Page 65 of Laird of Wrath

“When will that be?”

Lara looked thoughtfully at the mass of curls spilling over her shoulders, then at the ribbons still waiting beside the mirror, then at the collection of pearl-headed pins yet to be used. “Eventually.”

Rhea sighed with exaggerated resignation. “I fear I shall die here.”

“Ye absolutely shall nae,” Sienna declared. “Lara would never permit it before she’s pinned the last curl in place.”

“Certainly nae,” Lara agreed, and the room dissolved into laughter again, warm and unrestrained, filling every corner until even the walls themselves seemed to join in.

21

The Great Hall was teeming with life. It had been a long time since Callum had last seen so many people gathered in his castle, clansmen and women arriving from all parts of his lands to attend the festivities.

It wasn’t as many people as they would host forLughnasadh, but the Great Hall was still packed with people and laughter and conversation, all of it accompanied by music from the band.

Callum dreaded to think how much gold they had spent on this. It was a necessary expense, though. The feast’s purpose was to remind his people that he was back, that he had returned victorious, and that no one could take his title away from him—certainly not Laird Barclay or others like him, who had hoped he would come back home dead.

The tables threatened to buckle under the weight of roasted meats, fowl, vegetables, bannocks, and the jugs of wine and ale that accompanied them. The floor seemed to vibrate with the music, and the chatter of the guests filled the entire hall untilCallum couldn’t help but think the very walls of the castle would collapse from the strain.

As he stepped into the doorway, every conversation died down, before the piper played him in. He was the guest of honor, after all.

A guest of honor in me own home. That’s how long I’ve been gone.

He made his way to the far end of the hall, where a table had been set for him and those closest to him. Rhea, Sienna, Mabel, and Hudson were already seated, having reserved the chair in the middle for him.

Despite it all, he had eyes only for one person.

Rhea looked radiant in her deep blue gown—an expensive masterpiece that he knew she had brought from Castle McAllister. It was a clever choice, and not only because she looked breathtaking in it, bound to distract everyone from the minor nobles to those who had come with a wish to either bargain or subtly threaten.

It was a clever choice because it looked expensive.Everythingabout the feast looked expensive, though he knew Rhea was not a frivolous woman. She had planned it all subtly, expertly, knowing what costs she could cut and where she could spend more so that no one could doubt the clan’s strength or wealth.

As Callum walked down the aisle created by the tables set up at each side of him, his entire focus was on Rhea—on the way her hair, now pinned up with small pearls that caught the light, seemed to shine like gold; on those warm, brown eyes that watched his every move; on the way her dress hugged her curves and showed off her generous figure.

Once again, he felt as if he were dreaming, but this time, the dream was not a nightmare. He could hardly believe that this woman was his wife. He could hardly believe that he was such a lucky man, at least when it came to this.

And most of all, he could hardly believe that he had agreed to court her for one month before they could be intimate.

It was for the best, he knew. It had given her some time to get to know him, to feel comfortable around him. But it had also given him time to drive himself insane with desire, to want nothing more than to drag her out of the hall that very instant and back to his chambers.

But he was no beast. He could bear it with dignity, this temporary refusal, and when she finally surrendered to him, it would be all the sweeter.

He could imagine it, the way he would lay her in bed, peeling back layer after layer from her body until she was naked. He could imagine the way she would blush, her cheeks turning a bright red as she would try to hide from him, only for him to pull her hands away, assuring her there was nothing to hide. She was his wife. He wanted to see all of her—to touch, to kiss, toconsume all of her, and he would not rest until he had done just that.

His cheeks heated ever so slightly as he reached the table and sat down in the chair between Rhea and Hudson. The piper ceased his playing, but then it was time for the bard to come to the foreground, who had had more than enough time to compose songs of his heroic feats at war—as well as songs for his heroic demise, which had not come after all.

Callum was well aware of the reality behind the songs as the bard, a young man with a short, neat beard and clever eyes, stepped in front of the band. The man had written songs both for his victory and for his loss, ready to play whichever ones he needed, either at a feast like this or at his funeral.

But even the songs of his heroic feats were not enough to lift his spirits, not when he had to lose loyal men to make such feats possible. Had it not been for them, had it not been for their sacrifice, he would have died, and the clan would have been in peril.

“Bard!” he called, slamming his hands on the table and rising from his seat, just as the man finished his first song. The entire hall fell silent, nothing but a few hushed whispers of surprise rippling through the room. “Sing a song for the fallen. Ye have those, daenae ye?”

The bard hesitated for a moment before he gave a weak nod. “Aye, me Laird.” Still, he didn’t sing, as if expecting permission.

“Then sing,” Callum ordered. “Let us honor those who gave their lives for the clan.”

There was another wave of whispers, and though Callum couldn’t quite decipher them, he was certain they all agreed with him.

Those men, those who had given their lives, were family to everyone in the Great Hall. Everyone knew them; everyone loved them. And if Callum couldn’t bring their bodies back for their families, he could at least honor them with a few songs.