Chapter 5 #2
With Martha behind her, lifting her dress to help her down the stairs, she took the Keep in under the light of day.
It was a little less imposing, she had to admit, though it still held the air of something discomforting about it.
Downstairs, a few maids curtsied to her as she passed, and she tried to make sense of it, her new place in this home.
She was to be a Lady there, though she had never imagined herself as claiming such power in her own name.
“Who will be attending today?” she asked Martha, doing her best to keep her voice light.
Martha smiled at her but did not answer, she had probably been told not to speak too much on the matter. She gritted her teeth. How was it that everyone could treat her with so much respect, but nobody could answer her questions?
“And what about the MacCairns?” she pressed, trying to keep her voice light. “Will they be joining us today?”
Given the recent clash on the road, it seemed impossible. Ailsa needed to know what had happened between the clans, though, so she baited the guards.
This, at least, seemed to get some kind of response from them.
They exchanged a glance, something clearly laced with a darker meaning that they did not want to speak out loud.
Of course they would not be attending. It was obvious that there was animosity between the MacDonalds and the MacCairns, but considering their previous alliance, it did not make much sense.
Not for an attack like that in the forest anyway…
She cast her mind back to the few times she had played near here as a child to recall who had joined them on such occasions.
She had memories of Malric MacCairn occasionally joining them, but she hadn’t seen him since.
She’d heard mention of him through the grapevine—that he had risen to be the Laird of the MacCairns, that he had long since grown past the childish games that they had played.
She prayed that she would catch sight of his friendly face soon, but it didn’t seem likely.
She made a silent mental note to ask Tavish about it again when she got the chance. When they were married, he would have no choice but to speak to her openly, would he not?
It didn’t take long till they had looped around the side of the Keep and down to the chapel, where Tavish was waiting for her.
A handful of people were dotted amongst the pews, most of them older men, perhaps clan elders who had come to bear witness to the joining of the couple.
Martha dusted her off one last time before she gestured for her to make her way up the narrow stone aisle, which was barely wide enough for her to fit her dress along.
She clutched swathes of the fabric as she went, trying not to trip over her feet, and doing her best not to look too long at the man who stood waiting for her on the other side of all of this.
She tried to focus on the space around her, on the light filtering in through the windows on either side of her, and the smell of flowers that filled the room.
It was rather beautiful, in its way, and she could not help but wonder if this was the same place she would have been wedded to Callum had their nuptials taken place.
But, as she reached the altar at last, she found a very different man looking back at her.
A man who, despite it all, she could not quite find it in herself to loathe.
He was handsome, almost dangerously so, in his ceremonial kilt.
A dagger glinting from his sock, it seemed he were ready for battle at any moment.
His face was clean-shaven, his dark hair pushed to one side, his eyes unmoving from hers as she stood before him.
She made a point not to look away, refusing to grant him the deference she was sure he wanted in a wife. Well, ye shouldn’t have chosen me if that’s what ye came here for.
“I ken what ye’re doing, but it only has the opposite effect of what ye expect.”
“I expect only the worst when it comes to ye anyway,” she whispered without thinking better of it.
His gaze flicked to her mouth for a moment, and he flashed a smirk. “Good lass.”
Her eyes found his, and, unbidden, she was cast back into the memory of her dream, his teeth sinking into her lip.
Something flushed deep within her, and she prayed that he would not be able to see it from where he stood.
She’d never live it down if for a moment he could tell what was going on in her mind; how torn she was between what she wanted and what she knew she should not.
“Friends of Clan MacDonald,” the minister announced suddenly, drawing her from the rushing thoughts in her mind and back into the moment at hand. “We are gathered here today to witness the marriage of Tavish MacDonald and his wife-to-be, Ailsa Kerr.”
She almost jumped, hearing her name in such a context, but she did not let it show on her face, pressing her lips together to contain herself as she stared back at Tavish.
“Ailsa,” the minister went on, as he turned his attention to her. “Do ye take Tavish as yer husband? To obey him, to honor him, to provide fer him in all the ways that are yer duty as a wife?”
“I do.”
She snapped her reply out swiftly, before she could think over what exactly they meant.
Amusement flickered in his eyes, and he shook his head before the minister could continue, lifting a hand to stop him in his tracks.
“Ye can do better than that, lass,” he murmured, cocking an eyebrow. “Come, now. Ye’ve more to say than I do.”
She glowered at him. Was he going to make her say it? She knew the answer already. When had he given her an inch of freedom in all of this? He wanted to hear her submit to him in all the ways he wanted, and there was no chance that he would settle for anything less.
“Minister, please, repeat it again so my bride may hear what she has to say to me,” he went on, turning his attention to the minister and looking at him expectantly.
The minister cleared his throat, clearly knowing better than to dare argue with this man, and he did as he was told.
“I take Tavish,” Ailsa forced out, though every inch of her was arguing with it. “As my husband. To obey him, to honor him, to provide for him in all the ways that will be my duty as a wife.”
She glared at him, as though daring him to press for more, but he seemed happy enough.
“See, lass?” he murmured, leaning in a little closer. “No’ so bad, eh?”
“Och, ye have not seen bad yet,” she murmured only for him to hear and glanced back at the minister, imploring him to go on.
He did as he was told at once, turning to Tavish’ vows. “And do ye, Tavish, promise to protect yer new wife? To love her and care for her and any children ye may bring into this world, to adore her and provide for her in all the ways that will be expected of ye as a husband?”
“Aye,” he replied. “Aye, I do.”
So he didn’t have to say all of that to her?
But before she had the chance to call him out on his hypocrisy, he moved towards her, pulling her in for a kiss without waiting for the blessing of the minister.
She gasped as his hands caught her face, and his mouth claimed hers with a hot, hungry passion that more than matched the kind she had envisioned in her dream the night before.
It was not a question for her, not a soft wondering of whether she would gift herself to him, but a promise—a promise that he would take her and make her his in all the ways that he wanted to, and that the best she could hope for was to keep up in the process.
His tongue skimmed across her bottom lip softly, drinking in the taste of her. Right there in front of the minister, in a house of God, it seemed absurd that he could do something so devilish, but, she supposed, he was not used to playing by the rules laid down by anyone else.
“Ye’re mine now, lass,” he murmured, low enough that she was the only one in the room who could hear him.
And, as the grin spread over his face, something else bloomed in her chest. Some twisted mix between desire and fear that she could not make sense of and that she did not want to.
And she knew he was right. Whatever happened next, she belonged to him—and there wasn’t a thing in the world she could do to change it.