Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Innes could not sleep. Her mind had been racing from the moment she had retreated to her chambers once more, searching for a moment of respite amongst all the madness.
Catrin had come to bring her some food, but it sat at the end of the bed, untouched.
She could not muster an appetite, not after what had happened.
And not after how she had let herself react.
Nobody in her life had kissed her the way he had in that moment between them in the corridor.
Nobody had even come close. How could they?
She was nothing more than an innocent maiden, a woman who had yet to find the man she would share herself and her life with…
until he had come storming in a day or so ago and turned all that upside-down.
And, at first, she had been able to convince herself that this was nothing more than a matter of revenge against her brother, an attempt to force Arthur into a corner that would push him to the point of no return. But that kiss…
Could he have kissed her that way if this was meant for nothing more than revenge?
It didn’t seem possible. She had felt it all in his touch, exploding through him like he had sparked the wick on a candle; the anger, the desire, the ache for vengeance, all of it creating more of a mess than she knew what to do with.
She hated him for it.
For kissing her like that, stealing her affection so bluntly.
And she hated herself even more for the way that her body had responded to it, lighting up with the warmth of his touch as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
His fingers at the nape of her neck, his tongue against hers, his muscled body pinning her to the wall—she could remember every detail of it like it had been branded into the deepest, darkest parts of herself.
She stared at the slim window, where the light had begun to fade from grey to gold.
Only a few hours now, and she would be a married woman, unless she could find some way out of her predicament.
And she had turned it over and over in her mind, and she could see no way that she would be able to escape this, even if she tried.
No, he had clearly gotten her exactly where he wanted her, and he had no intention of letting her slip through his fingers.
She had stared at the cold stone walls for long enough.
She needed to taste the fresh air for the last time she would truly be free now that her nuptials were close at hand.
She dressed quickly and quietly in one of the simple dresses and cloaks that had been left in her chambers and slipped down the stairs to the quiet of a Keep that had not yet roused to begin the day.
She turned in the opposite direction of the courtyard, where she had gone to confront Lachlan the day before, and instead traced her way towards the stables towards the back. She always found comfort around animals, and the horses, at least, would not have any plans for her.
But, as she picked her way across the cold ground, something caught her attention.
The scent of lavender, deep and herbaceous and distinct.
Was there a garden here? A small flicker of hope rose in her chest before she could stop it.
As foolish as she knew it was to allow herself to trust that there was anything here not meant to make her life worse.
She peered around the courtyard and, sure enough, spotted what looked to be a small, walled herb garden. As she approached, the scent of lavender grew stronger but mingled with other floral perfumes; heather, foxgloves, the dotted flowers lifting their tattered heads above the wall.
It looked like nobody had attended to this thing in months, the plants just left to roam free at their will. Small daisies sprouted from amongst the tangled weeds, the lavender clambering up the side of one wall as her soft purple blooms sagged towards the ground.
“You must be fighters,” she murmured as she reached out to pinch the bud between her fingertips, releasing a heady dose of the smell around her. “To bloom in a place like this, with nobody tending to you.”
She suddenly wished more than anything that she had her herb journal, the leather-bound book her brother had given her as a gift years before that she used to keep track of the flowers that bloomed around the Anderson Keep.
She had always taken great interest in matters of the natural world, fascinated by the way the same flowers bloomed and cycled through the same process year in and year out.
But the soil here at the Fraser Keep would surely be different from that which she had known at home, and maybe the flowers here would be entirely new to her.
Not that she would have much of a reason to keep track of them. She was sure that Lachlan would find some way to keep her in hand, performing the duties of a willing wife instead of wandering around taking notes on the local plant life.
She plucked a few of the lavender stalks, slipping them absentmindedly behind her ear and into the weave of her braid. The scent was comforting, and she deserved to have something to cling to in the day that was to come, something that served to remind her of her life before.
And besides, this was her wedding day. She knew that she was supposed to look beautiful.
And she was sure that Lachlan would have plenty to say if he caught even a hint of the fact that she felt so utterly lost in this place; that she would never have taken him as a husband if she’d had the slightest bit of choice in the matter.
This might have been a matter of revenge for him, but that did not mean that she wished to make it so easy for people to compare her to Isobel.
She was sure that many already had, and she had no doubt that she’d come up on the wrong side of such a comparison; Isobel’s charm, her grace, her beauty—they would far outdo anything Innes could lay claim to, not least the fact that her husband-to-be wanted Isobel over Innes in the first place.
But Isobel would never have thought to put flowers in her hair. And Innes needed to cling to anything she could to force Lachlan to see her as her own woman, not some extension of his revenge plot against her brother…
Or, perhaps, beneath it all, she just hoped that he would simply see her.
The small chapel was full to the brim. Lachlan, as he cast his eye across the gathered crowd, wondered just how many of them had turned out to see if what they had heard about the Laird’s betrothal was true.
Nobody dared gossip there in front of him, thinking better of such a thing when he was so close, but he could see steely, beady eyes darting around the room, taking in every detail, searching for something that might prove this was nothing more than a joke.
