Chapter 14 #2
“If she were here. If Eleanora sat in a pew just beyond the altar?” he asked casually.
“Nothing seems to matter, does it?” she said.
“Trust me. The future shall matter,” he promised her.
They had reached the entrance to the church.
She didn’t remember exiting the corridor to the courtyard, walking through the twilight, and coming here.
The wine had helped, she thought Somewhat.
Candles burned brilliantly within, hundreds of them, so it seemed.
The light cast an eerie, shimmering glow, and it seemed as if everything within that glow were part of a dream, and not real.
She was grateful, feeling that she could rise above the light and watch what went on, as if she were not real, nor was anything that happened.
The king waited impatiently at the rear of the church, ready as her guardian to escort her to the altar, anxious to give her into marriage and be done with her.
She was amazed at the number of people there.
She would have been touched that the king had gone into his own pocket so deeply for her wedding, except that she knew he had not done it for affection, but for effect.
She and Blue Isle were now Waryk’s, Laird Lion’s, and all should know it.
The walk to the altar seemed interminable. She was glad again of the wine she had gulped. She kept telling herself that she was above the glow of the light …
A chorus sang hymns, the bishop was there, a skinny, taciturn man, stern to the extreme.
He spoke endlessly, so it seemed. She was on her knees, head bowed, when he came to her with the communion cup.
She felt a wild urge to seize the cup and gulp down the wine, as Waryk had taunted, but managed to refrain.
It didn’t seem like a good time to tempt God, king, or Waryk.
She was amazed to realize that she was standing again, that she didn’t realize she had come to her feet. There was a silver inlaid band upon her finger, and the bishop was announcing them man and wife before God and all witnesses gathered there.
Then she felt him, touching her, his fingers threading into her hair, tilting her head.
His mouth closed over hers, molding to it, his tongue forcing her lips.
She had expected a chaste kiss … not this.
His lips encompassed hers, his tongue invaded, and she was filled with the warmth and taste of him in a way she had not imagined.
She’d kissed before, known pleasure, a subtle excitement …
She couldn’t breathe. He seemed overwhelming.
She couldn’t escape his hold, the tangle of her hair around his fingers, the forceful pressure of his lips, his body against hers.
A warrior knight, she thought desperately.
Hard as steel, unyielding as rock. She breathed him, felt him; he seemed to be within her, stealing her air, seizing her strength.
Tremors seared along her spine, heat danced before her eyes.
She struggled to free herself, hearing the bishop clear his throat, hearing the laughter and the roar of approval from the gathered guests …
Her eyes were closed, her breath was gone, she could barely stand, her knees were giving, she would taste him forever …
He lifted his mouth from hers. Her lips felt damp, swollen, so tender …
She was shaking, and wanted to wipe his touch away. She would never be able to do so, she thought. He had somehow made certain already that she would never be able to forget him, ever. She need only close her eyes, and her senses would remember.
“What are you doing?” she whispered frantically. She was aware of the crowd, the good-natured laughter, the cheers.
“There has to be some show,” he responded.
He had her arm, and was turning to leave. She stumbled, he caught her. He led her from the church, and the guests spilled around them.
Lady Dougall came to her, embracing her. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful bride!”
“I’ve never seen one more ready to pass out!” Sarah said, kissing her cheeks, as if she spoke with empathy and affection.
But it didn’t matter, she didn’t reply, because Anne was hugging her next, and the affection was genuine.
“You were beautiful, spellbinding. The two of you make the most handsome, most noble couple. You’re so golden, he’s so dark, and you’re both as tall as the gods …
what beautiful children you will create together! ”
Her jaw clenched, she hugged Anne back, unable to respond at first.
“Well, it will be your wedding next,” she reminded Anne.
“I’m so grateful. To you and Waryk. If it weren’t for your husband, something dreadful would have happened.
Daro might have defied the king for you, for me, and David might have fought him, and Daro might have died, and the king’s forces might have been so weakened that an assault from an enemy might have devastated him.
But your husband has the strength to be merciful, and so we shall all live, and be happy. ”
She didn’t have the heart to remind Anne that she hadn’t wanted any part of this.
“Ah, Mellyora, your father would be proud!” she heard the king say, and she was turned about, and he held her in his arms, kissing her on the forehead. Aye, she’d been dutiful now, with no choice. She was in his favor again, so it seemed, or she was being chastised.
“Would he?” she queried softly.
“Trust me, lass, in time, you’ll thank me,” he told her.
She arched a brow, but smiled, wary of the king at the moment.
When she was gone from here, even with her new husband, she would be relieved.
She wasn’t going to argue with David, not when wine was flowing freely from barrels in the courtyard and servants were bringing tables and food out under the moonlight for the wedding feast. The crowd could too easily grow raucous, and demand more entertainment than Waryk had already chosen to give them.
David beckoned to a servant for wine, and when it arrived, he gave a chalice to Mellyora, and kept one for himself.
“A salute!” the king cried, and the crowd fell silent.
He lifted his chalice. “To the power and strength of unity, to this marriage, combining great houses, peoples, and strength of our country; to my warrior and his bride, and to our united Scotland!”