Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Arran paced his chamber. His dip in the loch had cleansed his body and cleared his mind for some time, but he felt restless once more.
Fionn’s arrival had interrupted his thoughts but provided a welcome respite from the anxiety plaguing him.
“Do ye love her?” Fionn had asked.
The question had blindsided him.
What do I ken about love? And it doesnae matter in this case anyway.
Arran didn’t love Skye. But he wanted her more than any woman he’d ever known. And, he wanted to pummel any man who even looked at her.
Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door.
“Me Laird! I have news from the scouts,” a voice called.
“Enter, Ramsey.”
Ramsey, a tall warrior whose main tasks consisted of training MacArthur men for combat, entered the chamber.
“What news?” Arran inquired.
“Just as Magnus’s message said. Laird MacKeith travels this way. He is riding hard and will arrive sooner than expected.”
“And how many are riding with him?”
“Surprisingly, nae many. Logan reported only four.”
“Hmm, perhaps Grayson Blackwell is only fierce when he’s attacking women, then,” Arran said in a disgusted tone.
After telling Ramsey to update him as needed, he returned to dressing for the wedding ceremony. He wrapped his kilt about him and fastened it at the waist. Over his shirt, he clipped the ends of his tonnag with a silver brooch in the shape of a snarling wolf. Then he looked into his mirror.
His best kilt, black and green, with yellow threads running through the plaid, with it’s matching cape contrasted with his white linen shirt and silver brooch.
His thick, black hair fell to his shoulders, and his midnight eyes shone as brightly as the polished silver of his brooch.
He looked wild and perhaps a little threatening.
Maybe I should smile…
A woman once told him that his scowl made him look like the devil himself. That was fine by him. Today, Grayson Blackwell would find out just how frightening he could be if he tried to take Skye from him.
After one last look in the mirror Arran headed downstairs.
The keep was mostly quiet, but the aroma of roast duck and fresh bread hit him as he passed the door to the kitchen.
He should have known Astrid wouldn’t have kept anything simple.
He opened the door, but before he could say anything, she protested, “Daenae start giving me any grief! This is yer wedding day, and ye will have a feast!”
“Ye didnae have to, Astrid, but I am grateful for what ye have done,” he replied sincerely.
The cook stared at him, her expression softening and her voice cracking with emotion. “Ye go to the kirk. Ye daenae want to be late.” Her sweat-covered face then broke into a slight smile.
Arran nodded and left the kitchen.
The walk to the church was short, and many of his clansmen met him on the way.
“Blessings, Laird MacArthur!”
“A fine day for a wedding, me Laird.”
“Congratulations, me Laird!”
He nodded and smiled before returning their greetings.
Once in the kirkyard, Arran was again surprised. The grass was clipped, and a large wreath of primrose, heather and ivy hung on the door to the chapel. At the door, the priest and an elder from the council stood waiting.
But he didn’t go in. There was something he needed to do. He walked around the kirk and into the small cemetery. At his mother’s grave, he knelt down. Visiting her resting place was something he often did, usually when he was facing an important decision.
And today was important. Today, he would be married.
“Maither,” he spoke softly. “I am marrying today. Her name is Skye, and she comes to this union under some duress. She’s trapped, ye see, and it’s nae safe for her otherwise. I can only hope we’re doing the right thing.”
He paused for a moment before he added, “But I think ye would like her. Everyone does. Fionn would marry her himself if he could. Wish me well, Maither, for I want this to work. I wish ye were here. Ye would surely ken what to say to calm me racing heart.”
Arran lingered there for a moment, and then he stood up and joined the men at the kirk’s entrance.
“Ye’re lookin’ fit and well, Laird MacArthur. And it’s an honor to witness yer marriage,” Boyd, one of the elders of his clan, remarked.
Father William nodded, but then added, “There’ll be nay marriage until I know the Council approves, me Laird. Did ye send for the papers?”
“Aye, I sent Fionn this mornin’. But the whole thing is a bit rushed, ye ken.”
“The lad will be here. We’d have heard if there was a problem.”
But Arran worried. Blackwell would arrive soon, and the ceremony had to be completed.
“Hurry, ye fools! I willnae be late!”
His thoughts were interrupted by Elsie’s voice.
His elderly aunt, garbed in her best dress and wrapped in her green and black tartan shawl, was waiting for him to help her down from the carriage.
Two of his men rushed to help her down, but she refused their assistance to walk.
Arran approached her and offered her his arm, which she accepted immediately. “Come, Auntie. I’ll escort ye inside. Skye will be here soon.”
“Is she a lovely lass, Arran? I daenae remember meeting her.”
“Aye, she is, Auntie. And ye met her yesterday afternoon, at the noon meal,” Arran reminded her gently.
Elsie pursed her lips in thought and then smiled. “Aye, ye are right. She is beautiful. And spirited, too.” She laughed softly. “Reminds me of meself… so many years ago.”
“Ye are still beautiful, Auntie, and spirited.”
