Page 3 of Rescued By the Highland Warrior (Highland Whispers of Love #1)

CHAPTER THREE

T he feast had commenced in the castle’s main dining area, a long rectangular room with high stone walls that held the echoes of merry tunes, clinking chalices, and joyous laughter. Everyone was in attendance for Roderick and Moira’s betrothal feast.

Moira, who much preferred the silence and calculated whispers of her own inner thoughts, knew that she was going to have to feign a certain enthusiasm and openness that she wasn’t in the mood for. As she padded quietly down the stairs, toward the open dining room in the center of the first floor of the castle, she steeled herself for the evening ahead.

The sounds of the party, the feast in her honor, reached her ears before her eyes observed the jolly scene.

In the center of the dining area was a long, wooden table, its surface covered by a tartan table cloth, and flickering candelabras casting a warm glow. Large platters of food, wild boar and buttered neeps and tatties, caught her eyes first.

Roderick sat at the table’s head, and to his right was a vacant seat, an oak throne with an intricately carved high-back.

She weaved easily past the chatting guests, dancing couples, and enthusiastic bagpipers, drummers and fiddlers, as for the most part they didn’t recognize her yet.

Moira mustered her most cheerful smile, locking eyes with Roderick first and then Lady Fraser who beckoned her over immediately, the beginnings of a wine-induced flush already spread across her cheeks.

“Aye, lass,” she called over the noise, “how bonnie ye look in yer dress!”

“Thank ye kindly,” Moira responded, her smile widening at the compliment.

Roderick stood and pulled out the seat for Moira, between his and his mother’s, opting for a smile rather than an embrace. He watched her silently.

In truth, dressing the part had been easy, it was when it came to talking where she would have to be more careful.

“It isnae anythin’ short o’ a wonderful evenin’,” Moira said, her words smooth as she glanced at the table. “The food looks delicious.”

“Well thank ye, me dear. Plenty o’ time fer eatin’, drinkin’, an’ dancin’—we prepare feasts as best we can here at Castle Fraser, ye’ll come tae learn that, dear. Isnae that right, Roderick?”

“Aye,” he replied with a nod. “We like tae mak’ sure everyone feels at home. What’s life without enjoyment an’ good company, after all?”

“Nae worth living,” a voice called from further down the table. Moira followed the sound and realized that it had belonged to a large, bearded lad.

“Lady Wilson, ye must meet me good friend an’ a trusted member o’ our Council, Mr. Ewan,” Roderick said, raising his cup to the man and speaking louder, his voice carrying above the lively commotion.

“A pleasure,” Moira said, nodding and offering a polite smile.

Similarly to earlier that day, Moira was introduced one by one, to more of Roderick’s friends, family, and Council members, trying her best to size them up accordingly. Replacing the internal fluster from her initial arrival, was the commotion of the party and the onslaught of wine and food, that caused the faces and names to blur into one, making her initial assessment confusing to the say least.

Still, Moira remained sharp, she had a job to do after all. She kept a keen eye out for any signs that might help her with the true purpose of her presence. She analyzed what she could with the information she had, holding onto anything she deemed potentially significant, and storing it for later.

She ate and drank, mimicking the looseness of those around her, and swaying to the music every now and then when it felt appropriate, to prove she was having a good time.

“An’ what are parties like at Castle Wilson?” One of Roderick’s cousin’s asked, “are they as rowdy as this?”

“Well,” Moira began, trying to remember her name but to no avail. She breathed out a gentle sigh as her eyes darted to the young lady across the table. “They can be, but I must say, the food here at Castle Fraser is unparalleled, an’ so is the music—it’s a joy tae me ears an’ a warmth tae me heart.”

Roderick’s cousin smiled back at her, clearly satisfied with her kind answer. While Moira hoped her playacting was up to par as she danced around questions intended for the fictitious representation of herself.

If her circumstances had been different—and if this mission had been of her own choosing—she might have even been having fun. But that was not the case, she was almost painfully aware of her ‘betrothed’, the laird, just a few inches from her, distracting and impossible to avoid.

Somehow, as he conversed with others around him, his low voice seemed to sound above all other sounds and for some reason, that bothered her. She found it difficult to hear it and not listen, her attention almost magnetically drawn to him.

“An’ what dae ye think ye will miss the most from home?” Roderick’s cousin asked, her wide eyes filled with curiosity.

