Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
“Stop fidgetin’, or I’ll never get these stays laced properly!”
Iris gripped the bedpost as Mairie tugged at the corset strings, each pull making her feel more trapped than the last. The white silk wedding gown lay across her bed like a burial shroud—beautiful, expensive, and totally unwanted.
“I cannae do this, Mairie,” she whispered, her knuckles white against the carved wood. “I cannae marry a man who threatened to destroy me family just to get what he wants.”
“Hush now,” Mairie soothed, her fingers working quickly through Iris’s hair. “Perhaps the rumors about him arenae true; ye ken how people love to gossip, especially about powerful men.”
Even though Mairie was her maid since she was a wee lass, Iris trusted her more than she trusted her own mother, and she felt free to discuss whatever she felt with her.
Iris let out a bitter laugh. “Rumors? I watched him threaten me faither nae three hours ago and saw the look in his eyes when he promised to crush us if we dinnae comply. That wasnae gossip, Mairie; that was a man showin’ his true nature.
I told ye what Moira said to me and Lydia yesterday.
Mairie, those things she said about him cannae be all lies. ”
Mairie’s hands stilled for a moment, and she let out a loud sigh, barely containing her impatience. “What exactly did he say?”
“That he’d withdraw his protection, call in our debts, leave us defenseless.” Iris closed her eyes, remembering the cold calculation in Elijah’s voice. “He dinnae raise his voice, dinnae show anger, just stated facts, like he was discussin’ the weather. That’s what makes him so terrifyin’.”
“But he defended ye against yer parents,” Mairie pointed out gently, resuming her work with the hairpins. “Told them ye were intelligent and courageous; that has to count for somethin’.”
“Does it? Or was he just protectin’ his investment?
” Iris turned to face her maid, her friend.
“He needs a wife, Mairie; any wife will do, as long as she can bear children and run his household. The fact that he chose me over Lydia doesnae mean he cares about me. It just means he thinks I’m less likely to run. He said so.”
Mairie’s reflection met hers in the mirror, brown eyes full of sympathy. “And are ye? Less likely to run?”
The question hung in the air. Iris stared at herself, blonde hair swept up in an elaborate style she’d never worn before, stays pushing her breasts higher than was proper, her face pale with fear and resignation.
“Where would I go?” she asked quietly. “He’s right about one thing; me family depends on his protection. If I flee, they’ll suffer for it. Maither, Faither...” She swallowed hard. “They may nae love me the way I wish they did, but they’re still me family.”
Mairie moved to stand behind her, hands resting gently on Iris’s shoulders. “Then ye’re braver than yer sister.”
“Or more foolish.”
“Nay.” Mairie’s voice was firm. “Brave, and I want ye to ken, whatever happens after today, wherever he takes ye, I’ll be there. Just like ye promised Lydia, I’m promisin’ ye, ye’ll nae face this alone.”
Iris felt tears prick her eyes; she reached up to cover one of Mairie’s hands with her own. “Thank ye, I daenae ken what I’d do without ye here.”
The door burst open without so much as a knock.
“It’s time.” Edward Douglas stood in the doorway, dressed in his finest plaid and looking like a man walking to his own execution. “The priest is waitin’.”
Iris’ stomach lurched. “Already?”
“Elijah Craig is nae a patient man,” her father said, his voice carefully neutral. “And we’ve kept him waitin’ long enough.” He stepped aside, gesturing for her to precede him. “Come, let’s get this done.”
Iris stood on unsteady legs as Mairie quickly arranging the folds of her gown. The silk was beautiful, ivory with delicate embroidery that caught the afternoon light, but it felt like armor. Heavy, constraining, meant to transform her into something she wasn’t.
“Miss,” Mairie whispered, “ye look beautiful.”
“I look like the sacrifice that I am,” Iris whispered back, but she squeezed her maid’s hand gratefully.
The walk to the kirk felt endless and far too short all at once.
Her father walked beside her in silence, his jaw set in grim determination, servants lined the corridors, watching with curious eyes as she passed.
Some looked sympathetic; others merely seemed interested in the drama unfolding in their midst.
The Douglas daughter who couldn’t keep her first betrothal was being married off to the Beast of McMurphy.
That’s what ye are all thinkin’. I can see it in yer faces.
The kirk doors stood open, revealing a small gathering inside with her mother sitting in the front pew, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, whether from sadness or relief, Iris couldn’t tell. A few family retainers filled the other seats, witnesses to this forced union.
And there, at the altar, stood Elijah Craig.
He’d changed from his traveling clothes into formal Highland dress: a kilt in deep green and blue, a white shirt open at the throat, and a plaid draped over one shoulder and pinned with a silver brooch.
His dark hair was pulled back, revealing the strong lines of his face and those brown eyes that seemed to see everything.
He was formidable and beautiful, all at once.
This is me husband.
The thought made her knees weak.
As she walked down the short aisle, his gaze never left her face. She couldn’t read his expression—it wasn’t cold exactly, but it wasn’t warm either. Calculating, perhaps. Assessing.
When she reached the altar, he stepped forward and offered his arm. His touch was warm through the silk of her sleeve, steady and sure.
“Ye look beautiful,” he said quietly, his voice pitched for her ears alone.
She looked up at him, searching for mockery or manipulation, but she found only simple truth. “Thank ye.”
