Chapter 9
The wedding was going well. Much better than Skye had expected. Her dress, which she’d been so afraid wouldn’t fit, turned out to fit like a glove. No new alterations were needed.
Helena pulled back, running her eyes over her daughter’s frame. The sharpness in her eyes faded to something softer, and she smiled.
“Beautiful,” she whispered, darting forward to press a kiss to Skye’s cheek. “Never thought I’d see ye wed, lassie!”
“Ah, thanks,” Skye snorted, wrapping her arms around her mother and hugging her tightly.
As always, the older woman was so small and thin that it felt like she was going to snap. A pang of fear shot through Skye’s stomach.
Willnae Ma get lonely with me living in Keep Bryden from now on? Will Hunter be good enough company for her?
She pulled back, glancing over her mother’s head. As if he read her mind, her brother met her eyes.
“I’ll take good care of Ma, Skye,” Hunter promised quietly. He reached up to tug at his cloak, secured at his throat with a heavy MacCrimmon clasp. Today was a formal event, a wedding that everybody in the Highlands wanted to attend. Everybody had to dress well.
Skye offered him a weak smile and a nod. “Thank ye, Hunter. Now, I suppose we should get going, eh? I ken it’s a bride’s prerogative to be late to her own wedding, but this is a political marriage, so I best nae push it.”
That was meant to be a joke.
Helena smiled politely. Hunter did not.
He was the one escorting her down the aisle, of course.
Wordlessly, he offered his arm. She took it, and they turned to the chapel door.
He didn’t immediately push open the door, so they stood still, staring at the wood.
On the other side of it, murmurs and whispers indicated that a congregation had gathered inside.
She imagined all of them, crammed in shoulder-to-shoulder on narrow, uncomfortable pews, all waiting to see her.
All waiting to see Lady Skye, Laird MacCrimmon’s sister and Laird MacColl’s cousin, marry Laird Bryden.
Laird Bryden would be there, waiting at the top of the aisle. Evander.
Hunter glanced down at her. “Ye daenae have to do this, Skye.”
“I ken.”
“I mean it. Ye can back out at this very moment. I’ll take ye home. All will be well. Ye daenae have to marry Laird Bryden.”
“I daenae hate him, Hunter.”
Hunter barked out a laugh. “That’s nae enough of a reason to marry someone.”
“I like him. He doesnae frighten me. I daenae loathe him like I thought I would. This match, it’s…
” Skye paused, searching for the right words.
“Well, it’s the right thing to do, is it nae?
For our clans. Besides, I would have had to marry somebody anyway, eh?
It might as well be a match that will do us some good. And he’s nae bad-looking, either.”
Hunter blinked, horrified. “Ye think he is handsome?”
Skye chuckled, shaking her head. “He’s nae ugly, is he?”
Hunter pressed his lips together and scoffed. “Whatever ye want, Sister. But just ken, I’ll be here for ye, wed or nae. I’ll always be here for ye.”
Skye rose on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his stubbly cheek. “Thank ye, Braither,” she whispered. “That means so much to me.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, the air around her seemed to change. Rippling, almost, like a hand drawn through river water, obscuring a crystal-clear vision of the river bed beneath.
Skye frowned.
Am I dreaming?
She blinked, and abruptly she was in her room. Panic filled her stomach like a leaden weight, pressure increasing and constricting her chest. The room, familiar yet unfamiliar, was decorated for a pair of newlyweds.
A bright fire burned in the hearth, and rich, sweet wine waited in a jug with a pair of goblets beside it. Had she already drunk some? She couldn’t remember, only that her limbs were heavy, so heavy.
I cannae sleep now, she thought, with remarkable clarity.
We arenae going to bed yet. There’s the dancing to come next.
The cèilidh! I cannae wait to dance. Evander and I have practised a new dance, a jig, and we’re going to perform in front of everyone.
He said that his wedding gift to me would be to make sure he was step-perfect, so that he didnae step on me toes in front of everyone.
He’s waiting for me. I have to go down. I have to go now.
And yet she could hardly move. In the next eye-blink, she had sunk into a padded chair, the heat from the fire prickling uncomfortably, yet she couldn’t summon the strength to move.
Something is wrong. Something is wrong.
Her lips parted, but she couldn’t draw breath to scream. Somehow, she only managed to produce a pathetic, warbling sort of gurgle.
