Chapter 6
As planned, the masses gathered to witness the vows given and received by Darragh and Brighit at the door to the small chapel.
The crowd was silent, whether from tension over the proceedings or overindulgence from the night before, Darragh wasn’t sure.
He had spent the whole night tossing and turning, and yet Brighit seemed even less awake.
Though he had long recognized she had no great love for him, he hadn’t expected her to break into cavernous yawns barely hidden by her veil.
It did not help that her domineering father looked ready to snatch her away at any moment.
The ceremony was only being performed to appease the strict religious beliefs of Brighit’s parents. It was far from simple and already a source of resentment for him. What little patience he possessed for the proceedings was quickly stripped away by his bride’s seeming lack of interest.
“Blessings on ye both.” The elderly priest did not call for the kiss of unity but instead kissed each of their cheeks. First Brighit’s, right over the veil, and then his.
“Thank ye, Father.” Darragh answered, always polite.
“Ye’ve made a fine match.” With that, the priest started to turn him away from his bride while Thomasina led Brighit away, several women falling in around them.
Darragh dug in his heels. “A moment, please, Father?”
The room hushed, all movements stilled. His mother’s eyes widened in warning, but Darragh ignored her. “Have ye forgotten? This is a wedding.”
The priest puckered up his face in concentration before shaking his head at Darragh. “No. I do not believe so.”
“The kiss?”
When the priest smiled and shifted closer to him for another kiss on the cheek, Darragh pulled back in exasperation. “Not me. Between husband and wife?”
Clearly perplexed, the man looked to Thomasina for an answer.
“Not her.” Darragh refused to try and hide his irritation any longer. Speaking to the priest as if he were an idiot, he said, “May I bestow a kiss on my wife? A sign of unity? Sealing the agreement with a kiss?”
“Oh, well, I suppose.” The priest huffed as if he’d never heard of such a thing. But marriages were about the contract signed between two families, not the church. If Thomasina had wanted some elaborate blessing on them, Darragh would not gainsay her, but he would have this symbolic act as well.
Brighit had not returned to his side, much to his chagrin, so he had to take the few steps toward her. He’d chosen his words to the priest carefully, hoping to remind her of their earlier kisses. He knew he had certainly not forgotten them.
“Brighit?”
When he lifted the material over her head, the first thing he noticed about his bride was the fine powder she’d applied to her face.
It made her skin unusually pale, even sickly.
And with her eyes as wide as a doe caught in the forest, he was suddenly afeared of his own strong need for her.
He would go slowly, giving her his total focus so as not to frighten her.
With that thought, all around him disappeared.
He no longer saw the onlookers, her meddling parents who sought to dictate everything according to their own wishes, or even this man of the cloth.
He saw only his beautiful wife, her lips sharply pink against her powdered skin.
“Aye?”
“A kiss to seal our agreement?”
There it was. Her eyes lit with recognition and some of the fear drifted away.
With gentle hands at her small waist, he pulled her toward him, allowing her to meet him halfway.
Her lips were as he remembered, soft and pliant.
A boon for certain and he wished to offer her the same.
Reassurance. Pulling back, he whispered to her, “Ye will come willingly, I promise.”
That flash of a smile disappeared just as quickly, replaced by dread when Thomasina took her by the shoulders to again turn her away.
This time the ladies surrounded her in an impenetrable shield and moved ahead of the crowd toward the castle.
The look of irritation Darragh gave the priest had the older man raising his hands and backing away in a show of surrender.
Darragh proceeded with the crowd of well-wishers, keeping his eye on the women ahead. When they reached the great hall decorated for the festivities with leaves and wild flowers, he watched helplessly as the women continued up the stairs at the far wall that led to the chambers above.
The ridiculousness of the situation grated on him, as did the ever-growing number of people Darragh did not recognize, all offering best wishes and slaps on the back for a job well done. Job well done? He’d not even been able to speak to Brighit, let alone see any job done.
Trained to be suspicious of everyone, his mind and body had been on high alert for days now.
He was exhausted from seeing plots and schemes everywhere he looked.
Sleeping had been difficult despite his father’s reassurance there was no cause for concern, and he’d risen near day break, roused by some noisy late-comers to the hall.
