When Helen turned to the high table, Aleck had resumed his seat, but Eoin remained standing. In two strides, he took her hand and led her to the lady’s chair. Helen recalled her father had paid such a courtesy to her mother often.
“Miss Maggie is delightful, m’lady.” Eoin grinned as if nothing were amiss—as if it were a common occurrence for the chieftain to shun his daughter and ignore his wife. “Thank you for bringing her for an introduction.”
Helen took her seat. “I’m ever so glad you approve, Sir Eoin.”
Aleck gestured to the empty chair with his knife. “Sit your arse down, MacGregor, and stop acting like you’re groveling to the Queen of Scotland.”
Eoin’s pleasant exterior waned. “This is a well anticipated gathering is it not?”
“Aye, everyone enjoys the minstrels when they come.” Aleck poured himself a tankard of whisky. Evidently, he’d decided ale wasn’t strong enough this eve.
Eoin reached for the bread. “I, too, enjoy music and dancing.”
Aleck snorted. “You seem like the type who would prefer to kick up your heels and rub elbows with the lassies rather than take part in more manly pursuits.”
Stopping mid-chew, Eoin rolled his eyes toward the chieftain. “Let us say I enjoy all manner of pursuits.”
Aleck took a long draw from his tankard. “Do you enjoy swivving buxom lassies?”
How utterly inappropriate. Helen’s face burned. If only she could slide under the table and hide, but she could never do that, and chiding Aleck would only serve to rouse him further.
Without a modicum of emotion etched on his face, Eoin reached for the ewer of ale and filled his cup. “With all due respect, this is not suitable conversation for mixed company.”
“So you consider it appropriate banter for an alehouse, do you?” Aleck threw his head back and laughed.
Could things grow worse? Helen glanced at the faces of the clansmen at the table. Every single face appeared uncomfortable and not a one looked her way.
Suddenly not hungry, she pushed her food around her trencher to the sound of idle chatter from the crowd. Still, no one on the dais uttered a word. When she at last looked up, Aleck eyed her from behind his tankard. She tensed as he leaned forward to speak. “If you continue to disobey me, I’ll have no recourse but to lock you in your chamber.”
She drew away from his foul-smelling breath. “You wouldn’t.”
Aleck scowled. “Now that you’ve asked to go to Iona, how will I know you will not run?”
“Mayhap I’d already be away if I had.”
A tic twitched under his eye. “Do not use an insolent tone with me.”
Helen pursed her lips and stared down at her lap. Must he grow more disagreeable by the day? She glanced at Eoin. He offered an apologetic shrug of his shoulders.
“What about hunting?” she asked, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “I enjoy a good hunt with a bow and arrow.”
Eoin appeared to appreciate the change in subject. “As I recall, your marksmanship is admirable.”
She smiled.
“We could put her atop the bailey walls if there was a siege.” Aleck swayed in his chair and laughed at his ill-placed humor.
How much whisky has he consumed?
“I’ll pray that will not be necessary,” Eoin said, but he glared at Helen’s husband like the Chieftain of Ardnamurchan must be completely daft.
Aleck picked beneath his thumbnail with his eating knife. “You’re soft, MacGregor.”
Heaven help Sir Eoin to maintain his calm.
Her prayers were dashed when she shifted her gaze his way. Helen had seen the look on Sir Eoin’s face once—right before he and her brother launched into a real fight—one stopped only by six armed guards. She couldn’t even remember why the two friends had attacked each other with such ferocity. Though the reason no longer mattered, she knew Eoin to be deadly when provoked. Every muscle in her body tensed while the dais filled with silence.
Across the hall, the music started.
Thank the good Lord.
Helen clapped her hands, praying the minstrels would pull Aleck from his foul mood.
Eoin raised his tankard, his jaw set. “Do you enjoy dancing, Sir Aleck, or does that not appeal to your bull-brained audaciousness.”
Helen froze. God save us, there’ll be a brawl for certain.
Aleck squinted. “Are you in…” He belched. “…sulting me?”
“Insult the generous chieftain of this fine keep?” Eoin spread his arms wide. “Nay, nay. I’d never consider such an offense.”
Aleck shook his eating knife as he swayed in his seat. “You’d best not.”
“I see you’ve musicians this eve.” Eoin changed the topic and sat a bit straighter. “It would be ever so enjoyable to watch you give your wife a turn on the dance floor.”
Helen tightly clasped her hands under her chin. “Oh no, Sir Aleck doesn’t care to dance.”
Her husband guzzled more whisky, the tankard weaving before he set it down. “Dancing is for lasses before they marry. A young buck has no need to strut like a preening peacock after he’s bedded a woman.”
Helen gaped, completely horrified at his remark. Yes, Aleck had always been brazen, but his behavior this eve topped all tasteless babble.
That deadly glint return to Eoin’s eyes. “I strongly disagree. I’ve watched women—er—people of all ages enjoy a good reel.” He stood, bowed and offered his hand. “May I have this dance, Lady Helen?”
She risked a startled glance at Aleck. He rolled his hand through the air. “Go on. If you want to kick up your heels like an alehouse tart, don’t let me be the one to stop you.”
Helen pushed back her chair and stood. “I beg your pardon? I have never set foot inside an alehouse.” Before Aleck could make another snide remark that would embarrass her to her toes, she snatched Eoin’s hand and pulled him to the dais steps. “I will enjoy this dance if it slays me.”
The MacGregor Chieftain chuckled. “’Tis good to hear, m’lady.” He offered his elbow. “No woman dressed in such style should be required sit idle while dancing music plays.”
“My sentiments exactly.” Helen had a great deal of difficulty maintaining her serene countenance. By the saints, Aleck had irritated her. Why couldn’t he have commented on Maggie’s beauty? Why did he sit on the dais and brood, pouring whisky down his gullet? Did he hate her? Surely he did and, if so, why had he not allowed her to retire to Iona? The man reveled in making other people uncomfortable or unhappy and he’d only grown worse since Eoin MacGregor had arrived with his army.
’Tis bittersweet to see an old friend. On one hand, I’ve ever so enjoyed having him as a guest, but I believe it would be best if the MacDonald uprising were quashed soon. The longer Sir Eoin remains, the more likely there will be a serious confrontation between the two chieftains.
Eoin led her to the line of women and took the place across from her in the line of men. He looked dashing, wearing a plaid, shirt and leather doublet. Sarah had been right—the patchwork in his shirt wouldn’t be noticeable, especially when covered by a doublet.
He grinned.
Merciful heavens, Aleck had never grinned at her like that. When Helen met her husband, it had been their wedding night, and that was disastrous. He’d soused himself with whisky and bumbled through copulation, which completely mortified her. Helen had been embarrassed to show her face in the great hall for an entire season. Fortunately, he only visited her chamber a few times a year. Doubtless, such an arrangement exceeded the bounds of the ordinary. After all, she wasn’t completely ignorant of the world. There were clansmen and women—married folk—who seemed to enjoy coupling. And she’d happened upon more than one guard with a moaning woman in his arms.