Page 56 of Wedded to the Devilish Highlander
At his side, Eileen sat straight-backed and poised, the very picture of noble grace. She wore a simple gown of deep blue that set her hair ablaze in the firelight. She smiled when needed, and spoke when spoken to, but Archer could feel the wariness thrumming under her calm exterior.
Is she enjoyin’the celebrations?
A hush fell over the hall as Archer stepped forward, lifting a silver goblet high above his head. The movement was measured, deliberate. The noise died down instantly, every head turning toward him.
“Friends,” he boomed, his voice deep and sure, “and me kin.”
The room stilled. The fire crackled like the only sound left in the world.
“Tonight, we gather nae just to break bread and drink, but to forge a bond stronger than iron, older than blood.”
He let the words sink in, casting his gaze across the faces—loyal bannermen, skeptical elders, ambitious young men who would seize any opportunity to climb higher.
“Clan MacLennan and McFair shall stand united. I have asked for Lady Eileen’s hand in marriage, and she, in her infinite patience, has agreed to become me wife.”
There was a beat of silence, as if the crowd needed to absorb it. Then came the roar—cheers and whistles, tankards slamming against tables, boots pounding against the stone floor.
“To Lady Eileen!” someone bellowed, and the hall echoed back.
Archer turned slightly, extending his goblet toward her. Eileen rose with him, her movements graceful, her face an unreadable mask of courtesy as she lifted her cup.
They drank, and the hall erupted again.
Archer forced a smile, lowering his goblet, letting his people believe the image before them.
Let them see strength.
Let them see unity.
Let them think there is nay crack to be found.
Because deep down, he knew that cracks had already formed.
There were traitors here, hidden among his people. Men who would see him fall—perhaps even die—if it served their ambitions.
And tonight’s feast was meant to expose them.
Archer’s gaze swept the hall again, sharper now. Searching.
There—Mack, one of his councilmen, was laughing too hard, drinking too much. His easy charm stretched a little too thin.
Archer’s jaw tightened. He turned slightly toward Eileen, speaking low enough so no one else could hear. “Ye feelin’ all right, lass?”
She smiled at him, but her fingers trembled slightly where they rested by her side “A bit of a headache,” she replied, her voice soft but steady.
Archer studied her for a moment longer. His instincts prickled. It wasn’t just the crowd making her uneasy. Something else was wrong.
“What is it?” he asked quietly, stepping toward her and offering his arm.
Eileen hesitated for only a breath before slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. He felt the faintest tremor in her touch.
Without another word, he led her through the bustling hall. Conversations paused briefly as they passed—curious glances, whispered comments, half-hidden smiles.
“It’s just… It feels wrong to be celebratin’ when Reid is still out there somewhere. I ken we have to do this and it’s all for show,but the last thing I want to do is celebrate, especially when it’s all for naught.”
“It’s all nae for naught,” Archer countered. “We need this now more than ever. We just buried two of our own. The people need hope.”
“And what of that hope when we go our separate ways? I’m already worried what it’ll do to yer maither and sister. Now, I have to worry about yer entire clan.”
