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30: THE WEDDING GIFT

IT WASN’T THE best weather for a wedding—clouds still enshrouded Dun Ugadale and a misty rain fell in a fine veil across the land—yet Davina didn’t care.

She couldn’t stop smiling as she stood upon the stone step before the kirk, her hands clasped in Lennox’s.

Likewise, he smiled down at her, their gazes never wavering while Father Ross spoke the words that bound them.

Meanwhile, a small party gathered before the kirk: Lennox’s brothers, Bonnie, Sheena, and a few servants from the broch, including Cory, the cook.

Some of the villagers had also approached the kirk as the bell tolled.

Rosy-cheeked women, woolen shawls wrapped around their shoulders, looked on as Lennox spoke his vows, and Davina followed suit.

And then, Father Ross’s gravelly voice carried through the misty rain.

“I now pronounce ye husband and wife.”

The priest unwrapped the ribbon of Mackay plaid that he’d knotted around their joined hands and stepped back, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Go on, Lennox … give yer wife a kiss.”

Laughter erupted amongst the watching crowd, although Lennox paid none of them any mind.

Instead, he stepped forward and gathered Davina in his arms. His smile softened to an intimate, tender expression that made her pulse stutter.

This man kept up a front most of the time yet was capable of such deep emotion.

And now, he wasn’t afraid to show it.

“With pleasure,” he murmured.

And then his mouth slanted across hers.

The kiss drew out as he bent Davina back.

She was vaguely aware of his brothers’ cheers and catcalls, and when Lennox finally released her, heat flamed across her cheeks.

He put an arm around her shoulders, whispering in her ear.

“Ye look lovely, angel … dressed in red with golden buttercups in yer hair.”

Davina leaned into him.

“Ye can thank yer mother and sister-by-marriage for that,” she replied.

Indeed, with Sheena and Bonnie’s help, her wedding gown was something to behold.

Bonnie had even ventured out, not letting the light rain hinder her, and picked buttercups from the hills surrounding the broch.

She’d then woven the golden-yellow flowers, which matched the kirtle Davina wore under her surcote, through Davina’s black hair.

The final effect made her look as if she wore a fairy queen’s crown.

Turning, they faced the gathering waiting before the kirk.

Iver and Bonnie stood together near the front, their faces alive with joy—and Davina’s throat constricted.

“I really am part of yer family now,” she whispered to her husband.

“Aye,” he replied huskily, his grip on her tightening.

“Davina Mackay.”

The thunder of approaching hoofbeats intruded then, penetrating the circle of smiles and laughter in front of the kirk.

Davina stiffened against Lennox while she peered through the swirling mist. Likewise, Iver, Kerr, and Brodie drew the dirks they carried at their waist. She knew it was just a precaution, yet the sight made Davina’s heart kick against her ribs—and when horses and riders emerged from the fog, her skin prickled.

There was something about the way the lead rider crouched low over his horse’s neck, his coal-black hair, laced with grey, streaming behind him, that was familiar.

Her breath hitched before she gasped.

“Da!”

Next to her, Lennox whispered a curse.

Colin Campbell was riding at a gallop, yet upon spying the rickety fence that encircled the kirk and the graveyard surrounding it, he pulled his courser up.

The poor beast was lathered, its nostrils flaring.

Likewise, the band of men that followed the Lord of Glenorchy drew their mounts to a halt.

Davina recognized her father’s guard—Hamish and the others who’d escorted her to Iona.

They all dismounted, and then Campbell untied something from behind his saddle before striding toward the wedding party.

Davina’s gaze remained fixed upon her father.

She’d thought never to see him again, but here he was, sweat-stained, his clothing wet from riding.

Her belly clenched then, for his expression was formidable.

“Colin.” Iver stepped away from Bonnie and moved forward to greet him.

“I’ve been expecting ye.”

“Apologies for not responding to yer missives, Mackay,” Campbell growled halting a few yards back from the laird.

“However, other matters have held my attention of late.” His gaze cut to where Davina still stood, at Lennox’s side, upon the step of the kirk.

“I finally make it to Dun Ugadale and ride up to the broch … only to discover there’s a wedding taking place this morning. What’s this, daughter?”

Davina readied herself to answer.

But Lennox spoke first. “There is indeed a wedding, Colin … Davina’s and mine.” His voice was level, yet Davina caught the wary edge to it.

Who knew how her father would react?

Queasiness rolled over Davina.

There was no other response Lennox could give, but knowing her father’s volatile temperament, it was best to brace themselves for the worst.

Campbell’s heavy brow furrowed, his broad shoulders bunching.

Behind him, his men’s faces, even Hamish’s, were grim.

“Is that so?”

“Aye.” Davina found her tongue then.

“Ye are just in time to offer us yer well-wishes, Da.” She kept her voice light, even as her pulse went wild.

Cold sweat beaded on her skin.

Heavens help her, she was cursed.

It was as if Fortuna delighted in throwing obstacles in her path.

Would her father fly into a rage?

Would he draw his dirk and try to kill Lennox, as he had Blair?

He was capable of it.

