Chapter 4
The small chamber adjacent to the chapel had been converted into a makeshift preparation room. Bella sat motionless while Sister Margaret helped her bathe and dress.
"Ye look beautiful, Bella," Sister Margaret whispered, fastening the last of the tiny buttons on the gown Abbess Bethóc had borrowed from one of the sisters. It was a simple but elegant cream-colored silk with delicate embroidery at the sleeves and bodice.
The irony was not lost on her. This was the second time in her life she donned a wedding gown in order to marry the same man. She wondered the outcome this time.
Her hair had been braided, a few loose tendrils framing her face. In the small mirror, Bella barely recognized herself.
"Bella?" Sister Margaret touched her shoulder gently. "'Tis time."
Bella stood, her legs surprisingly steady despite the storm raging inside her. She'd learned to hide her emotions well over the years. No one looking at her now would guess that her heart was hammering against her ribs, that her stomach churned with dread.
She was calm. Composed. It was a lie, but it was a good one.
The abbess waited outside the chamber, her expression reflective. "Are ye ready?"
"Aye," Bella replied.
The abbess took her arm, and together they walked the short distance to the chapel. With each step, Bella's heart beat faster.
She could survive anything. Even this.
The chapel doors swung open, and Bella stepped inside. And there he was.
Boyd stood at the altar, and Bella's breath caught at the sight of him. He'd used the hour to transform into something magnificent. His hair, still damp from washing, was combed back from his face, the ends curling slightly at his collar.
He wore a pristine white leine that stretched across his broad shoulders and chest, the fine linen doing nothing to hide the powerful frame beneath.
Over it, he'd draped the MacKinnon plaid, deep green and blue fastened at his shoulder with a silver brooch.
The plaid was belted at his narrow waist, the fabric falling to his knees and displaying muscular legs.
He wore leather boots that laced up his calves.
He looked every inch a Highland warrior. Powerful. Dangerous. Devastatingly handsome. Despite her inner turmoil, Bella felt heat rise to her cheeks.
Boyd's breath caught in his throat the moment he saw her.
He'd spent the last hour steeling himself, building up his anger, remembering every reason he had to hate her.
But as he'd washed and dressed, as he'd donned his finest plaid, some part of him had acknowledged the truth.
This was his wedding day. Whatever his reasons for this marriage, it deserved more than showing up filthy from the road.
Her brother was a traitor. She'd played him for a fool ten years ago, made him believe she loved him when it was all a lie.
But nothing, nothing, could have prepared him for the sight of her walking toward him in that simple cream gown, her dark hair braided, her eyes wide and luminous in the candlelight.
She was even more beautiful than he remembered.
More beautiful than in all those dreams that had haunted him for years.
He was fiercely glad he'd made the effort. Glad he looked his best for this moment, even if he couldn't explain why it mattered.
Their eyes met across the chapel, and Bella felt it.
That damned, traitorous pull that had drawn them together all those years ago, that had made her believe in love and forever.
It terrified her now. Because if Boyd could still make her feel this way despite the years and the pain, then she was in far more danger than she'd realized.
Boyd's eyes darkened as she walked down the short aisle, and something flickered in his expression.
She saw his jaw clench, saw the way his gaze swept over her from head to toe, lingering on the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts above the gown's neckline.
She saw hunger there. Raw and undeniable.
And heaven help her, she felt an answering heat low in her belly.
Bella reached the altar, and for a long moment, neither of them moved. The priest shifted uncomfortably. The abbess cleared her throat. Finally, Boyd extended his hand toward her.
Bella stared at it. That strong, calloused hand that had once held hers so gently. That had traced patterns on her naked skin in the dark and made promises that shattered like glass. That hand could crush her now. But she had no choice. Slowly, she placed her trembling fingers in his.
The moment their skin touched, fire shot through her veins. Boyd's fingers closed tightly around hers and Bella felt the jolt of recognition so profound it nearly brought her to her knees.
Her hand was cold, Boyd realized. Shaking like a leaf in a storm. Without thinking, he gentled his grip, his thumb unconsciously beginning to stroke across her knuckles in a gentle, soothing gesture. The same way he used to comfort her when they were young and she was frightened.
So small, he thought. But it felt different now. He felt her skin rougher somehow, not the smooth hands and gentle skin belonging to a spoilt laird's daughter.
For just a moment, he let himself remember. Another time, another life, when he'd held her delicate hand and promised to always be there for her. I'll come for ye, lass. I swear it on my very soul.
Bella's breath hitched as his thumb moved across her skin. It was the same gesture he used to make. The same gentle, soothing touch that had once made her feel safe, cherished, loved. Her eyes flew to his face.
