“WELCOME TO DEMPSEY, my lady,” said

“WELCOME TO DEMPSEY, my lady,” said the yellow-haired priest. “I’m Father Darius. I’ve come to escort you to dinner. Lord Myles regrets he cannot do so himself, but I’m afraid the earl’s fever has returned.”
Fiona didn’t like priests. Father Bettney from Sinclair Hall had the disposition of a badger and always made her skin crawl as if ants were upon it. But this one seemed pleasant enough, with pale freckles and an earnest manner. He smiled and offered his arm.
She had little choice but to take it. She could not spend the rest of her days lingering in this bedchamber. And truth be told, as unappealing as dining with dozens upon dozens of Campbells would be, she was getting restless. She’d spent the afternoon alone after Myles left. She thought briefly to venture out on her own, but decided against it when she heard men’s voices streaming in from the courtyard.
“Thank you, Father. Will my husband be joining us for dinner?”
“I don’t believe so. He and his mother are sitting with the earl. But I’ll keep you company. And Lady Vivienne and Lady Alyssa will join us too. You can tell us all about your life at Sinclair Hall.”
As they walked along the corridor, passing a dozen Campbell portraits, Father Darius told her bits about each ancestor. Their history was rich, and Fiona had not realized how entwined their clan was with the Stewart monarchy. At last turning a corner, they came upon a narrow staircase, leading down and ending with a door.
The priest paused. “Are you ready to meet the rest of your new kin?”
No, she was not. Though she’d met a handful of Campbells, and most had been cordial, who knew what the rest might be like? Beyond this door would be the knights she’d put at risk, and their resentful wives. Or worse than that, the widows she’d helped create. But Vivienne would be there, and though Fiona was still not certain of the woman’s motivations, at least she’d sit by her and not leave her to the wolves. And perhaps Darby would be there as well. That notion brightened her mood, for she missed her little champion.
Fiona nodded once. “Yes, Father.”
“That’s a good lass. I’m sure you’ll find a most gracious welcome. Though, keep in mind, they are worried for their laird. Tensions are running a bit high, and the mood is somber.”
He pulled open the door, and she stepped through into the most magnificent hall imaginable. It was huge, with blue-and-green banners bearing the Campbell crest hanging from every truss. At the far end of the hall hung another flag, larger than any of the others and displayed in the place of greatest honor. It was embroidered with the king’s emblem—a crowned lion and a unicorn—for Dempsey was a Stewart holding, with Cedric Campbell serving as master of the royal household.
Underneath that magnificent flag was a raised dais, where the family would sit to dine, and throughout the hall were other tables, each covered in crisp white cloth and laden with silver plates and platters of food. Musicians sat behind a screen, playing loudly enough to be heard but not so much as to be disruptive, while servants moved about, efficient in their tasks.
Fiona marveled at the scene. ’Twas so unlike the hall at home, where everything had a dingy pallor and a rustic feel. Exiled to the far north by the king as the Sinclairs had been, she’d known little in the way of creature comforts. And once her mother was gone, Hugh Sinclair’s only focus had been training his sons for revenge, not nurturing his daughters or providing a welcome hearth and home.
One could get used to being a Campbell if this was how they lived. Her mouth watered as the smell of pheasant and roasted boar wafted past, but she twitched her nose against it. ’Twas seduction of another sort. The fine dresses and the food and the big downy beds. And the kisses. All of this mingled into a potion meant to make her forget who she was. She’d eat the food, yes. And she’d enjoy it, too. But no delicious meal or velvet gown would bring her mother back. ’Twas Cedric Campbell who’d thrust her family into such dire straits, first by pitting the king against them and then by ripping her mother from this earth. She’d do well to remind herself of that.
Father Darius led her to the dais, where, as she’d suspected, Vivienne awaited with a ready smile. Darby was next to her, his unruly hair combed smooth.
“How was your afternoon, Fiona?” Vivienne asked, raising one inquisitive brow.
Judging from Vivienne’s expression, the woman assumed she’d spent some time in Myles’s arms. Fiona could not halt the heated blush.
“Fine,” she mumbled.
“Any revelations about...proper fabric and such?”
Fiona cast a glance at the priest, but he seemed more interested in surveying the hall. Looking back to Vivienne, she answered, “None whatsoever.”
“Ah, more’s the pity.”
Fiona took her seat, and soon Alyssa joined them, looking pale and weary.
Darius helped her to a chair. “How fares your father, child?” he asked.
“Still the same. The fever lingers, though the surgeon poured boiling oil over his injuries before applying the hot irons. He fears infection.”
The puddle of tears in the young girl’s eyes squeezed Fiona’s heart. How very much like her own sister she was, sweet and shy and fragile. Though a Campbell, Fiona knew she would never hold this girl accountable for the sins of her father.
Vivienne reached over and caressed Alyssa’s arm. “He’s strong as an ox, sweeting. He’ll be well before you know it.”
Alyssa nodded, but the tears spilled out. “Mother would not let me stay. But I’ve as much right to sit with him as anyone.”
“Of course you do. She thinks only to protect you. It isn’t good for you to see him when he’s not himself. But after dinner, we’ll go to chapel, you and I, and we’ll pray for him. Yes?” She tapped her hand against Alyssa’s.
The girl nodded again and offered a tremulous smile at her aunt. “Thank you, Vivi. I should like that very much.”
Vivienne turned to Fiona. “Of course, you are welcome to join us as well, if you’ve a mind to.”
Sit in the chapel and pray for the swift recovery of Cedric Campbell? She’d sooner kiss the devil’s backside. But she’d not say as much. These two had been kind and might prove to be the only friends she’d ever have.
“I should like to see the chapel,” Fiona said. What harm could it do after all? She had plenty to pray for. No need to point out that her prayers and theirs would clash like swords in God’s ear.