She could hear the skirl of the bagpipes long before they reached the castle grounds, but the cheers of the crowd which greeted their arrival stunned her. They were shouting her name.
“Did I not tell you, mouse?” Niall murmured at her bewildered look, rousing himself from his grim preoccupation. “There’s naught a Highlander admires more than bravery. You’re a credit to your Highland blood.”
The clans had gathered in the yard for the noontide wedding feast, Sabrina saw. Angus had ordered kegs of whisky and barrels of Lowland-brewed ale and French wine broken out for the guests, and it seemed the Highlanders were taking full advantage of his hospitality.
To her surprise, after Niall had aided her down, he raised their joined hands high and declared in a strong, clear voice, “I give you Lady Sabrina McLaren, Countess of Strathearn!”
A roaring cheer went up, and the guests surged forward to greet the laird’s new lady.
Niall remained at her side, gravely accepting the congratulations and good wishes of his clansmen. When someone pressed a goblet of wine into his hand, he solicitously held it to Sabrina’s lips. He gave all the appearance of a tender lover enamored of his bride.
The women of Clans Duncan and McLaren had outdone themselves with the wedding feast. Wooden planks laid over barrels formed tables, which had been piled high with hearty fare as well as delicacies: venison, mutton pasties, haggis, syllabub, and plum pudding. When Niall offered to fetch a plate for her, though, Sabrina declined. She was too unsettled to eat.
Angus joined them then, hobbling weakly on his cane and supported by his manservant. When he proposed a toast to his granddaughter, the crowd
raised their cups to salute her.
Hardly crediting their generous welcome, Sabrina felt an ache in her throat at their acceptance. She had won over their stubborn affection with her actions the night of the raid—by fighting the Buchanans and foiling their deadly aim—as well as giving them the protection of a powerful laird by marrying an ally.
“Drink up, lass,” Angus urged, pressing a cup in her hand. “’Twill give you heart.”
Sabrina swallowed a mouthful of the pure malt whisky, and wheezed as it burned a path down her throat. “’Tis more likely to pickle my heart,” she said, gasping.
Her grandfather gave a weak chuckle, while her clansmen roared with laughter.
“Ye’ll need to do better,” Geordie chided. “Such good Scotch brew is mother’s milk to a Highlander.”
She flushed at the ensuing jocular remarks concerning her fortitude, a color which deepened when she realized her new husband was watching her with unabashed amusement.
Before she could respond, though, the lilting strains of an ancient Highland air filled the yard.
“Ah, I believe we are expected to dance,” Niall murmured, holding his hand out to her. “Will you honor me, madam wife?”
Sabrina placed a trembling hand in his and allowed him to lead her into the movements of the minuet. To her surprise, Niall gave her his complete attention, watching her solely, his blue gaze making her feel as if she were the only woman in the world. It was an act for him, Sabrina knew. A skill he had honed for his repertoire of seductions. And yet it was supremely effective—with her and others as well.
She was an object of envy among the women, she could sense it in their longing looks. She had captured Niall McLaren as husband, and half the females present would give their souls to have landed so great a prize.
All too soon the dance was over. Sabrina felt a wave of disappointment as Niall returned her to the sidelines, a sentiment which turned to dismay as Eve Graham made an appearance.
All Sabrina’s doubts and insecurities came rushing back with a vengeance. She felt her heart give a painful jolt when Niall bowed over the beautiful widow’s hand.
“You are as lovely as always, my dear.”
Eve gave a trilling laugh, as musical as crystal bells. “Not so lovely as your bride, I see.”
“Indeed,” Niall said noncommittally.
Although Sabrina had no tangible proof, she sensed an undercurrent of emotion between her husband and the widow. The two of them obviously shared an intimacy of longstanding.
“I suppose,” Eve observed lightly, “it would not be wise to insist on a dance.”
“It would not,” Niall replied with a glance at Sabrina. “I must fulfill my duty with the Dowager Lady Ross, in any case.”
Sabrina was profoundly grateful to them both for forbearing to dance together, where the entire company could witness their closeness.
“Why do you not ask Seumas McNab to partner you?” her husband asked Eve. “He is recently widowed and will fawn over you properly. It will permit you an opportunity to display your charms to best advantage.”
“Wretched, exasperating creature,” Eve said, laughing again. “You know full well Seumas is seeking a broodmare for a wife.” She turned to Sabrina. “Did I not tell you, you will have your hands full as his bride? The man is a rogue, Sabrina, not to be trusted.”