Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Sorcha’s stomach plummeted as if she fell off a cliff. At first, she could not react, shocked by his answer.
Nay? I should have expected this. But we need the alliance. I need to convince him to marry me.
She stepped forward despite herself, but Rowan spoke again before she could breathe a word.
“Tell yer braither that I’ll take ye here. Prepare the ceremony. Let it be done properly.”
She let out a shaky breath, but the tightness in her chest did not ease. Relief did not follow as it should have. Her clan would be spared humiliation.
Then why do I still feel like the ground is unsteady beneath me feet?
She had imagined this moment a hundred different ways when Ailis first spoke of the match. None of those visions had Sorcha in the bride’s place.
Yet here she stood, her breath shallow, the walls listening. The decision had been made so quickly that she had not even been asked if she could bear it.
“Ye speak true?” she finally spoke, looking intently at his eyes for signs of mockery or deceit. But his face held nothing. Not even anger.
Instead of responding, he turned away from her, quietly leaving the solar.
Sorcha stood there, his words still echoing off the walls. Her fingers trembled as she pressed them to her chest. She could not understand what had possessed him to agree.
Is it pity? Is there something else he wants?
She stepped out into the corridor, voices carrying from further down the hall out of sight. Rowan’s deep voice carried first, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Proceed with the ceremony.”
There was a brief silence, before Callan answered in a steady tone, “Aye.”
By the time Sorcha stepped further down the hall, Rowan had already disappeared.
Callan remained where he stood. He looked at her, and though his expression remained stern, his eyes were not. She saw his worry.
“Are ye well?”
For one reckless moment, she wanted to tell him the truth. That she had not asked for this.
But that would only place the burden back on him. On their clan. On her sister. So instead, she squared her shoulders and forced a small smile.
“Aye,” she said softly. “All is well in the end.”
When Sorcha reached her chambers, Flora was waiting beside the bed. Two maids stood with her, sewing needles and threads in hand.
Sorcha stopped when she saw the dress.
Ailis’s wedding dress.
Deep green wool, the same as Clan MacLaren’s, with Clan Sinclair’s blue threaded through the fabric. A plaid was draped across her left side. Her throat tightened as she approached, touching the sleeve carefully.
Ailis… I hope she is doing well.
Tears threatened to fall, but she bit them back, nearly shaking from the effort.
“May I, me Lady?” Flora looked at her knowingly. She raised the dress in her hands, asking in a silent way for permission to help her put it on.
Sorcha took a deep breath, looking over the dress one more time, before nodding and stepping into her fate.
The maids worked quickly once the gown was on. Adjustments were made, as she was slightly taller and slimmer than Ailis. After they’d finished, everyone had left but Flora.
“How are ye feeling, me Lady?” Flora led her toward a chair by the window, preparing a green ribbon to thread through her hair.
“As well as one can in such circumstances.”
In the glass pane, Sorcha watched Flora’s eyes flicker down. Her foot tapped incessantly against the floor beneath the dress. Her mind raced with fragments of memories, the way Ailis was terrified of this day. And now it was hers by default.
“So… how was yer meetin’ with the Wolf?” Flora asked with a nervous smile. “He looked fearsome when he arrived.”
Sorcha remembered when he rode through the gates. The courtyard fell into a hush, the air charged. For a moment, she forgot she was not part of the crowd, rising on her tiptoes to get a better view of him. But then her eyes caught his, and the force of his steely gaze set her back down.
Even from a distance, his aura was unmistakable.
“He lives up to his reputation.”
“I was so worried about ye when he dragged ye away.”
Sorcha snorted at the exaggeration. “He didnae drag me.”
“He might as well have!” Flora said, her tone scolding. “Walkin’ so quickly, almost leavin’ ye behind. He’s lucky ye’re light on yer feet!”
Sorcha laughed, shaking her head. “Well, he didnae do anything unpleasant when we were alone.”
The fear nearly took over when she stood before him in the solar. It took everything in her to stand her ground, even as he circled her with predatory grace.
Her fingers curled in her lap, the memory of his presence tightening her chest all over again.
Flora hummed, twisting the ribbon through her hair. “Are ye still nervous about the wedding now that ye’ve met him?”
Sorcha answered honestly, “Aye.”
And yet, underneath her fear was something else. She felt it when Rowan spoke in that low timbre. When he stood so close that she could smell the leather and salt on his skin. When his eyes would not leave hers.
Her mind flashed to the scar across his right eye, deep from brow to cheek.
I wonder what happened to him.
Flora gave Sorcha’s shoulder a light squeeze, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Ye’re so brave, ye ken.”
Sorcha met Flora’s eyes in the glass, tilting her head slightly. “How do ye mean?”
“Marryin’ the Wolf in yer sister’s place.”
“I daenae have a choice.”
“Aye, but I ken ye. Even if yer braither didnae ask, ye still would’ve done it.”
Sorcha looked down at her lap, biting her lip.
I’m nae sure I would have. I’m nae that brave.
When Flora finished tying the final ribbon, Sorcha rose slowly. She looked herself over, barely recognizing the woman in the glass.