Boyd was staring down at their joined hands with an expression she couldn't read. Her hand trembled harder beneath his touch, and she felt a tear escape down her cheek before she could stop it. She quickly turned her face away, praying he wouldn't see.
But he saw it. That single tear sliding down her pale cheek.
And despite everything, despite his anger, his hurt, his need for revenge, that tear cracked something inside Boyd's chest. He snatched his hand back as if burned, his expression hardening into a scowl.
He couldn't afford to be soft. Not now. Not when he'd finally gotten his revenge within his grasp.
Bella flinched at his sudden withdrawal, and something in her eyes shuttered closed. The rejection stung worse than it should have. She lifted her chin higher and refused to look at him, even as her heart cracked a little more.
The priest began the ceremony, his voice echoing in the small chapel. Boyd barely heard the words. All he could focus on was the woman beside him who was so close he could smell the lavender in her hair. His jaw clenched so tightly he could feel the muscle jump.
When prompted, he recited his vows in a voice like gravel, "To have and to hold until death parts us..." The words struck him deeply. These vows were real. Binding. He was going to have and hold this woman for a lifetime. Before God and men, he was tying himself to her forever.
When it was Bella's turn, she forced herself to speak clearly, steadily. But inside, she was screaming at the unfairness of it all. "To have and to hold until death parts us..." Another tear escaped as she spoke the words.
Boyd saw the second tear. Saw the way her hands clenched in the fabric of her gown. The way she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, refusing to look at him. He wondered if she too was having the same epiphany that they were committing themselves to each other for eternity.
The priest paused. "The rings?"
Boyd reached into the leather pouch at his belt and produced two gold bands. They gleamed in the candlelight, simple but beautifully crafted. Bella's eyes widened as she stared at them.
"I had them made," Boyd said quietly, his voice rough. "Specially."
Something in Bella's chest softened a little. He'd had rings made. For their wedding. The gesture was so at odds with his coldness, that she felt fresh tears prick her eyes.
Boyd handed one of the bands to her, and their fingers brushed. "Place it on my finger," he said.
Bella's hands trembled as she took the ring. She looked up at him, searching his face for some explanation, some hint of what this meant. But his expression was unreadable, that mask firmly in place.
With shaking fingers, she slid the ring onto his hand. It fit perfectly.
Then Boyd took her left hand in his, his touch gentle despite the tension in his jaw. He held the second ring poised at the tip of her finger. For a heartbeat, he hesitated, his eyes meeting hers.
"Mine now," he said softly, and slid the ring home.
The cool metal settled against her skin, and Bella stared down at it. A symbol of forever.
The priest cleared his throat. "I now pronounce ye man and wife. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder."
Boyd breathed a sigh of relief. It was done. There was no going back now. Bella Sutherland was now Bella MacKinnon. His wife. His revenge.
Boyd turned to face her, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he reached up and cupped her cheek, wiping away the traces of tears. The gesture was so unexpectedly gentle that Bella's eyes widened in shock. She couldn't move, couldn't think beyond the feeling of his hand on her skin.
Then Boyd leaned in, and for one heart-stopping moment, Bella thought he was going to kiss her.
But he stopped just short, his lips a hairsbreadth from hers.
She could feel his minted breath, warm and unsteady, mingling with her own.
Could feel the tension radiating off him, the way his muscles were coiled tight, as if he were fighting some internal battle.
"Dinnae mistake this for kindness," he whispered against her mouth, even as his hand remained gentle on her face. "I'm not the boy ye once knew."
"And I'm not the lass ye think I am," Bella replied, her voice stronger than she felt.
Something flickered in his eyes but then it was gone before he moved away and said, "We will leave within the hour. Have someone gather yer things."
Bella replied, "I dinnae have much. I can fetch them myself."
Boyd's gaze snapped back to her, a strange expression crossing his features before he snapped, "Then be quick about it. I shall meet ye in the bailey."
With those words he stormed away.
Bella clutched her belly to finally take a breath as she shook her head, knowing this marriage was going to be a veritable nightmare. She looked down at the ring on her finger, the ring he'd had specially made, and felt her heart twist with confusion and pain.
***
BOYD CURSED HIMSELF silently as he strode down the cloister of the abbey towards the main entrance.
He knew his tone was cold and harsh but there was a war raging inside him and he could not control it.
He could not believe how much Bella rattled his senses.
And damn it, he had to admit Bella was even more beautiful now.
There was a maturity, a quiet dignity about her that he found so damned appealing.
And damn her plump lips—he wanted to taste them again, see if she still tasted the same after all these years.
He'd been so close in the chapel. Another inch and he would have claimed her mouth, would have given in to the hunger that had been clawing at him from the moment he saw her again.
He told himself this was a marriage of convenience, a cold arrangement made purely for revenge. He needed to remember that.
***