Before Moira could speak, she felt Roderick’s gaze upon her, and immediately her attention shifted toward him. His body angled in Moira’s direction, and he spoke on her behalf. “Now, we dinnae want Lady Wilson thinking too much about home or she shall get homesick. She has a new home now and we are finally together, isnae that right, me lady?”

Something inside Moira turned cold. It was harder to charade when she was with him. “Yes,” she said bluntly, “I couldnae have said it better meself.”

The chatter continued around them, and Roderick stole a moment to whisper into her ear, his breath blowing a soft warmth onto her neck. “Is everythin’ all right? Is there aught else ye need?”

“I’m fine,” she muttered uncomfortably under her breath, looking anywhere but into his eyes.

The fact that their apparent intimacy was reminiscent of a real couple sat strangely with her. It was good for the facade, but disconcerting nonetheless.

Before he could continue whispering in her ear, something stopped him. Coming toward them was a rugged man with auburn hair and piercing green eyes. He looked serious at first, so serious that he seemed to be frowning–but Roderick stood to greet him and, in an instant, he broke into a warm smile.

“Aye, me laird,” the man joked, bowing comically before him. “A feast fit fer a king, an’ who are we but yer humble servants?”

“The fattest, laziest, most well-fed men I’ve ever had the misfortune tae be around.”

The two men laughed and Roderick embraced him warmly as they patted each other firmly on the back.

“It’s good tae see ye in high spirits,” the man said, darting his gaze to Moira. “An’ I’m sure ye’ve got yer good reasons, nae doubt.”

“Aye, an’ ye,” Roderick responded, “How's yer hand?”

“Stronger by the day,” the man grinned. “Almost strong enough tae tak’ ye out, me laird.”

“Aye, ye’ll be waitin’ a long time fer that.”

Moira noticed that the man seemed both genuine and kind, and much closer to Roderick than anyone else.

“Me lady,” Roderick said, “this is Cameron Murray—a member o’ our Council an’ a royal pain in the arse.”

“Nice tae meet ye, Mr. Murray,” Moira smiled. “This is the best introduction I’ve had yet, an’ trust me, I’ve had plenty today.”

“’Tis a pleasure,” he said, taking the seat which Lady Fraser had left vacant. “May I?” He asked, before settling down.

“Ye may.”

“Well, well, well, Lady Wilson,” he said, filling up a glass, his voice carrying a teasing tone. “So ye’re the one who finally got our Roderick tae settle down.”

“An’ here I was, nae havin’ kent that was a difficult feat. But then again, a laird o’ a castle can certainly have his pickings.”

Mr. Murray leant back in his chair, laughing heartily at Moira’s words. “Aye, he’s had his pickings, an’ out o’ all o’ them, he chose ye.”

“Aye, an’ how dae ye ken it wasnae I who chose him?”

“That’s right, she did,” Roderick chimed in. “Fer better or fer worse.”

Moira knew that she should be sitting closer to Roderick, but there was something restraining her. Outwardly she was relaxed, but she was still very much on her guard. However, she enjoyed the company of Roderick’s friend very much, it felt good to jest around.

But while it felt good, there was still a part of her that remained cold and detached. The part that was saved for Roderick. She was wary being next to him, on edge for some reason, with all the commotion going on around them clouding her thoughts.

“An’ how did ye two meet, then?” Mr. Murray asked.

“Lady Wilson loves tae tell the story, dinnae ye? Much better with stories than I am.”

“Nae, that’s nae true, ye’re just lazy is all.”

“Och, feisty,” Mr. Murray laughed.

“I cannae be too nice tae him,” Moira winked, “fer I fear he may get used tae it.”

After a few minutes of playful banter during which Moira took all the opportunities she could to throw jabs at Roderick and avoid questions by creating the illusion that she was somehow still answering them, Mr. Murray excused himself to go dance.

Much to Moira’s relief, the couple barely had any time to talk alone. They were distracted by the lively and bustling feast, there was no need to delve any deeper than they were in their roles. And yet, Moira could feel Roderick’s watchful eye on her often, and felt as though he might ask her anything at any point.

As Mr. Murray left, yet another Councilman approached and joined their table.

“Lady Wilson,” Roderick spoke, shaking the greying man’s hand. “This is Mr. McDougall. Malcolm, may I introduce ye tae Lady Wilson, me betrothed”

Moira smiled, at ease after her interaction with Mr. Murray, and well-used to introductions, she spoke with a merry candor. “I’ve met so many councilmen at this point, I feel as though I have joined meself.”

