Free The Eternal Highlander by Lynsay Sands, Hannah Howell Page A

armed with such knowledge, good or bad, when he finally met her family.
    “Aye, continue. I cannae be sure my bride will tell me all, or if she e’en kens that there is aught different about her family. We ken all too weel the importance of holding fast to our secrets. Yet, I dinnae really like surprises, either.”
    “Agreed. Take heart in the fact that she kens your grand plan for the future of the MacNachtons yet clearly sees no hindrance in helping ye fulfill it. I do. As ye said, in the important ways, she could be one of the MacMartins. Far more fertile, though. I did learn that her cousin Barbara has been wed but four years and has four children.”
    “A bairn a year?” Cathal wanted children, badly, but he did not think such constant breeding could be good for a woman.
    “Nay. Two sets of twins. Fat, healthy bairns. One pair of lads and one of lasses. As I said, fertile stock.”
    Cathal briefly closed his eyes and fought down a sudden swell of emotion. He wanted Bridget for many reasons, her ability to give him children no longer his prime concern. Yet, he would be lying if he did not admit that the possibility of her being very fertile indeed thrilled him right down to his toes. He shook free of the feeling and idly brushed his hands over his black-and-silver doublet.
    “Ye look verra fine,” drawled Jankyn “I am sure your wee bride will have no complaint.” Jankyn nimbly jumped down from his perch and started toward the door. “Shall we go to the great hall now?”
    “What of the Purebloods?” Cathal asked as he followed Jankyn out of the room and walked by his side to the great hall.
    “Ah, weel, none of them are much of a mind to celebrate this wedding,” replied Jankyn. “Some understand, but wish it wasnae so, some understand but doubt the need, thinking all will right itself in time—”
    “Blind fools,” muttered Cathal.
    “True, sadly true. Some dinnae care one way or t’other. Some hate it, but feel ’tis your choice. And then there are the ones like Scymynd and Edmee. They talk, a lot, and none of it good for you. I just cannae say which of the other wee groups are listening and agreeing. Tis weel kenned that I stand by ye in this and that makes some hesitant to speak honestly with me.”
    Pausing in the doorway of the guest hall, Cathal studied the people gathered there. He could feel the tension in the air. It was also clear that everyone had gathered in groups, people staying with those who thought as they did. At the moment it appeared that his plan was breaking his clan apart instead of saving it. He could only pray that this lack of unity was temporary. Nodding at each person who greeted him, Cathal made his way toward the priest, his cousin James, a man of two worlds as he was.
    “A storm is brewing,” said James.
    “Aye,” agreed Cathal. “Change often stirs unrest. My father had some trouble, too, though nay as much as this.”
    “The occasional such marriage can be shrugged aside as an aberration. Ye have made it clear that ye intend to make this custom. I also think Scymynd feels a halfling isnae good enough to be the laird here. He has always coveted the position. Ah, and Edmee cannae swallow the thought that ye would prefer an Outsider to her in all her bonnie purity of blood.”
    “And what do ye think, Cousin?”
    “I think they have all gotten too blood proud, too vain, thus blind to the truth. I can understand how hard it must be to consider the loss of some of the gifts our forefathers gave us. Yet, one oftimes has to give up something to survive. What ye do now, ye do for their sake.”
    Cathal heard a noise behind him and saw Bridget enter the great hall. “Weel, nay all for their sake.”
    He ignored James’s soft laughter as he watched Bridget walk toward him. Lithe and lovely, she moved with a sensuous grace. Her tawny gold hair had been left loose, hanging in long, thick waves to her slim hips and decorated with green silk ribbons to match her gown.