Chapter 8 #2
Cairren drew in a deep breath. Pain seemed to consume every inch of her.
It was agony standing before Padraig when he promised to love, honor, and comfort her when she knew he didn’t mean any of it.
Now it was her turn to lie. While she might have been willing to love him, Padraig already made it clear that such tender feelings would be pointless.
Her pledge to obey a man who took her hand in marriage after being paid to do so, made her chattel. But what choice did she have? None.
“I will.” Cairren’s voice gave no hint to her inner turmoil. She met Padraig’s eyes, determined to pretend to be the devoted bride to Padraig’s doting groom.
Innes stepped forward, prepared for what came next.
Father Mitchell directed his derisive tone at Collette as he stared with equal disgust at Cairren’s mother.
“Who giveth this woman to be married to this mon?” He managed to make the word “woman” sound distasteful and condescending each time he spoke it.
“Her mother and I,” Innes lifted his chin, not afraid to challenge the man of the cloth. Cairren’s father was already beside himself that Micheil fooled them into the marriage. He wasn’t willing to cower before a priest who mocked him.
“I, Padraig Angus Munro take thee.” Padraig froze. He had no idea what Cairren’s full name was. He hadn’t paid attention to the contracts, and he hadn’t thought to ask.
“Sabine,” Cairren whispered.
“Cairren Sabine Kennedy, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.
” As though agreeing to the terms hadn’t been bad enough, the ceremony now forced them to voice each promise aloud.
“I, Cairren Sabine Kennedy, take thee, Padraig Angus Munro, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth. ”
Padraig pulled a ring from his sporran that he rubbed between his thumb and forefinger.
It was the ring he’d always intended to give Myrna, but now he was sliding it onto Cairren’s finger.
Once more, her hand jerked as if she would pull it away, as if the ring scorched her finger.
Padraig glanced at Cairren and knew she’d realized the ring wasn’t really meant for her.
He pushed the ring over her knuckle where it settled at the base of her finger.
With her fine bones, the ring looked as though it had been crafted just for her.
The deep emerald reflected the sunlight as Padraig tried not to sigh with resignation.
It wouldn’t make Cairren or him feel better.
“With this ring I thee wed.” As Padraig stood before his stalwart bride, a woman who would endure a lifetime of rejection from the clan she joined, he discovered a reverence for his pledge that he hadn’t expected.
He admitted to himself that he wasn’t sure that he could have survived the past day with the dignity Cairren had.
He admired her for it, and he felt pride that King Robert entrusted her to him.
None of his clan might appreciate the gift he’d been given, but at least Padraig could respect her.
“With my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” His body agreed with his vow to worship her, so Padraig felt as though not everything he’d said was a falsehood.
"Those whom God hath joined together let no mon put asunder.” Father Mitchell seemed to choke on his words before he shifted his attention once more to the gathered clan members.
“Forasmuch as Padraig and Cairren have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this clan, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be mon and wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
Padraig eased Cairren into his arms, cautious not to startle her. She looked up at him as though she were adrift, and the protectiveness and possessiveness he experienced while standing with her on the keep steps reemerged. He lowered his mouth to hers but whispered, “Open for me.”
Cairren’s eyes flared, but her lips parted on a soft mint-scented breath.
Her eyes drifted close, and Padraig brought their mouths together.
The heat and intensity from the night before sparked with the merest graze of their lips.
He pressed his tongue into her mouth as she opened to him.
His hold tightened as he felt her hands rest on his chest. He remembered they had an audience when an angry screech rent the air.
He pulled back and saw Myrna’s hands curled into claws as though she prepared to attack Cairren.
Where there would normally be cheers and applause, there was stunned silence.
Padraig pulled Cairren against his side and tucked her against him, trying to shield her from the looks of revulsion and disgust. But she refused to remain hidden.
She donned her courtly facade, an expression Padraig already recognized as her defense, and stepped away from him.
She steered toward her parents, but just before she reached them, she tilted her head toward Myrna and tossed her bouquet toward her.
Reflexively, Myrna caught it. When she realized the significance of catching Cairren’s bouquet after watching Cairren marry the man she wanted, she dropped it and ground her heel into it.
Cairren laughed merrily, even though Padraig sensed it was an act. “Thank you. They’ve been making me want to sneeze the entire time.”
Padraig blinked several times as Innes and Collette linked arms with Cairren, and the trio moved toward the keep. Cairren didn’t bother to look back to see if Padraig followed. He’d been left at the altar—except they were already married.