Nobody is coming, she realized with a pang.
The door creaked open behind her, just as she formed that thought. Her heart skipped a beat.
“Evander?” she managed, a rasping gasp.
A figure padded around the chair, standing between her and the fire. She stared up at him, fear crystallizing into something new. He was too slim-hipped for Evander, and not tall enough.
He wore a mask, a thick, ugly thing, rough-carved out of what looked like bark. Tufts of hair stuck out around the mask, but in the poor light, it was impossible to tell what color it was. He stared down at her, and through the tiny eye-holes in the mask, she was sure he did not even blink.
Then he nodded, as if reassuring himself of something. Lunging forward, he clapped his palm over her mouth and nose, smothering any attempts to scream.
It wasn’t his palm that pressed against her nose, however, but a wad of wool, scented with something strong, acrid, and oddly familiar. Fear shot through her, and she tried, with all her remaining strength, to struggle.
It was no good. The smell flooded her body, and almost at once, her limbs went limp, her eyes rolling. He withdrew, removing the drugged wool from her face, but of course, the damage was done.
The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was a rough burlap sack coming toward her face, ready to block out the light. She tried one last time to scream, but the sound barely clawed its way up her throat, let alone out into the open air.
Skye sat bolt upright, her jaw clamped so tightly shut that her teeth ached. She’d been trying to scream, she realized, the sound bubbling on her tongue.
Where am I? Where am I?
Blinking, she glanced around the room, her heart hammering. Gradually, the memory returned.
“The Gristle-Pig,” she whispered.
She was sitting up in the middle of the large bed, the ropes creaking whenever she moved. The blankets and furs which had seemed so cozy when she slipped into bed had now turned hot and sticky, clinging to her skin. Wincing, she shook herself free, blinking around the room.
The fire hadn’t gone out, although it burned lower than before. A single candle burned on the table beside her. Between the candle and the fire, the room contained plenty of light. Enough to banish the shadows.
She let out a long, shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut.
I was kidnapped. I was taken from me room on our wedding night. Evander was right. I… I didnae want to go. I didnae leave. I hadnae arranged it.
Raking through her memories, Skye tried to put the pieces together.
There had been a cèilidh. She had been looking forward to it.
Her mother and Hunter had been at the party, which meant that Creighton would have been there too.
Hunter had even walked her down the aisle.
They had all given their blessing, and she had not been forced into anything.
So what happened?
Gathering up a handful of the blankets, she pressed them against her face, almost willing the darkness back. There had been information in that dream.
Was it a dream? Or was it a memory? Can I really trust everything I saw?
The logical answer, of course, was no. There might have been extra details in the dream that real life hadn’t contained.
Surely, whoever kidnapped me must have ken me already. A councilman, perhaps. A spurned lover of Evander’s.
No, that didn’t make sense. Evander and spurned lover were words that did not fit together in her head, for some reason. No, there was no lover. She was sure of that.
Why am I sure of that?
It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.
Swallowing hard, she let her eyes travel around the room, landing on the chair where Evander had slept.
No, not slept. He’d been lounging there when she fell asleep, as far as she knew, his eyes glittering in the candlelight. He’d promised to stay until she fell asleep, and now there was no sign of him.
Abruptly, fear rushed back in and refused to be reasoned away. She briefly considered her options.
She could lie down and try to sleep again.
Impossible.
She could sit up in bed and stay awake, but stay where she was.
Boring and pointless.
Or she could find Evander.
Yes, the last option seemed the safest.
Drawing in a breath, she threw back the blankets, easing her legs out of bed. Her borrowed nightdress was rough, scratchy, and clean but not particularly pretty or comfortable. At the very least, it was long and demure, the hem rolling up around her bare feet as she walked.
Padding across the room, every breath, every creak of the floorboards seemed to echo. Her fingers curled around the cold brass of the doorknob. Turning it, she eased open the door.
The hallway outside was brighter than her room. Candles burned at intervals along the hall, set deep in alcoves. And in front of the door, sprawled across the threshold, was Evander.
His legs splayed out in front of him, his back resting against the doorframe. Arms folded across his chest, he looked anything but restful. His eyes were closed, and for a moment, she was sure that he was asleep.
Suddenly guilty, she made to retreat into the room to battle her fears alone when he spoke.