Breathing hard, her father lifted the sack he’d untied from behind his saddle, holding it aloft.

Davina’s gaze seized upon it, her stomach roiling when she saw dark stains—blood—soaked through the coarse material.

“I bring ye a wedding gift then,” he ground out.

He then threw the sack at them.

It landed on the ground before the steps to the kirk.

The top wasn’t secured and so the object within rolled out onto the muddy ground.

A severed head.

Gasps went up around them, the women placing horrified hands to their mouths, while the men muttered curses.

It was already decaying, and bloodied, yet the face—twisted into a grotesque expression—was still recognizable.

Bile surged, stinging the back of Davina’s throat.

Dizziness assailed her, and she grasped Lennox’s arm.

It had gone as hard as iron under her grip, betraying his shock.

“Brogan Douglas.” Lennox’s gaze never left the grisly trophy.

“Ye caught him then?”

“Aye.” Her father’s tone was triumphant.

“I wasn’t going to let that sack of shit rob my daughter of her dowry. After the lads returned to Kilchurn, we set out north and picked up his trail once more.” His gaze glittered.

“And eventually, we found him.”

Silence followed these words, while Campbell met Davina’s gaze.

“He’d already handed the coin over to his treasonous cousin … but I took my vengeance nonetheless.” He paused then, his face twisting as if he was in pain.

“I did it for ye, lass.”

Davina swallowed.

“Thank ye, Da.” Her heart was still pounding, and she felt sick to her stomach, but something in her father’s voice eased the dread that twisted her insides.

Was she imagining it, or was Colin Campbell trying to apologize?

“I’m glad ye found him,” Lennox said, his tone still guarded.

“And I hope his death wasn’t a clean one.”

Campbell flashed him a violent smile, showing his teeth.

“No.” He moved forward then, ignoring where Iver, Kerr, and Brodie all stood, dirks still drawn, watching him.

Instead, Campbell’s gaze speared Lennox’s.

“Ye abandoned yer post, Mackay,” he rumbled.

“Ye swore an oath to me, or have ye forgotten?”

“No,” Lennox replied quietly.

“I haven’t.”

“So, what say ye?”

Lennox stared back at Davina’s father, the air between them crackling as if lightning were about to strike.

“I made a choice, Colin,” he replied.

“Davina was in trouble. The abbess at Iona denied her entry, and she was going to remain in Oban and try to scratch a living on her own. I couldn’t let her do that. I had to protect her.”

Davina watched her father’s brows knit together, watched a storm brewing in his blue eyes.

“She could have come home.”

“No,” Davina said softly.

“Ye turned yer back on me, Da … do ye not remember?”

Her father’s gaze shifted to her, his heavy features tightening.

“Lass,” he said hoarsely.

“I made a mistake … I’m sorry.”

Davina started.

She couldn’t believe it; her father was apologizing.

He knew he’d erred. This was the first time he’d ever humbled himself before her.

It was shocking.

Campbell glanced back at Lennox then.

“So, ye brought Davina back here and wed her, to protect her?” There was no mistaking the challenge in his voice.

“No,” Lennox replied, his own tone hardening.

“I married her because I love her.”

Whatever her father had been expecting to hear, it wasn’t this.

His eyes widened, and a nerve jumped in his cheek.

Moments passed, while the rain fell in a silent veil around them.

None of those looking on uttered a word, and Davina was grateful.

They’d reached a crossroads now.

Everything depended on what happened next.

Campbell’s attention moved back to her then, his gaze questioning.

“Didn’t ye swear never to wed?” he reminded her, his tone gruff.

“I did,” she replied, her mouth curving ruefully.

“But just like ye, Da, I discovered I was mistaken about a few things.” His grizzled eyebrows raised at her pert response, yet she continued.

“Lennox has helped me open the doors to the cage I built for myself.” She glanced at her husband then, to find his gaze upon her, his eyes gleaming.

“He accepts me, loves me, for who I am, just as I am.”

Davina broke off then, focusing on her father once more.

Tension gathered in her chest as she waited for his answer.

Campbell’s gaze narrowed further as he surveyed her.

“Ye are different,” he rumbled.

“Ye remind me of how ye used to be … before …” He cleared his throat then before dragging a hand over his face.

Suddenly, her father looked older, tired.

“I know ye think I’m a heartless beast, lass … but I do care what happens to ye. Sending ye away broke my heart.”

Something splintered within Davina at these words.

She let go of Lennox’s arm and descended the kirk steps.

Four strides brought her around Brogan Douglas’s severed head, and then she threw herself into her father’s arms.

He stank of sweat, wet wool, and leather.

His big body stiffened in surprise before his arms went about her, squeezing tight.

“Careful, lass,” he said hoarsely, “or ye’ll dirty yer pretty gown.”

Davina snorted a laugh as she wrapped her arms around his barrel chest. “I don’t care about that,” she replied.

And she didn’t. He was her father, and despite everything, she loved him.

“I’m glad ye are here, Da.” Her voice roughened as she drew back and tilted up her head, her gaze meeting his.

“Will ye stay awhile?”

He stared down at her, his heavy features softening. “Aye, lass.”