14. The Ceremony
The Ceremony
Three Days Later…
Careful hands wound Catriona’s hair in an intricate braid.
Despite their care, occasionally she felt a painful tug on her scalp.
The maid braiding her brown hair would then wince and mumble an apology.
Glancing up at the mirror before her, Catriona caught a glimpse of the woman’s nervous face, her gaze focused on her task.
It was a tradition, apparently, for MacLeod brides to dress in a certain way on their wedding day.
Their dresses were always undyed wool, and the braid was very important.
Thick and intricate, it would be braided with seasonal flowers and left to hang down over her shoulders.
The braid apparently symbolized something.
Unity, perhaps, although Catriona was not entirely sure.
Whatever it meant, however, it was important, and the maid was visibly terrified of getting it wrong.
Try as she might, Catriona couldn’t recall the maid’s name. She recognized her face, however. She was one of the maids who’d whispered in corridors and corners about her before, making nasty little remarks that were only just overheard. She hadn’t been kind to her, not one bit.
And now she’s terrified of me, Catriona thought tiredly. Even though I’m not a different person from what I was before.
Was that true, though?
Marrying the heir apparent to Clan MacLeod certainly made people look at a person differently.
“There,” the maid said tentatively, stepping back and lacing her fingers together. “Do ye like that, Lady Catriona? Is it done well enough?”
Catriona blinked at her reflection. “Aye. It seems… seems well enough.”
She wrung her hands. “But will Laird MacLeod be pleased? Sukie will tell him I’m the one who did the braiding, and if it’s not good enough, I don’t know what—”
“It’s fine,” Catriona interrupted, as firmly as she could manage. “I… I like it.”
The maid beamed pathetically. “Really?”
“Aye. I do.”
Catriona rose stiffly to her feet. A stranger looked back through the looking glass. She’d been given a gold necklace to wear, a cold chain pressed against her clavicle. The last touch was a MacLeod tartan cloak, which the maid carefully hung over her shoulders.
I haven’t even told Ma and Da about this.
She’d written a letter to them, explaining everything. She told them about her true parentage, which perhaps they’d already guessed. She told them about Niall and the Frasers and the Farrish, and the proposal. She’d told them about her betrothal.
Then, when she’d finished writing the letter, she looked it over carefully before tossing it in the fire.
I’ll tell them when it’s done. When I’m safe.
Assuming that marrying Niall will make me safe.
“We ought to go down to the chapel now, Lady,” the maid said carefully.
Catriona missed a beat before realizing that she was the lady. Nodding silently, she followed the maid out of her room and along the corridors. People stepped aside when she appeared, dropping into deferential curtsies. Catriona swallowed, ducking her head.
I don’t like this.
She even saw Sukie. She at least returned her gaze but kept her face blank.
Am I making the right choice? Is there another choice to make?
Through the Keep they went, to the cavernous chapel tacked onto the side. As they approached, Catriona clearly heard the murmur and shuffle of feet. A twinge of panic shot through her. She glanced around for the maid—she really should have asked the girl’s name—but she was gone.
“There ye are, lass,” came a low, faintly amused voice.
She glanced up to find Laird MacLeod shuffling towards her, leaning heavily on a cane. Exhaustion tinged his expression, eyes heavy.
She swallowed and made an awkward curtsy. “My Laird.”
He nodded. “Catriona MacAlpin, we meet at last. Properly, I mean, with yer proper name attached. Once this ceremony is done, we’ll send word to yer family. Ye will see them soon.”
“Not Isobel, though.”
Laird MacLeod sighed. “Nay, not her.”
“She doesn’t want to be saved,” Catriona murmured bitterly.
“I don’t know. I think I sensed a change in her. A sort of… dissatisfaction. Something creeping up inside, a sense that all is not well. Anger, maybe.”
“Anger? There was none of that in her face. I never imagined that she would be so… so vacuous,” Catriona said at last, spitting out the word with distaste. “So foolish. She was always the clever one, ye know. She needed saving, and I couldn’t save her. I failed her.”
“I think that ye are too hard on yerself,” Laird MacLeod responded.
