Chapter 4
While Kirsten had been trying to fall asleep, she kept glancing at the door, straining her ears to listen for the sound of anyone coming to visit her.
She thought that perhaps Marcas might have wanted to come and speak with her before their wedding day to share some of his thoughts or at least start to form some kind of emotional connection, no matter how weak.
But he didn’t appear, and Kirsten was left to fall asleep alone.
She wondered if she would always be lonely in this place.
When morning arrived, Kirsten met it with a yawn and an outstretching of her hands.
The golden sun poured through the window.
She walked towards it and gazed out, looking at the world that stretched out beyond her.
The rising moors were beautiful. The faint mist that lingered over the horizon made it seem as though a veil had been draped across the world.
The land looked wild and untamed. From what she knew, the Monroe clan had claimed this land in the ancient reaches of time, and they might well have moved on to more fertile land, but this was their home and they were determined to make the most out of it.
It was imbued with history, but it was also imbued with sorrow.
Kirsten had always been deeply attuned with her emotions; she could feel the solemn melancholy that hung in the castle.
It was a place where things had been lost, and she wondered if it were possible for anything to be regained.
Perhaps there were some things in this world that were too far gone ever to be reclaimed again.
As she gazed out across the moors, she thought of Marcas walking Max at night, being enveloped by the darkness.
She shuddered at the thought of how cold it must get in the small hours of the morning, and what it must be like to lose yourself in the midst of the moors, to watch the world disappear around you and be swallowed by an abyss.
Kirsten felt a chill creep through her bones and a prickling sensation rippled across her skin.
All her life she had been in a safe place—a place she trusted, a place where she was surrounded by family.
Even away from home, she had still had Islay, who was more like a sister than a cousin.
But here, she felt like a stranger and was unsure how long this feeling would last.
Either way, it didn’t matter. Her feelings were not of paramount importance.
Just as it wouldn’t be right for Neil or Ramsay to protest going into battle for the honor of the clan, so too was it wrong for her to refuse her duty.
Marrying into the Monroe clan was a boon for her family, and it would have effects for generations to come.
Kirsten’s children, her grandchildren, and the generations that followed would all enjoy a sense of honor and prestige that would never have been their otherwise.
If the price to pay was a little happiness, a little sense of contentment, then who was Kirsten to fight against it?
It was selfish of her to think that her feelings came before the family.
She simply had to buckle down and do what was right, but in all her dreams and fantasies of her wedding day, she had never imagined a man like Marcas being her husband.
She had imagined someone who looked at her with interest, who listened to what she had to say and charmed her with warm smiles and amusing stories.
She imagined someone who would light a fire inside her with just the merest touch, but instead, she was met with someone who seemed to have been carved from ice.
As she placed her hands upon the ledge of the window, she closed her eyes and breathed in the morning air, praying to the gods and to her ancestors for the strength to see this day through, and the rest of her life.
It wasn’t all a lost cause, she supposed.
Even if Marcas couldn’t love her in the way she wanted, she could at least busy herself in motherhood when the time came.
She knew she would be a doting mother and looked forward to bringing another life into the world.
She was also looking forward to spending more time with Moira, who seemed the absolute opposite of Marcas.
Perhaps it would not be the life she had always dreamed of, but she could at least find some positives in it.
Speaking of Moira, the younger girl came rushing up almost as soon as day had broken to prepare Kirsten for the ceremony.
In a sense, it seemed as though Moira was more excited for the wedding than even Kirsten was.
She drew Kirsten a warm bath in a thick wooden tub and let Kirsten wash before she came back with the dress.
They shared stories and laughter, and for a time, Kirsten was relaxed.
Moira helped Kirsten to get into the dress.
It fit her snugly, as though it had been made for her.
The fabric was soft, caressing her skin, and it nestled around her neck, giving her a sense of security.
The very bottom of the dress billowed out as she moved, giving the sense of a flowing motion.
Her cheeks were rosy, and her heart fluttered.
For better or worse, this was her wedding day, and it would define the rest of her life.
There was a knock at the door. Moira opened it and greeted her uncle. He smiled at Moira, but then his eyes became wide when he saw Kirsten. He opened his palms and approached her, taking her hands in his.
“Oh Kirsten, ye are the most beautiful bride there haes ever been,” he said, his voice heavy with admiration.
Kirsten blushed and gave him a demure smile. “Thank ye.”
“No, it is ye I must thank for gracing us with yer presence. I know ye will make a good wife for Marcas, and a good lady for the clan.”
“I hope I can live up tae yer expectations,” Kirsten said. Roderick squeezed her palms, and the smile widened on his face.
“And how is my brother taeday?” Moira asked.
“He is as Marcas always is: ready tae get on with things,” Roderick replied. He arched an eyebrow towards Kirsten and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
With Moira in tow, Roderick led Kirsten out of the small room to the main hall.
With every step, Kirsten’s heart beat a little more quickly.
Her hands trembled, and she was grateful for Roderick’s presence to help steady her.
A great swell of emotion rose within her and curdled her thoughts.
This was it. When she stopped walking, she would be standing in front of the man who was to become her husband.
The path of her life would be inexorably set, and she would no longer be a girl; she would be a woman in every sense of the word.
The future wrapped around her and became constricting, as though ropes were being drawn around her body and were tightening with every passing moment.
She had a sense of what Islay must have felt, and the urge to run flashed in Kirsten’s mind.
But she could not have fled even if the inclination was a serious one.
She was not like Islay, she could not take things into her own hands like her cousin.
But despite her worries, Kirsten looked radiant. Her heart-shaped face glowed with beauty. The dimples on her cheeks appeared when she smiled, and her eyes sparkled. Her long, curly hair flowed down her shoulders like a cascade of water.
The hall was mostly empty. Upon Marcas’s insistence, the ceremony was small, with only the closest family members invited.
The hall could seat at least a hundred people, so the room was cavernous and empty.
Kirsten’s footsteps echoed around, and her eyes were drawn to the shadows in the corners of the room.
Neil and Ramsay were standing to one side, smiling as their sister approached.
Moira and Roderick stepped to the other side, standing parallel to Marcas once they reached the groom.
Kirsten’s gaze darted to Marcas, almost afraid to look at him.
He stared straight ahead and focused on the priest, barely ever looking in his direction.
Max was by his side, the dutiful dog watching events with great interest.
The priest was a white-haired man who wore a dark brown cloak.
His hand rested on an old tome, although he did not open it.
His voice was as thin as the wind in winter, and the words drifted around the high walls of the hall.
Kirsten had always imagined a lot of people being present during her wedding, and she tried to stop herself from looking around at all the empty space.
She forced herself to look up at Marcas, the man she was going to look at for the rest of his life.
His expression was stone, his eyes were flint, and she wondered if she would ever peel away the layers of this man.
A sense of tension and unease surrounded him.
He continually shifted his weight between his feet, almost as though he was itching to be away from her.
It was a horrible feeling for Kirsten to feel unwanted on her wedding day, and that what her husband really wanted was for it to be over.
When the priest had them give their vows, Marcas’s words were rushed, and she couldn’t ignore the conflicted tone in his voice.
Frankly, she was surprised he didn’t call the whole thing off in fury and stride away, disappearing into the shadows of the halls.
When Kirsten spoke, her voice was light and trembling, catching on her emotions.
Despite the unease she sensed from Marcas, this was still her wedding, and it meant a lot to her.
However, there was something that didn’t seem quite right, and it disappointed her.
She had always imagined herself feeling excited and fluttery when she spoke her vows, but because of the lack of any kind of connection she had with Marcas, they were mere words.
She just hoped the promises were not empty.