To Moira’s surprise the man neither nodded nor smiled, but he cast his eyes briefly over Moira, as though assessing something, and grunted a little, greeting her as though he wasn’t really greeting her at all.

Immediately, the interaction left a sour taste in her mouth. Moira detected contempt. But why?

It was so unexpected, such a stark contrast to the others around her, that if she hadn’t known better, she might have been offended. But she wasn’t. Moira wasn’t easily offended; she just wasn’t sure if she had said something wrong.

As the group continued their conversation, she noticed how Mr. McDougall avoided her gaze entirely. When she spoke, he ignored her, so much so that Moira fell quiet. She felt that it was both too obvious, and too strange not to ask Roderick about it, despite her reluctance.

She edged closer to Roderick, leaning back in her chair and speaking carefully, in a hushed tone. “This Mr. McDougall, he is cold with me, is he nae?”

“Ye noticed?” Roderick asked.

“How could I nae?”

Roderick’s mother had caught wind of what Moira had asked, and startled them both as she came up behind them.

“Pay him nay mind,” she said cheerily, her eyes relaxed and her face reddened from almost an hour’s worth of dancing. “That’s just how he is, a quiet man, a bit suspicious. I wouldnae worry, he just tak’s a wee bit o’ time tae warm up tae others.”

Moira flashed Lady Fraser a warm smile, trying to decipher whether her positive attitude meant she believed what she said or whether she’d only intended to save Moira’s feelings.

Once his mother moved on, Roderick told Moira the truth.

“Malcom has a daughter,” he said, his eyes scanning the room.

“An’?” Moira demanded. Her investigative nature made her impatient for answers.

“Aye, patience,” he said, a sly smile spread across his lips. “Malcolm has a bairn that has come o’ age an’ well, he had intended us tae get betrothed. However, obviously, me sweet love, that is nay longer a possibility.”

Makes sense , Moira thought to herself, I had kent there was a proper reason .

“Well, he willnae have tae hate me fer long. Once I’m gone, ye can marry Mr. McDougall’s daughter as was intended.”

Roderick nodded and kept a smile on his face as he talked to her quietly. “Aye, perhaps. But remember, I willnae rest or marry until I find out what happened tae me faither.”

It wasn’t as though Moira needed to be reminded of why she was there, but it was motivation to continue her search for answers. Once she presented her findings to Roderick, whether they were what he wanted or not, the farce would come to an end, and she’d no longer have to deal with Mr. McDougall’s contempt.

“Indeed, Roderick,” Moira asserted. “I have nae forgotten.”

She excused herself and got up from her chair. Leaving the main table, she decided to walk around, introducing herself to various groups and trying to glean as much information as she could. Due to the nature of the feast, most guests weren’t in the mood for talking for too long.

As she approached one group, Moira noticed that Mr. McDougall happened to be standing among them. Before she could speak, he left abruptly, walking as far away from her as he could.

Cold–even petty.

Moira brushed the old man’s behavior aside and continued to walk around the dining hall. As she neared the far corner of the room, a tall brunette girl, with a full face and kind brown eyes rushed toward her.

As she ran forward, Moira noticed a certain child-like quality and openness to her steps.

“Ye must be Lady Wilson! Congratulations, it’s so braw tae meet ye.”

She flung her arms around her, embracing her warmly.

“And ye.”

“Sorry,” she laughed, “ye’ve nae idea who I am. I could be a mad person fer all ye ken. Me name’s Arabella Barclay, me faither’s one o’ the councilmen here at clan Fraser.”

“Now,” Moira said, “if I had a penny fer every time I’ve heard ‘councilman’ tonight…”

“Trust me,” Miss Barclay joked. “It would nae be worth it.”

Moira laughed. “Aye, at least we can count on bein’ protected. That’s nae wee thing.”

“Aye, protected… or smothered by rules—depends on how ye look at it.”

As the two shared a laugh, a shadow fell across them. Moira glanced up to see Roderick standing there, his expression unreadable.

“Lady Wilson,” he said, his voice calm, stirring something unexpected inside her as he brought one hand to the small of her back. “May I have this dance?”

She blinked, caught off guard.

He extended his hand, his gaze steady. “A dance. Unless ye’ve nae got the time.”

Miss Barclay gestured for her to go ahead but Moira hesitated for a moment, surprised at being caught so off guard.

Regaining herself, she straightened her spine and remembered that this was more than a simple gesture–Roderick clearly had something he wanted to say. Something private.

“Of course,” she said, slipping her hand into his, following him into the crowd.