"Just remember that," her husband muttered and turned away as if he could hardly bear to look at her anymore.
Chapter 26
Mhairi walked at Callum’s side as they crossed the Drummond camp toward her father's tent. A cold steady rain fell about them, and the grass beneath her feet was wet and slippery. The dreich weather turned the night dark and reflected her grim mood. She was deathly afraid, not for herself, but for the man she’d married.
She and Callum were swathed in heavy cloaks, as were the four Mackinnon men-at-arms who accompanied them. She kept her head down, as did her husband. Both of them tried to keep their identity secret as long as they could. There was an uneasy atmosphere in the camp, and she feared if they were discovered too soon, it could mean disaster. A nervous guard could stick a sword through Callum and bustle her off to her father before she had a chance to stop him.
"The messengers from the Mackinnon keep, Drummond," the gruff old soldier who escorted them said, lifting the flap and ushering them in.
Mhairi had known Angus since she was a wean. He was one of her father's most trusted retainers. She'd be surprised if he hadn’t guessed that the smallest member of the Mackinnon party was the chieftain’s daughter. But to her relief, he didn’t say anything.
After the darkness outside, the lamplight inside the tent dazzled her. When her vision cleared, she saw her father and half a dozen of her kinsmen, including John, poring over some drawings on the table. Plans of Achnasheen, she'd guess.
When her father glanced up at the interruption, she bit back a gasp of dismay. He looked like he'd aged ten years in the days she'd been gone. Deep lines scored his face, dark circles ringed his eyes, and he looked old and defeated in a way she'd never seen him. She'd hated hearing Brian speak about her father's death as a looming event, but right now, she couldn't help recognizing that he was over seventy and not in the best of health.
She said a silent prayer that the dangerous gamble of coming here paid off. She loved her father. He deserved a peaceful old age with a brood of grandchildren around him. Perhaps after Callum's glorious efforts last night, she already carried a child whose bloodline would unite the Drummonds and Mackinnons.
The Drummond stepped away from the table. "Have they been searched?"
He'd always been lean and spare. Now he was skeletal. Guilt stabbed Mhairi. She hated how her absence had preyed on him. Her absence, and now her apparent betrayal of everything she’d been brought up to believe.
"No’ yet," Angus said.
"We are unarmed, in accordance with custom," Callum said in an expressionless voice as he slid back his heavy black hood.
In the reverberant silence, Callum tugged his sodden cloak from his shoulders and flung it away with a defiant gesture. Beneath it, he wore his black velvet coat and the red and black Mackinnon plaid. The colors looked almost offensively vivid against the drab Drummond green.
"Ye, here!" John gasped in loathing and reached for his sword. There was an audible scrape of metal as every other Drummond except Angus and the laird drew their weapons.
Callum didn't retreat, and his expression remained stony, but Mhairi could see he was as alert as a lion facing a hunter. With shaking hands, she pushed back her own hood. More gasps of surprise and concern and anger.
She let her cloak slip to the ground. She was dressed in the magnificent silk gown that Callum had given her before the feast. Her hair was tied up with ribbons and pearls. The heavy topaz necklace circled her throat. She was dress
ed for a royal court, not an army tent in an obscure corner of the Highlands.
She'd chosen her clothing deliberately. She hoped to show her father that her husband treated her as a great lady, but she also hoped that her once-despised beauty might prove an advantage here in this tent full of dangerous men.
Mhairi intended to wield her beauty as a weapon. It seemed to be working. Looking around, she saw she had the undivided attention of every man present.
"We’re here under the conditions of parley, Father. If ye harm my husband, you'll stain the proud Drummond name forever."
"Husband," her father spat, his lips thin with rage. "Rapist, more like."
Callum shifted, but she reached out to take his arm. His life was poised on a knife edge. If he made one false move, he was doomed. And if he was doomed, so was her every hope of happiness.
"I was treated with care and respect at Achnasheen," she said clearly.
It was mostly true.
"No’ from what I heard," John snarled, without lowering his blade.
"Ye heard what you wanted to hear," she said coldly. She still hadn't forgiven her cousin for settling her future with her father without consulting her. "I went to my husband's bed a virgin. I’ll swear that on the Bible. I’ll swear that on my dead mother's life."
There was a rustle of astonishment at her blunt announcement. But now wasn’t the time to try and save her modesty.
"He still forced ye into a wedding," her father said.
Mhairi released Callum’s arm and stood up straight. She continued in that cool, clear voice. "I willingly accepted the Mackinnon as my husband. I'm proud to take my place as the Lady of Achnasheen."