As the morning wore on and the fog remained stubbornly thick, Fiona wrapped the blanket tighter around herself and tried not to think about what was happening back at the keep.Somewhere in that impenetrable mist, Connor MacNeil was probably preparing for a wedding that might never take place.
And she had no way to tell anyone where she was.
***
Chapter 4
Connor paced the lengthof the Great Hall like a caged wolf, his boots echoing against the stone floor with each measured step.The morning sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the rushes that had been freshly laid for the ceremony.Garlands of heather and wild roses adorned the walls, and the best silver had been brought out for the wedding feast.
He was dressed with more care than usual for the occasion.The MacNeil plaid draped across his broad shoulders was woven in the traditional pattern, the colors rich and bold in the morning light.His leine, the long linen shirt that fell to his knees, was of the finest weave, bleached white as snow and fastened at the throat with a silver brooch bearing the MacNeil crest.Over this he wore a sleeveless jerkin of soft leather, dyed brown and tooled with intricate knotwork around the edges.
His clan badge—a sprig of dryas crowned with the MacNeil motto"Vincer vel mori"(Victory or Death) —was pinned prominently to his left shoulder, marking him unmistakably as a son of Clan MacNeil.A wide leather belt cinched his waist, from which hung his sgian-dubh in its ornate sheath.His feet were shod in simple but well-made leather brogues, cross-laced with leather thongs in the Highland fashion.
Connor had submitted to a thorough bathing at dawn, and his long black hair had been freshly washed and braided in a neat plait that hung down his back, secured with a leather cord.Even his usually stubbled jaw had been scraped clean with his razor.
He looked, by all accounts, like a Highlander ready for his wedding day.
If only his bride would appear.
Connor glanced toward the main entrance for what felt like the hundredth time.The ceremony was to begin fifteen minutes ago, and guests had been arriving since sunrise.The hall buzzed with conversation as MacNeil clansmen mingled with the Finnigan guests, an uneasy but hopeful atmosphere pervading the gathering.
"She'll come," Ewan said quietly, appearing at his brother's elbow."Perhaps she's just...taking her time with preparations."
Connor grunted, continuing his restless pacing."Women," he muttered, though even as he said it, something nagged at him.The few glimpses he'd had of Fiona Finnigan suggested she was not the type to indulge in vanity or dramatics.
The massive oak doors at the far end of the hall remained stubbornly closed.
"Connor," Ewan tried again, "ye're wearing a hole in the floor.Would ye stop pacing."
"Connor MacNeil!"Horas called as he burst through a side entrance, his face flushed and his breathing labored as if he'd been running.All conversation in the hall ceased as every head turned toward the man.The sudden silence was deafening.
Horas approached Connor with obvious reluctance.He whispered something urgent in Connor's ear, the words too low for the assembled guests to hear.
Connor's face went white, then flushed dark red."What do ye mean my bride is missing?"he roared, his voice echoing off the stone walls like thunder.
Horas flinched but stood his ground.Gasps and murmurs erupted throughout the hall as the guests absorbed this shocking news.
