Chapter Twelve #2
When Lorcan and Gulliver had talked about marriage, I’d expected months, possibly years, of planning, especially since I was marrying a Devaney.
I didn’t expect to be married off less than two weeks later, only surrounded by Lorcan’s men and their wives and girlfriends.
I’d always wanted my family to be at my wedding, but I couldn’t bring myself to let this charade count.
This marriage had an expiration date, for me at least. The moment I found Imogen, I’d return to Ireland and Lorcan would certainly find a new woman to pester.
Maeve gave a satisfied nod as she attached another white flower to my hair. “That dress is a stunner, and so are you!”
With flushed cheeks and teary eyes, she looked more excited about today than I was. She’d even invited me over to her place two days ago to watch movies and get drunk, our version of a bachelorette party. I was incredibly grateful for her support.
I had to admit I really loved my wedding dress. The embroidered Irish flowers and clover leaves were absolutely stunning. The only thing I could have done without was the small five-leaf clover. I wondered if Lorcan had told Talulla to add it like a stamp of ownership.
“Are you nervous?” Maeve asked.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t—not yet. It felt too surreal, like a nightmare I would wake from very soon. I hadn’t seen Lorcan since our meeting at church. Maybe that was also why my anxiety wasn’t very high. I quickly shook my head.
Maeve squeezed my upper arm. “I’m sure that’ll change once you see Lorcan. He looks very dapper in his wedding outfit, but I shouldn’t reveal too much.”
It was endearing that Maeve thought I would be ecstatic at the sight of Lorcan. I didn’t doubt that my anxiety would spike once I saw him. After his threat at church, I definitely worried about being alone with him.
A knock sounded. Maeve rushed over to the door of the hotel room Lorcan had booked for me so I could get ready.
It was only a few blocks from the church and only had about twenty rooms. The room we were in was a small room with twin beds but more than enough to put on a dress.
“Mr. Devaney,” Maeve said, full of respect.
I turned, shocked. Was Lorcan’s father here? I’d never seen Devaney senior, but I hadn’t thought anyone from Lorcan’s family would show up today. My anxiety skyrocketed. Maybe Lorcan was more serious about our marriage than I initially thought.
“Mrs. O’Leary,” a deep male voice said. It didn’t sound old enough to belong to Lorcan’s father, and when a tall man with a frame similar to Lorcan’s stepped past Maeve, I realized it must be one of his brothers, presumably the oldest, the head of the Devaney clan in Ireland.
From behind, I might have mistaken this man for Lorcan, though this man’s hair was shorter. Their eyes and expressions were very different, though. He seemed reserved, restrained, almost impassive. Lorcan gave off the chaotic energy of a wild beast in a cage.
“I’m Balor Devaney, Lorcan’s older brother, and I’ll lead you down the aisle.”
“I’m Aislinn Killeen,” I said stupidly, as if he didn’t know exactly who I was. I was too dumbfounded by his presence.
“Aislinn, then?”
“Of course,” I said. I glanced at Maeve, who looked a little lost.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Already?” I flushed at how that sounded, but I doubted anyone believed this wedding was out of love. Anyone with a brain had to know that Lorcan was forcing me to marry him.
Balor’s expression remained indifferent. “We need five minutes to get to the church and the ceremony starts in ten minutes.”
I had completely lost track of time.
“I’ll go ahead. Seamus is probably expecting me.”
I nodded to show Maeve it was okay. With a supportive smile, she slid out of the room. Balor motioned to the door and I quickly walked past him. A black limousine waited in front of the building.
Balor sat in the front with the driver, which was fine with me.
His presence unsettled me. When the car finally came to a stop, my heartrate quickened.
This was it. I was going to become a Devaney.
To keep my rising panic at bay, I tried to convince myself that I would eventually figure out a way to escape.
The door opened and Balor held his hand out to me.
I allowed him to help me out of the car and to lead me into the vestibule of the church.
A Celtic harp, followed by an Uilleann pipe, began to play.
My heart swelled with warmth at the familiar sounds of my home, and I felt strangely emotional.
I’d always wanted my wedding to be accompanied by traditional music, the soft tugs of the harp and the sharp calls of the pipe.