The green wool clung close to her waist, her braided hair falling neatly over her shoulder, ribbons woven through the strands.
She looked every inch a bride.
Just not the right one.
She tugged lightly at the bodice and sleeves, then her hand rose to adjust the plaid. “This would’ve suited Ailis better.”
“Daenae be so hard on yerself. Ye look bonnie, me Lady. Everyone will think so,” Flora insisted.
But Sorcha hardly heard her.
Her eyes drifted past the glass towards the sky, watching a flock of birds fly past towards the mountains with envy.
“It’s time, me Lady.” Flora’s voice pulled her back.
Sorcha adjusted the plaid one more time, taking a deep breath before making her way towards the Great Hall.
Every step she took felt like living someone else’s life.
This is all happenin’ so fast.
But it hit harder as she caught sight of Callan waiting for her in front of the Great Hall doors, his expression cool and collected.
He held out his arm, and she looped hers through it. She wondered what he truly felt in this moment. And if he would ever allow it to show.
Standing there for a moment, she could hear voices drifting through the wood, boots shifting on stone from the other side.
They were waiting.
Were it not for her brother’s steady presence, she might have fallen forward, her head light. She took measured breaths as she tried to calm herself.
Steady. Daenae falter now, Sorcha.
“Are ye ready, Sorcha?” Callan asked.
She did not look at him. She knew if she did, she would break.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between brother and sister had always been easier than tenderness.
At last, Callan cleared his throat.
“Ye’re doing the right thing, Sorcha,” he said quietly. “For our family. For our people.”
The words struck her in a way she had not expected, but they did not make her feel any better. They made her feel trapped.
She turned then, just enough to see the strain he was trying to hide beneath that calm, and nodded. “I’m ready.”
He gave a signal to the guards, and the doors opened.
For Ailis.
The great hearth was ablaze, heat washing over her as she stepped inside. The hall was filled with many people, but their voices died down as soon as they entered. Her footsteps were too loud in the silence.
At the far end of the hall, Rowan stood tall, overbearing. He looked every bit the warrior the stories portrayed him as. He was broad in the shoulders, built like a man accustomed to battle.
She followed the line of muscle up to his face, where the firelight caught the hard line of his jaw. Dark waves framed the scar she could not get out of her head.
A strange warmth stirred low in her belly before she could stop it.
And then his steel eyes found hers, almost causing her to stumble.
God help me.
The faces along the tables blurred together as Sorcha walked forward, though she could feel their attention following every step she took.
Someone near the benches whispered, “That’s the other sister… Shame he’s marryin’ her.”
They ken. Of course, they ken. By now, the whole castle will have heard that Rowan MacLaren didnae wed the bride he came for.
Her palms grew damp as she crossed the floor, forcing her spine to remain straight.
Daenae falter now. Nae in front of them. Nae in front of Rowan.
Her pulse quickened as she approached him, his presence somehow growing larger, the air feeling heavier around him.
She felt Callan glance at her as her arm tensed. To her surprise, he gave it a light squeeze. But he offered no other comfort, much to her disappointment. He moved to the side as she took her place beside Rowan.
A priest approached, carrying a length of ribbon neatly wound around his hands. Sorcha held out her wrist, and Rowan closed his hand around it before she could brace herself.
Daenae pull away.
Her arm tensed as she fought the urge to draw back. His grip was firm, the calluses on his hand setting her nerves on fire. The elder began speaking, but his words became distant as Rowan’s warmth seeped through the fabric of her sleeve.
“Lady Sorcha, will ye keep faith with this man, through the bitter cold and the gentle spring?” the elder asked, wrapping the ribbon around their hands.
Sorcha had heard these vows before. Everyone in the Highlands had. Yet hearing them now felt entirely different.
Keep faith. How does one keep faith with a stranger? A man meant for me sister.
She forced her gaze upward, determined not to look at their joined hands like some nervous girl. Rowan’s eyes were already on her, steady and unreadable beneath his lashes.
“I will,” she finally said, steadier than she had expected. She refused to look away.
“Laird MacLaren, will ye stand as her strength and shield, honor bound tae her side?”
Her breath caught at the sound of his voice speaking without hesitation, binding her tighter than the ribbon itself. “I will.”
“I now pronounce ye man and wife.”
The final knot was tightened, holding them together, the weight of its meaning nearly pulling her through the floor.
The elder stepped back. The tension of unsure glances scattered across the silence. But then voices began to rise, and the guests began to clap in celebration.
A flicker of excitement stirred in her heart. But it vanished as soon as she saw Rowan’s cold expression.
This isnae me celebration. He hadnae come for me. I mustnae forget that again.
Suddenly, he leaned close, his breath tickling her cheek. “Say goodbye, lass. Let the carriages and yer maids follow as they please.”
She wanted to take a step back, but between the ribbon and his grip, she didn’t know which was stronger.
“When it’s done, ye ride with me.”
He pulled away, but his gaze stayed on hers.
She swallowed.
I hope he doesnae eat me alive.