The priest, a thin, nervous man who kept glancing between them like he expected violence to break out, cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God to join Laird Eliajh Craig and Lady Iris Douglas in holy matrimony...”
The words washed over her like sea currents. She heard them and understood their meaning, but they felt distant, unreal. This couldn’t be happening. Just last night she’d been helping Lydia prepare for her own wedding, and now...
“The couple will now exchange vows,” the priest announced.
Elijah turned to face her fully, taking both her hands in his. His palms were calloused, warm, completely engulfing hers. When he spoke, his voice carried clearly through the small kirk.
“I, Elijah Craig, take thee, Iris Douglas, to be me wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”
To love and to cherish.
The words sounded like a promise from his lips, not the empty ritual she knew they were paying lip service to.
Her own voice trembled as she repeated the vows. “I, Iris Douglas, take thee, Elijah Craig, to be me wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”
Till death do us part.
The finality of it hit her like a physical blow.
“Now for the handfastin’,” the priest said, producing a length of tartan rope. “This ancient ceremony binds ye together nae just in law but in spirit.”
Elijah released her hands, only to extend his right arm, palm up. “Give me yer hand, wife.”
Wife.
The word sent a shiver down her spine.
She placed her right hand in his, palm to palm, and the priest began winding the tartan around their joined hands. The fabric was soft, worn smooth by age and countless other ceremonies.
“This rope represents the bindin’ of yer lives,” the priest intoned. “Two souls becomin’ one, two paths convergin’ into a single journey, as yer hands are bound, so are yer fates intertwined.”
He wound the rope around their wrists, creating an intricate pattern that held their hands together; with each loop, Iris felt the weight of commitment settling around her like chains.
“The knot is tied,” the priest announced, securing the final loop. “And so yer lives are bound. What God has joined together, let nay man put asunder.”
Elijah’s thumb stroked across her knuckles, a surprisingly gentle touch that made her breath catch. When she looked up at him, she saw something flickering in those dark eyes. Heat, Intensity, something that made her stomach flutter with an emotion she didn’t want to name.
“Now,” the priest said with obvious relief, “ye may kiss yer bride.”
The words hung in the air like a challenge, and Iris’s heart hammered against her ribs as Elijah’s free hand came up to cup her cheek. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his palm warm against her skin.
“Easy, lass,” he murmured, so quietly only she could hear. “Just a kiss to seal the bargain.”
But as his head lowered toward hers, Iris realized this was no simple ritual.
This was her first kiss, and it was with a man who’d forced her into marriage through threats and intimidation.
His lips touched hers, soft at first, almost questioning, then as she didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss slightly.
His mouth was warm, firm, tasting faintly of whisky and something distinctly masculine that made her head spin.
It should have felt wrong. Should have been cold, brief, meaningless. Instead, heat exploded through her veins like liquid fire, her bound hand clenched involuntarily in his grip, and she felt her body sway toward him as if drawn by some invisible force.
For a moment, just a moment, she forgot where they were, forgot the circumstances that had brought them to this altar.
There was only the warmth of his mouth, the solid strength of his body so close to hers, and a desperate hunger she’d never experienced before.
When he pulled back, something primitive and possessive flashed across his features as he stared down at her, and she realized her own breathing had gone shallow and quick.
What just happened?
“It is done,” the priest announced though his voice seemed to come from very far away. “I now pronounce ye husband and wife.”
The small congregation erupted in polite applause, but Iris barely heard it. She was staring up at her new husband, trying to understand the feeling flowing through her body. It was like fever, like hunger, like a thirst she hadn’t known she had.
And from the way Elijah was looking at her, like he wanted to devour her whole, she suspected he was feeling something similar.
“Come,” he said, his voice rougher than before. “We need to sign the register.”
The priest unwound the tartan from their hands, but Elijah didn’t release her immediately. His fingers lingered on hers, thumb tracing over the slight indentations the rope had left on her skin.
“Are ye all right?” he asked quietly.
She nodded, not trusting her voice because the truth was, she wasn’t all right. That kiss had awakened something inside her, something dangerous and entirely unwelcome. She was supposed to hate this man, fear him, and tolerate him just for her family’s sake.
She wasn’t supposed to feel this burning curiosity about what his hands would feel like on her skin or what it would be like to kiss him without an audience or the restraint of holy ground and watching eyes.
I’m in trouble.
As they moved to sign the marriage register, Elijah’s hand settled possessively on the small of her back; the touch burned through the silk of her gown, sending awareness skittering along her nerves.
She was married now, bound to this dangerous, compelling man by law and ceremony and something far more primal that had ignited between them at the altar.
And as she signed her new name, Iris Craig, she realized that the greatest danger she faced might not be his threats or his power. It might be her own traitorous body’s response to his touch.
The ink was barely dry when Elijah leaned close to her ear, his breath warm against her neck.
“We leave tonight, wife,” he murmured. “Have yer maid pack only what ye need. Once we’re on me lands...” His hand pressed more firmly against her back. “We’ll have all the privacy we need to discuss… further terms of our arrangement.”
The promise in his voice made heat pool low in her belly, even as alarm bells rang in her head. She was well and truly caught now, bound to a man who could apparently make her forget her own name with a single kiss.
God help me.