Chapter 3 #3
He caught her studying him and his lips quirked, as if in sympathy for her imagined boredom with the priest’s voice.
Or Erik’s own boredom. This new priest droned on through the scripture as fully and sonorously as the old priest. He had yet to say the words that would make her a Ross.
She gave Erik a slight nod and looked away, but other than the priest and the stones of the wall behind him, the only thing to look at was the carved wooden cross affixed to it with heavy iron bolts.
And having grown up attending mass here for countless Sabbaths before she was sent to Inverness, she’d already studied it to the point of distraction.
She knew every imperfection in the smoothness of its surface, the gaps in the joining of the crossmember, the cracks from knots and graining in the wood as it dried over the years.
It held no secrets from her. Did she hold any from it?
She’d sat and squirmed and yawned and even dozed off a time or two over the years, dreaming of running along the glen or down to the pebbled beach below the keep.
At least in her mind, she’d had freedom from the long and tiring masses the old priest had favored.
Now she stood before that same cross and willingly surrendered her freedom, her home, and her clan to a stranger. She put a brave face on her decision and hoped it would be enough to start this marriage well. So far, her betrothed seemed to approve.
Suddenly, the priest stopped speaking. Something had happened while her mind wandered, but what?
Her gaze flicked between the priest and her…
husband? Had the service concluded? Judging by the look of consternation on the priest’s face and the fierce frown on Erik’s, it had, whether the priest thought it finished or not.
Her husband had had enough. She took a breath and turned fully to him. “’Tis done?”
“Aye, my lovely wife, ’tis.”
His glare returned and Fiona was glad he directed it at the priest and not at her.
“We have heard enough, priest. Pronounce us wed and let my wife take her ease. She has stood too long in this cold and listened to words she has heard enough in her life to quote them back to ye. We are well and truly kirked. We thank ye for yer care of our souls.”
The priest cleared his throat as if preparing to argue, then shrugged. “I pronounce ye wed, Erik Ross and Fiona Rose Ross. Ye may kiss yer bride.”
Fiona’s pulse quickened, whether with anxiety or eagerness, she wasn’t certain. A kiss was personal. Intimate. Even a light one taken in the kirk after a wedding signified much more intimacy to come. Once it was done, she would feel bound to this man. Obligated to everything being married implied.
Erik wasted no time. Taking her face gently in his large hands, he whispered, “Ready?”
She froze for a second, and then nodded, and he kissed her. Not quickly, but with intent, slowly, as gently as he held her. Beguiled, Fiona leaned into his kiss for the moment it took her to recall where they were. She straightened, and Erik’s lips quirked into a knowing grin.
“Go with God,” the priest said, made the sign of the cross, and waved them away from him.
Relief filled Fiona as Erik took her hand and led her down the center aisle and out of the kirk onto its steps.
She had indeed been swaying on her feet, mere moments from falling into a faint, but walking with him now seemed to revive her body, if not her spirits.
His kiss had done that. She could still feel its heat on her lips.
She wanted to touch them, but he would see her lift her hand and know what she was thinking.
Outside, everyone gathered around, those who had come to the kirk with them, and those who followed as the news spread of the sudden wedding. The Rose came up to join them as the priest arrived at their backs.
After he and the priest traded a glance to confirm the job was done, the Rose turned to the crowd and announced, “Today, we celebrate the wedding of our own Fiona Rose to the Ross laird, Erik Ross. Laird Ross, Lady Ross, Rose welcomes ye in the great hall for a celebration feast.” He turned to them and in a softer tone, added, “We wish ye both well.” His gaze travelled from her to Erik.
“And if ye ever hurt her, lad, ye’ll have all of Rose to deal with. Am I clear?”
“Ye are, Laird Rose.”
A tiny tremor skittered down Fiona’s back. He had acknowledged the threat, but had not promised never to hurt her. Her stomach dropped. Had she made a mistake agreeing to this? Or did he think he had reassured the Rose and her that he would abide by the Rose’s wishes?
She fought to keep a smile on her face as they moved slowly through the crowd, being stopped often while acknowledging and accepting the well-wishes from everyone they tried to pass.
Everyone but Lia and Hamish. Where were they?
Mary finally came to her side, and the Rose took up position on Erik’s side to help them make their way into the keep.
Erik gave her his arm to hold and to lean on.
She had been on her feet for too long after a shocking and trying day.
The fact that he noticed and felt concern for her warmed her.
She hoped it was a sign of the kind of husband he would be, rather than the one she feared after the way he replied to the laird’s threat.
The scents of roasted meats, breads, and other treats filled her as soon as the keep’s door opened to admit them, and her stomach rumbled. She hoped no one heard, but Mary’s grin told her she had. Erik seemed to be looking anywhere but at her, so he probably had, too.
Embarrassed heat rose in Fiona’s face, but she soon forgot it as they were escorted to the high table, an honor she had never experienced before, to sit with the Rose laird, Mary, and her youngest sister Catherine, called Cat by almost everyone in the clan.
Their middle sister, Annie, had recently wed the Brodie chief, Iain, and gone to live with her husband.
Fiona was torn between excitement at the honor and dread that she would be in view of the entire clan, scrutinized, and somehow found wanting.
Yet she must learn to adapt. This would be her future at Ross, always being watched and measured.
She also had to be respectful of the role she had been thrust into, and interact with people differently.
Erik’s half-dozen men sat just below, looking up at their laird and new lady.
She wanted to sink beneath the table and into the floor.
At that moment, she caught sight of one of her childhood rivals, Callia, who gazed at her with a tight frown marring her forehead.
Ye’ll make wrinkles, Fiona thought, not unkindly, until she recalled how Callia had bullied her and others as a child, always ordering the other lasses around and pushing or hitting them if she didn’t get her way.
If another lass complained and got Callia punished, the harassment only got worse.
As she got older, she became more subtle, ruining friendships.
Even romances. Ye’ll no’ ruin this one, Fiona thought.
He doesna want ye. He wants me. Callia would never wed a laird.
With her sour disposition, she’d be lucky to catch the eye of a stablehand.
At least, Fiona thought as she hid a smile behind her hand and let her gaze sweep past her former nemesis, Callia had provided a potent lesson in how not to deal with others.
Fiona should thank her for that, but Callia would not understand.
“What amuses ye?”
Erik’s question startled Fiona into turning to him. He’d noticed what she was doing? Heat climbed her throat and into her face again. “’Tis naught.”
“Ye hid a smile. I’m glad to see it. I ken today has been hard for ye.”
This man was too perceptive by far. “Thank ye.”
He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Shall we make all the lasses of Rose jealous of yer good fortune? Ye must have some small chance before ye leave Rose to assume the mantle of a clan’s lady.”
Before she left Rose. The words stole the mirth from her chest and the smile from her face. And of course, Erik noticed that, too.
“I’m sorry, Fiona. I didna mean to—”
“Nay,” she told him, shaking her head. “Ye are right. We are leaving as soon as ’tis safe to cross the firth. I ken it, and yet when ye put it into words, they pierced me. But I understand the need, and have agreed with all of it. Dinna fash over me.”
“’Tis my job to care for my wife, no’ to hurt yer feelings.”
“Ye have more important things waiting for ye at Ross.”
He shook his head. “Nay. Different perhaps, but nay more important than ensuring ye find a home there. With me.”
That earned him a smile. If he truly meant those words, and if his actions reflected them in the future, she could be confident she’d made the right decision in agreeing to this match.