He took another limping step forward, and one of his attendants stepped forward. The Laird impatiently brushed the man away. With a quick gesture, he indicated for the attendants to go forward into the chapel. They glanced uncertainly at each other and reluctantly obeyed.
That left Catriona and Laird MacLeod alone in the hallway. The old man offered his elbow, resting his weight on the arm supporting himself on his cane. Gingerly, she took it.
“I thought ye might want someone to walk ye down the aisle,” Laird MacLeod observed. “Although from what I hear, ye have two living fathers.”
She gave a wry smile. “I haven’t told my parents of the marriage. Not yet.”
“There’ll be time for that. In the meantime, lass, ye listen to me.
Don’t be too hard on Isobel. Ye say that she is the cleverest of ye.
Well, perhaps she was clever enough to understand that if she wished to survive, she could simply pretend to accept her fate.
She truly did have to accept it. Don’t give up on her. ”
“I am not giving up on her,” Catriona whispered. “But I… I am afraid, my Laird.”
He nodded, not asking just what, exactly, scared her so much.
“Fear is good. Fear keeps us alive. My son has never been properly afraid. Fear might have made him stand his ground against Kenneth earlier or get involved in clan politics. But that does not matter now. It was fear of losing ye that made him act.”
Catriona flinched. “This is a marriage of convenience for us both. I have no other ideas.”
Niall is attracted to me, I’m sure of it. But he’s not in love with me. That would be a foolish mistake. No, he is not in love with me.
He can’t be.
Laird MacLeod gave a low chuckle. “I’d almost forgotten what it was like to be a young person and so very convinced of knowing the right thing.
Enjoy that feeling, lass. When ye get older, and the weight of what ye do not know comes crashing down on ye, it’s not a pleasant thing.
The key now is to decide who ye want to trust. I’m sure ye don’t need me to tell ye to choose wisely. ”
Catriona chewed on her lower lip.
Do I trust Niall? Should I?
“It did my heart good to see Niall stepping forward and taking charge so easily,” Laird MacLeod remarked, almost to himself.
A dreamy look crept into his eyes. “I have never been prouder of him than when he barged into our meeting room and told Laird Farrish and Laird Fraser that they couldn’t have what they wanted. ”
“Why did ye change yer mind? Ye once hated my father. Ye helped invade our Keep. I remember the MacLeod tartan.”
Laird MacLeod was silent for a moment.
“My wife had been murdered,” he said at last. “It hurt. I’m sure ye don’t need me to tell ye how much it hurt.
An ally of yers was responsible, and even though I’d taken revenge on that clan, I wasn’t satisfied.
That’s the thing with revenge. Ye can get as much of it as ye want, but it never fills ye up.
So, now I hope to set things right. I should have pulled back and concentrated on what matters. On my son.”
Catriona gave a tiny smile. “Ye love him very much, don’t ye?”
“Aye, I do. And I wish that Kenneth would have let me love him as a son, too. But when he looked at me, he didn’t see a father or even an uncle. He saw a test of patience. Waiting till he could take power himself.”
“Is Kenneth at the wedding today?”
Laird MacLeod’s mouth tightened.
“No,” he answered shortly.
Reaching forward, he used the head of his cane to rap on the closed chapel doors. Unseen men on the other side of the door opened it, the hinges squealing. She glimpsed long, polished pews full of people. They all stood as the door opened, craning their necks to get a glimpse.
All those eyes made Catriona want to cringe, to hide away from their unblinking, unforgiving stares.
Left to her own devices, she would have barged up the aisle as quickly as possible, head ducked.
But linked to Laird MacLeod as she was, it was impossible.
He walked slowly and carefully, and she had to follow his lead.
Niall waited at the end of the aisle. His hair was brushed, glinting gold in the morning light. He’d shaved as well, his jaw sharper than ever. Eyes shimmered as he watched her approach.
A strange plunging feeling tugged Catriona’s stomach downwards, like she was falling from a height.
Am I doing the right thing?
Will he save me or ruin me?
One thing was sure, however. She was no longer a farmer’s daughter.
I’ll never be a farmer’s daughter again.
She reached the top of the aisle. Laird MacLeod smiled at her, dropping a wink. He shuffled to the front pew and sat down, slowly and painfully.