That Lorcan had picked our home country’s music made me tolerate him a tad more.
The church doors swung open, and I shivered at the lower temperature inside the vast nave. Half of the pews were filled with guests, mostly Lorcan’s men and their families. At the end of the long aisle, I spotted Gulliver with a serene look on his face. Was he really pleased with this bond?
My eyes slid to the side, coming to a stop on Lorcan’s imposing frame.
I was surprised and a little pleased when I saw Lorcan’s wedding outfit.
He had opted for a traditional kilt, Brian Boru jacket, white tux shirt with bow tie, knee socks that matched his tartan, a Sporran with a five-leaf clover, and Ghillie Brogue shoes.
He looked exceptionally good in it. Some people thought men couldn’t look manly in a “skirt.” Lorcan with his muscled calves and imposing figure proved them wrong with a bang.
Beside him stood his groomsmen that were—I could only guess—his brothers; other than Balor, their similarities to Lorcan were limited. They were all tall and fit, but their hair was lighter and so was their aura.
Balor began walking, and I had no choice but to follow along.
Every face in the church turned to me. I could see suspicion in many faces: eyes narrowed, lips pinched, foreheads furrowed.
I hadn’t gained their trust yet. I may be Irish, but I was an intruder in their community, and my last name probably didn’t help either.
The only friendly face was Maeve’s. She beamed at me like a proud mother, and I couldn’t help but return her smile.
Her positive energy was impossible to ignore.
When we arrived at the front, my cheeks burned under the force of everyone’s attention. I was definitely not ready for marriage, definitely not ready for this, for Lorcan and everything a bond with him entailed.
Gulliver gave me a nod, which he probably meant as encouragement, before turning to the Devaney brother closest to us. “Aran, will you tie the knot? ”
My eyebrows shot up when the tall, blond man stepped forward with a rope in his hands.
Lorcan bent down to me with a smirk. “Handfasting is a Celtic tradition, Aislinn. No need for the shocked face. You should save it up for when I tie you to the bedpost tonight.”
He let out a low chuckle at my expression then straightened back to his full height.
I had no chance for a comeback because Aran positioned himself in front of us with a serious look on his face.
Like the rest of the brothers, he was traditionally dressed, which clashed with his many tattoos peeking out from his clothes.
“Clasp hands,” he instructed, the hint of impatience coloring his voice.
Lorcan took both of my hands in his, and Aran began his work of wrapping the rope around our wrists and hands until we couldn’t have separated even if we tried.
This was probably a metaphor of what my marriage to a clan boss would be like.
When Aran stepped back, Gulliver took his place and began to read from the bible.
The heat emitting from Lorcan’s body was immense and increased my flushed state.
Though I tried to focus on Gulliver’s words, my mind drifted off to images of what might await me tonight in the bedroom.
Lorcan couldn’t possibly have been serious about tying me to a bedpost. Not for our first night together … right?
Lorcan flexed his fingers, making me wince from the additional pressure. I looked up, but Lorcan’s attention was straight ahead.
Gulliver waited expectantly for my yes to the vows he’d just read aloud.
I glanced toward Lorcan. The dark green of his jacket matched his eyes, and the suspenders peeking out beneath it had horseshoes and clover leaves on them as tokens of good luck. He looked relaxed, at peace even.
I wished I could say the same about myself. My pulse hadn’t slowed since I’d set foot inside church. My body was in flight mode.
None of this felt real. Nothing felt real these last two weeks.
And now, standing beside my soon-to-be husband in my gorgeous hand-embroidered floor-length dress and flower garland in my hair, even less than before.
As children, Imogen and I had occasionally taken turns putting on Mum’s wedding dress, a cheap white polyester garment she couldn’t part with despite Dad’s infidelity.
We used to admire ourselves in the mirror, sometimes even staged wedding ceremonies.
That had felt more real than the ceremony taking place in front of me .
“Yes,” I said, sounding clear and certain.
It was as if a switch had been flipped, the realness and enormity of the situation finally sinking in.
This was a real wedding. Even if I ran, I’d have to figure out a way to get out of this bond.
If I assumed a new identity, which might be my only option to escape my husband, I wouldn’t have to worry about a divorce.
“You may kiss the bride.”