Chapter 11 #2
It was a strange question, yet nothing about their betrothal had been ordinary. Perhaps it was fear born of years under her father’s temper, of being cast aside for the smallest fault. Calum squeezed her hand. “Most certain.”
She drew a steadying breath, turned to Father Timothy, and nodded. “I’m ready to take him.”
The friar’s voice carried through the chapel. “Freya Anna, wilt thou take Calum Bjorg MacLean, here present, for thy lawful wedded husband, according to the rite of the holy church?”
This time her answer came sure and strong. “Aye.”
“Calum and Freya, I join you together in holy wedlock—in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Father Timothy spoke in Latin, his hand passing over their ring, sealing it with blessing.
Palms damp, Calum took the ring, his heart pounding with the knowledge that at long last, Freya was his wife. As he held it between his fingers, her hand suddenly closed over his, her eyes widening. Father Timothy faltered into silence again.
“If it’s wrong, I can fetch another in Iona,” Calum offered, uneasy.
A laugh caught in her throat, and she brought a hand to her mouth, her face awash with shock and then disbelief. “I dinnae want another. This was my mother’s. She wore it everyday and never removed it. I thought I’d lost it long ago. Where did you find it?”
He pulled the worn pouch from beneath his cuirass, the same one she had given him so long ago, relieved it was the gesture he’d wanted it to be.
Her smile was joyful now, luminous and unguarded. “You could have sold it. You should have sold—” She stopped herself, cheeks coloring as she noticed Father Timothy and their gathered witnesses. Shaking her head, she whispered, “Forgive me. Please, go on.”
Father Timothy chuckled, then provided the words of the seal. Calum repeated them, moving the ring from her thumb to her index finger, then her middle finger, before slipping it onto her fourth with an “amen.”
The ring slid into place as if it had been made for her. Freya held out her hand, her eyes shining with love for her mother. His heart swelled. Though Ragnall had cast her aside, Amie seemed close now, beside her daughter in one of the most important moments of her life.
As they were led inside and knelt, Cara and Aoife, Hector and Murdoch held the care cloth at its corners, lowering it over their heads.
“O God, who since the beginning have blessed the increase of offspring, show favor to our supplications and pour forth Your blessing on these Your servants, Calum and Freya.”
Warmth spread through him as he watched her eyes close, dark lashes resting against flushed cheeks. His wife. Freya was his wife, an answer to his most fervent prayer.
“Join them in faithful unity, bound by affection, one in mind and in holiness. Through Christ our Lord, Amen.”
Her eyes opened. “Amen.”
Calum helped her to her feet, his heart thudding at the thought of what came next.
Father Tim kissed his cheeks, and when Calum turned to her, the ground seemed to tilt beneath him.
He could only stare, rooted to the spot, awed by the knowledge that she was the most beautiful woman he would ever kiss.
Her soft giggle broke the spell. “What do we do now?”
He swallowed, his throat dry, and drew her gently closer, tingling with nerves. “I’m to kiss you. ’Tis the sign of peace. May I?”
Her smile wavered as his trembling hands lifted her lace veil. “I’ve given my vow. Aye, I suppose ye may.”
Anticipation coursed through him as he held her stiff body.
He drew a shaky breath, then leaned down.
Their lips met with slow, uncertain grace, as though she had never been kissed before.
Startled by her innocence, he pulled back, not wanting to overwhelm her.
It felt like reliving his own first kiss, and he was seized by a sudden urge to make it unforgettable for her.
“Hold on. I can do better, MacSorley.”
She blinked. “I hope so, MacLean.”
Annoyed, he pulled her back into his arms, and bent down.
Their mouths met again, and he poured his adoration into long, unhurried pulls of his lips.
A shudder ran through him. By the saints.
Her lips were just as soft and inviting as they looked.
He kept on kissing her, faintly aware that she was still rigid in his arms. When at last he forced himself to draw back, a thrill ran through him.
Longing to kiss her again, he gripped her, suddenly feeling as though he were about to faint. He was unnerved. “Was that better?”
She steadied him in her arms, resting his head against her chest. “Erm…Aye. A little. Dinnae fash. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.”
He frowned, then opened his mouth to argue with her, but was stilled by the happy smile spreading over her face.
“No one may separate us now? I am yours?”
He held her close. “No one.”
She looked up at him. “I am most happy that you are my friend, Calum MacLean.”
The word friend cut sharper than he expected.
He held her tighter, willing himself to accept it.
Ten years had passed since her quiet acceptance of him on the skiff, and they were only now getting to know one another.
In resignation, he closed his eyes as he held her, lifting a silent prayer that one day, Freya MacLean would learn to love him.