching them dance together at the ball and seeing how taken Mackay had been with the fire-haired woman who twirled around him.

Alba’s heart started to kick painfully against her ribs then.

Even now, she still reeled at her cousin’s audacity.

Bonnie had done what none of them would have dared to, and after the seneschal had escorted the disgraced chambermaid from the kitchens the day before, Lorna had crowed.

“Finally, that wee bastard will get her due.” She’d flashed her daughters a wide smile then.

“We shall make sure we’re at the front of the crowd when she receives her flogging.”

Her mother’s viciousness had upset Alba, yet Morag had laughed.

Neither of them noted that the rest of the kitchen had gone silent—that the other servants viewed them with a jaundiced eye.

But Lorna’s jubilation had ended this morning.

Her mother had made strange choking sounds after hearing the news.

Meanwhile, Morag had fallen silent, her features pinching.

However, Alba hadn’t quite believed it was true.

It was only when she witnessed Mackay lift Bonnie into the saddle before him that she realized it was actually happening.

Her cousin was leaving them all behind.

She was a laird’s wife.

She would soon preside over her own household, command her own servants.

Longing reared up in Alba’s chest then, so strong and swift that she stifled a gasp.

How she wished Bonnie was taking her with her.

An instant later, her vision blurred as tears stung her eyelids.

Find yer fortune .

Aye, it was fine advice indeed, yet Alba had no idea where to start looking.