between them. “Come, Laird. Drink my ale. Eat my bread. Be at ease after yer day of travels. It is cold as Lucifer’s arse out today, is it no’?”
“Och, aye,” Laird Gunn replied, the corner of his mouth reluctantly hitching. “There is a whiff of snow to the air, mark me.”
Her father nodded, and their conversation began to flow around the safe topic of the weather.
Birdie released a breath it felt she’d been holding since the moment the Gunns had arrived. The crisis had been averted—thanks to Gregor. She cast him a grateful look. With a subtle dip of his head toward her, he stepped back, allowing the Lairds to continue chatting uninterrupted.
“…need warm food and full bellies if ye are to sleep out of doors,” her father was saying. “I fear I would send my cook into fits if I demanded she present a hot feast in a matter of hours, but what about on the morrow?”
“A feast?” Laird Gunn tilted his chin in consideration. “Aye, a fine idea.”
“Samhain is only three days away,” her father continued. “No harm in starting the celebration a wee bit early. We could even have music, and dancing. Besides,” he added, gesturing toward Birdie and Cormack, “it will give the bairns a chance to acquaint themselves a wee bit more.”
“Who kens,” Laird Gunn said, lifting a brow. “Mayhap by Samhain we’ll be toasting no’ only the end of harvest season, but a happy union between our clans.”
“So soon?”
Birdie spoke before she could think. The urge to slap her hand over her mouth for blurting such a foolish thing was nigh overpowering. Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap until her knuckles ached, feeling embarrassed warmth travel over her face.
“Aye, mayhap,” her father said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Only if ye agree—if we all do.” He nodded toward both Cormack and Laird Gunn.
“Let that be the morrow’s concern,” Laird Gunn offered.
He lifted his goblet and took a deep drink of ale, then tipped the cup in thanks to her father. “Now, tell me, what will yer cook serve at this feast? I havenae yet tasted a plum pudding to rival my lady wife’s. She’s been known to push the Gunn cook out of the kitchen and make her own batch.”
Birdie only heard the rest of their banter about pudding with one ear.
It was becoming all too real now. She very well might be engaged in three days’ time.
And not to the man who had claimed her heart.
Chapter Fifteen
Seeing Birdie in the Gunn lad’s arms was the last straw.
It had been worse than torture by hot pokers for Gregor to look on in silence as the two of them moved through all the rituals of courtship.
They’d been seated next to one another on the raised dais for the feast that evening, and given one trencher to share. Cormack had carefully cut and separated the choicest bits of the braised lamb, then placed them on her side of the trencher like a most attentive suitor.
He’d also served her seasoned vegetables and hunks of aged cheese, skewering them with his eating knife and placing them before her. Every time Birdie gave him an awkward smile and offered her thanks, Gregor’s fists would clench a little tighter.
When they’d shared a goblet in the tradition of courtly wooing, Gregor had nearly broken a tooth from how forcefully he’d clamped his jaw together. Birdie had taken a delicate sip of wine, then Cormack had accepted the cup and placed his mouth where her lips had left a faint purple imprint, imitating a chaste kiss.
Ceremonial or nay, symbolic or nay, chaste or nay, Gregor had almost stepped onto the dais and leveled Cormack with his fists for it.
Which was madness, but there it was. Gregor was mad for Birdie.
And yet this was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? This had been his idea. The fact that he’d brought this torment upon himself only made his bitterness that much keener.
He breathed a sigh of relief when the meal was over and the table was cleared. But then Laird Morgan had called for the music to start. The trestle tables and benches below the dais where Laird Gunn’s men and the castle’s inhabitants had been seated were pushed off to the sides to make room for dancing.
The musicians had arranged themselves before the hearth, with Padraig sidling in close, watching them with wide-eyed fascination. Then the piper had launched into a jaunty tune, joined a moment later by the drums and flute. Those