Niall’s voice may have been among those who’d awakened him, but he couldn’t be certain.
And here was Brighit’s uncle again, staring at him.
“Relax, Darragh.” Tadhg’s tight smile seemed more intended for the onlookers than for Darragh. “Sean told me this is how Thomasina preferred it. They’re preparing yer bride for ye.”
Darragh cringed at the mere thought of them “preparing” her for the marriage bed. This wedding seemed more of a farce than ever. Worse yet, he knew they would have to face the bedding ceremony.
“Can they not allow us a few moments to sit together? Mayhap enjoy some of the wine dear Uncle Niall procured for us?”
Niall’s eyes had been on him since they’d crossed the yard to the castle. Darragh finally nodded at him, but he’d swear the older man scowled back.
“’Tis not their way, son. Trust me that yer mother is hoping to convince them to desist in following through with the practice. She had a bad experience herself and would not wish the same for Brighit.”
“Do they really plan to witness my deflowering of the lass?”
Tadhg frowned. “Do not be so crude.”
Pressing to a halt, Darragh frowned at his father. “Certainly ye do not believe I would be unkind?”
Others continued past them, headed toward the refreshments lavishly displayed for their consumption. Tadhg moved closer to him. “I do not.”
The crowd passing to either side of them seemed to never end, and the longer Darragh had to wait to have his say, the angrier he became. Finally alone, he pierced his father with his glare.
“I did not wish to take a woman to wife who was so opposed to the idea, as I said. Over and over again. ’Twas not I that insisted.”
He refused to share his own hopes that he was winning her over or his disappointment at how uninterested she’d seemed at the chapel doors.
She was a beautiful, alluring lass, but there were many beautiful lasses.
He would as soon marry one who wished to be his wife—or be given the opportunity to entice Brighit into his arms before bedding her.
What a wretched arrangement he was walking into.
“They cannot hand ye over to her without some show of… of… protection,” Tadhg said, his last word nearly growled. “I do not claim to understand their reasoning, but I choose to respect their wishes. Can ye not see yer way clear to do their bidding?”
“With a lass a bit more willing…” If given half a chance, he believed he could spur her interest, which was the reason behind his whispered words to her. She was certainly passionate. He could ignite her fire again as she had his. If she chose to remain stubborn, it could be awkward.
“Ye believe she’ll resist ye?”
“D'ye see the way she is with her brothers? She may now dress like her mother, but she sees herself the same as a man. More importantly, she sees nothing of value in what a man can offer her. Just the opposite.”
“I see.” Tadhg rubbed his chin in a thoughtful manner. “So they fear she will continue to resist. And with the onlookers—” Tadhg raised a hand at Darragh’s gasped protest. “—not exactly onlookers.”
Darragh relaxed his shoulders.
“They want to be certain she cooperates with the bedding.”
Darragh glanced toward the heavens. Then he shook his head in disbelief. “And not a spot of wine or mead to dull her reactions to me, to her first experience of intimacy with a man? This is going to be hell.”
The two men stared at each other, neither one daring to speak their morbid thoughts.
“And how will this play out?” Darragh asked, admittedly afraid to hear the answer.
“The ladies will come to the hall and escort ye to her once they’ve prepared her.”
That word again… Darragh smacked his hand to his forehead. “Prepared. It sounds like a chicken rather than a wife.”
Tadhg smirked. “Mayhap we can resist a wee bit ourselves.”
Searching his father’s face for any show that he hadn’t understood his meaning was met by a beaming expression. “What d’ye have in mind?”
“A celebration. That’s what this should be.”
“And?”
“We shall celebrate.”
Darragh’s heartfelt sigh of relief was met with a smile. “Come, my son. Let us liberally partake of the bounty that has been prepared. We shall make this a memorable night even if we have to dull yer senses enough for ye to ignore any crowds gathered around ye.”
At that moment, it sounded like a fine solution.
Sometime later, not so much. After indulging in far more wine than he would usually allow himself, Darragh’s thoughts wavered between morose misgivings and Brighit tumbling down the back stairs in her attempt at a harrowing escape.
No one had yet approached him to say his bride was “prepared.”