But they should have known by now that nothing Lachlan did was a matter of play.
When he got it into his mind to do something, he would do it.
And Innes, one way or another, was soon to be his.
There was a small flurry of activity at the entrance of the chapel, and everyone rose to their feet at once. The stormy grey light from outside seemed to ease into a light blue just in time to welcome Innes to the chapel.
And, as she rounded the corner, he felt the breath escape his lungs for a moment.
She was wearing a simple wedding gown, a white dress that grazed the floor, embroidered at the hem with the clan’s tartan.
Her dark hair was drawn to one side, as it had been on the night of the feast, in a braid that seemed woven through with flashes of purple and light blue, matching her gray eyes perfectly.
Flowers? As she made her way towards him, he could smell them on her skin, the scent of florals wafting from her like she had been plucked fresh from the garden for this very occasion.
His eyes must have given away more than he had intended them to, because he saw a small smile tug at her lips as she drew close.
She must have been able to tell that he was thinking of their kiss the day before, his promise to make her his in all the ways that mattered.
As much as he had wanted to claim control over her in that instant, he knew that he had ceded some ground to her, admitting that his desire was not entirely driven by a need for revenge.
“You may place yer hands upon the binding stone,” the priest began, as he gestured to the rock before them; it was an ancient thing, so well-used that the carvings that had once been easy to read around the base had all but worn away.
Many marriages had been confirmed there over the years, and, as his hand closed over the top of hers, he could almost feel the weight of that responsibility, of all that he was about to commit to.
Her hand was small beneath his, almost delicate. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye to see if she had reacted at all to his touch, but she let nothing show on her face.
“Innes Anderson,” the priest continued, as he turned his attention to her. “Will you swear before me and all those gathered here today that you will take this man as yer husband? That you will serve him, honor him, and love him for as long as you shall live?”
“Aye,” she spoke clearly, almost calmly. “Aye, I swear to take this man as my husband.”
She did not falter for a moment, as though she had been tracing over these words inside her head since the moment she had woken that morning.
She was the picture of a dutiful woman, willing to do whatever she could to make sure that she did not bring pain onto her family.
Innes seemed so certain that this would be enough to save her brother, and, for a moment, Lachlan could have almost trusted it.
“And do you, Laird Fraser,” the priest went on, swiveling his eyes to Lachlan, “take this woman as yer wife? To do all in yer power to protect her and provide for her, to give her everything that she could ever ask for as yer lover, yer partner, yer spouse?”
“Aye,” he replied, refusing to let his tone falter for a second. “I take her as my wife. To do all in my power to protect her, as my…”
He caught her eye, and, all at once, the enormity of the words he was speaking out loud struck him like a blow to the head.
The expression on her face was inscrutable, and he could not tell whether she was urging him to go on and get this over with or if there were a part of her that longed for him to throw his hands up and admit to this whole charade so that they could both put it behind them.
She traced her tongue over her bottom lip, drawing his eyes irresistibly to her mouth and reminding him of just how good it had felt when they had kissed before.
“As my lover,” he finished up, his voice filling the room. “My partner in all things.”
“Very well,” the priest nodded slightly, satisfied with his answer. “You may now seal yer union with a kiss.”
A kiss.
He turned to her, and her gray eyes met his with a doubtful gaze. When he had kissed her before, it had been different. That had been just for the two of them, the tension wracking between them as she tried to defy him. It was a chance to remind her of who was in control here.
But this? This was different. This was in front of the better part of his whole clan, claiming her as his wife.
This would confirm everything that he had done till this moment was true; that he was not backing down, that he was not letting this go.
That he intended to make good on his promise to convince her to submit to him, no matter what it took.
She peered up at him, and she could almost hear her heart thudding through her dress. Her eyes searched his for a response. The seconds stretched out painfully between them, and he could hear a murmuring amongst the gathered crowd as they waited for him to make his move.
“Oh,” Innes muttered, quiet enough that only he could hear her. “So now, you dinnae want to kiss me?”
Just as she turned away from him, her cheeks darkening with the humiliation of being rejected, something stirred in him.
No.
He would not let her think for a moment that she was not worthy of his desire. She might have been unsure about everything else about him, everything else that had driven him to take things as far as he had, but this? This was real. This was the part that he did not have to play at.
He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and drew her back towards him. And, without another thought, he closed the distance between them, bringing his mouth to hers in a passionate reminder of his want.
It was a fierce kiss, barely suitable for the confines of the church, a claim staked in this woman, in everything that he wanted from her.
The scent of lavender warmed the air around them, and, after a moment, he felt her hand on his arm, fingertips sinking into him, struggling to keep herself upright.
Whatever mutterings had been passed around the room, they were silenced just as soon as they had started by the sight of his mouth on hers.
And when he drew back, the flush to her cheeks had taken on an entirely different hue.
A hue that spoke to something else, something that she might not have even known the word for herself.
But, as he trailed his tongue over his lips to taste the remnants of her that remained, he swore to himself, by the end of the night, that she would have a better understanding of just what it was that lay beneath the surface.