That left her free to turn to Niall. He gave a slow smile, extending his hand. Before she even knew what she was doing, she’d placed her hand in his. His fingers were warm, his palm strong and reassuring.
The priest seemed to gabble through the ceremony. Before she knew it, she was murmuring her vows. Niall spoke his loudly, firmly, and without a heartbeat’s hesitation.
“Catriona of Clan MacAlpin, I take ye as my wife to cherish and protect. To live and die with. My blade and my name are yers if you will have them.”
She let out a slow breath, meeting his eye.
“Niall MacLeod, I take ye as my husband. To cherish and… follow,” she murmured, intentionally changing the verb from “obey” to “follow.”
Niall smirked, and a ripple went around the chapel, as if the onlookers hadn’t expected it to actually happen.
“I now pronounce ye man and wife,” the priest announced.
She let out a long, ragged breath.
I’m married. I’m married to Niall MacLeod.
Then, before she could register what was happening, Niall stepped forward. Sweeping an arm around her waist, he pulled her close to him. His other hand cupped the back of her neck, and he leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers.
Heat swept through her, a powerful, prickling feeling that made her gasp aloud. She could have sworn that she heard him chuckle, low in his throat.
The crowd broke into applause.
“We don’t have to lie together, not if ye don’t want to,” Niall remarked, settling himself comfortably in a wide chair facing the fire.
Catriona lifted her eyebrows and pointedly glanced around the room.
She wasn’t entirely sure whether this was his usual bedroom or not.
The space had been decorated with thick, fur rugs, velvet hangings and various tapestries covering the walls.
A fireplace and wide hearth dominated one wall, a crackling fire sending out waves of warmth into the room.
Wine had been left out, as well as a bowl of fruit and some sweetmeats.
The bed, in particular, had been made up carefully, laden with pillows, cushions, blankets, quilts, and furs. A person could drown in there.
“It looks to me as though ye are expecting something like that,” she answered, not quite able to keep a bite of amusement out of her voice.
The prickling sensation in her stomach had not quite gone away. She could still feel it, tugging at her insides. The memory of the kiss made her shiver.
I want him to kiss me again.
Niall tilted his head, grinning at her. “Well, we did just get married today. But the choice is yers.”
“How magnanimous of ye.”
She made her way over to the jug of wine, pouring out two goblets. She turned, handing one to Niall. For a moment, she stared down at him, and he stared right back. Swallowing, she reached forward, gingerly trailing her fingertips across the curve of his cheek.
“Ye are too handsome for ye own good,” she whispered softly.
His eyes darkened. Carefully, he lifted his own hand to hers, palm pressing warmly over her knuckles. Turning his head, he pressed a kiss to her palm. A line of fire traced up the inside of her arm. He pulled on her wrist, gently enough that she could resist if she wished.
She didn’t resist, though. She didn’t want to.
Wine slopped over the rim of her goblet, tickling the inside of her wrist. Catriona found herself perched on his knee, leaning against his warm, firm chest. He smelled of crushed grass, a heavy, rich scent of petrichor which made her think of damp earth after rain.
“When this mess is all over, the wars between our clans averted,” he breathed, eyes dark in the jumping candlelight, “I will take my time with ye.”
Her chest tightened, blood jumping. She draped an arm around his shoulder, letting her palm rest.
“We have a good deal of work ahead of us,” she whispered. “But tonight, I don’t believe we have any work at all. After that, we’ll just have to see. Nobody knows what the future holds.”
He tilted his head. “Ye don’t trust me, do ye? Not yet at least.”
She opened her mouth to say aye, of course, but the lie wouldn’t trip easily off her tongue. Strange.
Niall gave a wry smile, as if he knew what she was thinking. He slipped an arm around her waist, cupping his hand over her hip. Where he touched, her skin seemed to light on fire, the goosebumps spreading over her skin, prickling up and down, impossible to ignore.
“Patience, lassie,” he murmured. “Ye are a patient woman, I think. Very patient. We’ll manage together, ye and me. Just ye wait.”
She could not think of a good response to that, so instead, she kissed him.