“I was full of surprises for yer uncle.” She nodded. “He said he never could keep me under control.” She grew silent then, lost in the past. “And yer Skye, she is strong. She’ll vex ye, ye ken?”
“Aye,” Arran agreed as he lowered her onto a bench. “She will.”
He stood back up, only to spot Skye at the church entrance.
He froze. His breath caught in his throat, and he could not look away.
Her hair, normally worn in a braid or gathered at the base of her neck, hung loose down to her waist in a cascade of curls. A wreath of small and delicate flowers was laced around a small band that pulled her hair away from her face.
Me maither’s wedding dress…as I directed Nellie.
Watching Skye walk down the aisle on Boyd’s arm stirred a now familiar feeling of possessiveness inside him. He reached over and pulled her away from Boyd. It was ridiculous, he knew. Boyd was old enough to be her grandfather, but no matter. No man, young or old, would touch her.
His heart pounded in his chest, and he pulled her roughly to his side. He lowered his lips to her ear, smelling roses and sunshine. “Lass, I have never seen anythin’ more beautiful.”
Their kiss from last night flashed through his mind, and now he looked at her with a combination of awe and lust. Her beauty stirred his body in a way no woman had ever done before. He leaned in to whisper his intentions for later, but he was interrupted.
The priest walked to the front of the kirk and stood in front of the couple. “Ye can take yer hands off yer bride, Laird MacArthur,” he gently admonished. “Ye’ll be married soon enough.”
Skye’s heart skipped a beat. She’d never thought a man beautiful until she’d met Arran. He stood there, tall, proud, and dark. His soul-piercing eyes bored into her own and then roamed over her hungrily.
The door of the church opened again, and Magnus rushed inside. He looked around the room and then asked, “Where is Fionn? Did he bring word from the Council?”
“Nay, the boy hasnae been here, High Enforcer,” Father William answered.
Magnus turned to Arran. “We… uh… we need to get this done, Arran. There is nay time to waste.”
Skye started to panic. “What is it, Magnus? Is me stepfaither here?”
“Nae yet, Lady Skye. But he is close.” Magnus turned to the priest. “We need to start the ceremony, Faither.”
Boyd stepped up to them and shook his head. “Ye ken we cannae do that, Magnus. Faither William needs the papers from the council.”
“Yer on the council, Boyd,” Arran pointed out.
“The papers must be signed by the whole council, nae just me.”
“Faither William, can ye just nae…”
“Nay, I cannae proceed without kennin’ that the council has approved this union, Laird MacArthur. Ye ken I cannae.”
Skye started wringing her hands. She looked out the door and back to Arran again several times while they waited. She started to pace in front of the altar, and this time Arran took her hand and pulled her to him.
“Skye.”
She looked over her shoulder at the door again.
“Skye, look at me.”
She looked into his eyes. “Fionn will be here. He will make it in time.”
She breathed easier.
He calms me. His mere presence calms me.
And at that same moment, the door crashed open and a boyish voice yelled, “I’ve got them!”
Skye thought she’d fall to the floor with relief. But then Fionn added, “And, me Laird, Logan says Blackwell is just past the ridge!”
“Close and lock the door, and dinnae let anyone enter!” Arran ordered his men.
“Faither, we must do this now!”
Father William took his place in front of the altar, and Magnus and Fionn took their seats.
Skye looked at Elsie, only to find her smiling.
She’s gone daft with fear…
“Arran, I think there’s something wrong with yer aunt.”
Arran turned to Elsie, frowning. “Auntie, are ye all right? Are ye frightened?”
Elsie raised an eyebrow. “Are ye jokin’’, lad? This is the most excitement I’ve had in over thirty years. Daenae worry about me. Ye get yerself married!”
“Me Laird, ye’re runnin’ out of time!” a guard yelled from the back of the church.
Arran stood ramrod straight, took hold of Skye’s hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze, and told Father William, “Be quick, Faither.”
The ceremony was over before it began. Vows were exchanged, but Skye didn’t remember them, and now a ribbon, draped gently around their hands, was proof that they were officially married.
Arran leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, gently at first and then with an intensity that reminded her of their encounter on the fourth floor of the keep.
The door to the kirk opened. It was Ramsey. “He’s at the gate, me Laird. I cannae hold him off much longer without a fight.”
Arran broke the kiss and held Skye’s hand, the ribbon still wrapped about their wrists.
“Let him in!” he commanded. “We are done here.”
Skye let out a shaky breath and looked up at Laird MacArthur, her husband.
“Do ye want to face him, Skye? Ye daenae have to. I speak for ye now.”
That statement made her pause. He was right. Now that she was married, he would make decisions for her. And for a second, that was unsettling. But in his eyes, there was no arrogance or cruelty.
“I think I’d like to tell me stepfaither meself about our union,” she replied.
With Arran beside her, she felt more steadfast and confident than she had in a long time.
He took her hand in his again and nodded once. “Then ye shall.”
Hands clasped together, they left the chapel and walked toward the courtyard gate.