“What ails ye, lassie?”
She flinched. “I… I thought ye were asleep.”
He opened his eyes, dark and heavy, and glanced up at her. “Aye, I was. The first creak of the floorboards when ye got out of bed woke me.”
She grimaced. “Sorry.”
“Daenae be. I sleep lightly, and tonight is no exception. A mouse squeaked up the stairs and disturbed me earlier.”
He shifted, crossing his legs, and narrowed his eyes. With a rush, Skye realized that she was just standing there, staring down at him.
Was his hair that messy before? I daenae believe so. Has he been running his hands through it?
To her horror, she realized that she was imagining herself reaching down and carding her fingers through his hair, tidying it up a little.
To resist this urge, she curled her fist into the side of her nightdress, wrapping her fingers around coarse linen.
“I had a dream,” she blurted out, feeling like a child.
He did not scoff or even smile. Instead, his eyes widened.
“A dream, or a memory?” he asked, leaning forward.
“I daenae ken. Both, maybe. It was of our wedding day.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Me braither was there, and me maither. Did we have anything special planned for our wedding celebration?”
A test, she realized. I’ll see what he chooses to tell me. Let’s see if I have remembered correctly.
He nodded. “Aye, a dance. There was to be a cèilidh, of course, and ye were excited about it. We had planned to dance ourselves before the others joined in. Nae to me taste, but I was pleased that ye were excited about it.”
Her breath hitched. “I had gone to me room for some reason. I was looking forward to the dance. But I never made it, did I?”
Evander remained where he was, sprawled on the floor, but his body tensed up, like a pulled bowstring ready to let an arrow fly.
“Aye,” he whispered, so quietly he might have been talking to himself.
“I waited for close to an hour, kicking me heels on the bloody dance floor. People had begun to worry, me among them. Hunter had already begun to search for ye. I went up to our room and found ye gone. Still, we thought that ye might be somewhere else in the keep. Gone to the kitchens, perhaps. We searched and searched…” he trailed off, his voice cracking, and shook his head.
Silence fell between them. Skye took a moment to absorb it all.
At last, Evander broke the silence.
“And what else?”
“Nae much,” she admitted. “But this is a good sign, aye? Me memories are returning.”
“It is a good sign. Do ye feel more relieved?”
“I feel more confused. I have more questions. But at least some questions have been answered. For example,” she breathed, glancing down at him, “I ken that I wasnae fleeing from ye. I wanted to wed ye. I hadnae been coerced in any way.”
His expression remained unreadable. “We would have been happy. Ye said that ye thought we could be friends, good friends. I agreed with that.”
“And were we? Friends, that is? Before we wed, I mean.”
He sighed. “We hardly kent each other.”
She deflated a little. “Oh.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “There was never a chance for us.”
“Nay, I suppose nae. And it’s easier now, is it nae? Ye and I. We are wed, but nobody would expect us to be properly man and wife, eh?”
She punctuated this with a little half-laugh, meeting his eyes and waiting for his smile. It didn’t come.
He stared back at her, a crease between his eyebrows.
“Easier,” he murmured softly, as if testing out the word. “Easier for whom?”
“For… For both of us, of course.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “For both of us. Well, can ye get back to sleep now?”
He changed the subject, she thought with a frown, but chose not to say anything.
“I cannae stop thinking about the nightmare,” she admitted. “I dreamt of the man who took me.”
Evander’s eyes widened, and he sat forward. “What? Tell me about him. Quickly, before ye forget. Every detail matters.”
“There’s nae much to tell. He was masked.”
“So? How tall was he? How broad? Did he speak? How did he move? What did he wear?”
“I… I cannae remember,” Skye stammered, the memory already fading. She grabbed at it in a panic.
How could the details slip away already?
Abruptly, Evander rose to his feet. Tentatively, he laid large hands on her shoulders, the warmth of his palms seeping through the thin nightdress.
“Steady, lass. Steady,” he warned. “All is well. Ye are safe. I shouldnae have pressured ye. Shall I get ye paper and ink to write it down, to remember?”
She closed her eyes momentarily. “Nay, I… I’m cold. And tired. I want to go back inside.”
He let his hands drop from her shoulders. “As ye like, lass.”
She opened her eyes, glancing up at him. “And I want ye to come with me,” she added in a rush.