He wanted to laugh at her disgruntlement but wouldn’t be so crass. “That is exactly what I am saying, lass. We shall be wed this eve.”
“I would not celebrate if I were you, Laird Buchanan. I will not celebrate either. This marriage will be unpleasant for us both unless…” The press of her white teeth against her pink bottom lip made him wonder what her mouth tasted like. He shook himself. Now was not the time to think about bedding his wife to be. Not yet. Not if she was unwilling.
“Unless what, lass?”
Her demeanor changed in an instant from appalled to acceptance, given that the fire in her eyes changed to a smoulder as she set a winsome smile on her face. “We make the best of it. I am not afeared of a challenge, Buchanan. Are you?”
Breckin chuckled under his breath and shook his head. She’d be a challenge all right, and one that he’d face head-on. The lass had gumption. She might make a good Buchanan wife after all. “My heart is set on ye, lass.”
“If you intend to make a wretched husband, you shall regret it.” She turned and walked away, her steps almost a march as she hurried to get away from him.
Breckin laughed then. She was ireful and most displeased that she’d have to marry him. It mattered not because, as she’d said, neither of them had a choice. He would make the best of it, though, and perhaps they could reach a truce. The last thing he wanted was an unwilling, ireful bride. Maybe he could even get her to sheath her claws before he took her to their marriage bed. Then he scoffed. That was highly unlikely. Besides, he wasn’t opposed to a woman with claws in bed.
Breckin returned to the chamber that he shared with the other Highlanders. He collected his belongings and stuffed them into his satchel. Later that night, he intended to leave. He’d be on his wayhome before the sun rose on the morrow—with a wife. Cosh, it was enough to turn his stomach.
Shaw Mackintosh entered the chamber and seemed to be collecting garments. “How did Mistress Scott take your news?”
“Ah, well, let us say she was none too pleased. I might take a screeching bride to my bed this night,” Breckin jested. “Och, it would not be the first time I had to soothe a nervous virgin. We shall do our duty.”
“Well, she is young and will accept ye given time. I’m headed to the stream to wash if ye want to join me.”
Breckin grabbed his satchel, followed him, and they left the castle grounds. Along the short walk, neither spoke. Surrounding the still waters of the loch, the rocky slope pitched toward the waterway. Except for a few yew bushes, there were no evergreens or crags. The land was almost barren and the view went on for leagues.
In the grayish expanse of the sky, high above, birds flew, soaring effortlessly. Such a sight allayed and calmed his ire at the situation he’d found himself in. He wished he was as free but alas, he was now shackled with marital misery. Breckin didn’t like being away from the Highlands either and the sooner he returned to his lands, the better. He needed the solace that only the pristine lochs and invigorating air could bring. Soon enough, he would return to where he belonged, and that lightened him a little.
The stream was cold and he used his hands to scoop water to wash. He wasn’t about to disrobe and douse himself with it. Once he was clean enough, he redressed and fastened the scabbard that held his sword over his back. He rolled up his clothing and shoved it inside the satchel.
Mackintosh finished bathing and stood beside him on the stream’s bank. “We should return. Let us go and face our fate.”
Breckin belted his tartan and grunted. “Aye, to my ill-fated destiny.”
Mackintosh cuffed his shoulder with force. “Do not be so surly, my friend. Even if Mistress Scott is a terrible wife, she’ll give ye handsome bairns. And lest ye forget, ye can always spend time away from your fief.”
Breckin bellowed a laugh. “At least there is that.” Then he remembered what the king had told him—he couldn’t just leave her on his land and spend time away.
Since spring was oncoming, he would be about his land more often and would rarely spend time at home. She’d have to understand that he had duties to see to, those which did not include a willful wife. He thought about what Shaw said and that Eva would give him handsome bairns. If anything, he would at least enjoy that part of marriage.
Then he pressed his hands over his face as he considered what she’d think of his home. She’d called him a barbarian. He hadn’t paid much attention to matters of home in recent years and had no dwelling to speak of. That sank his shoulders a little because he had naught to offer the woman in the way of home or wealth.
Along the ride home, Breckin needed to give thought as to where she’d live. Since he usually stayed in the barracks with his soldiers, he couldn’t put her there. Then he considered housing her with his aunt, but he couldn’t foist another mouth to feed on Clare. She’d done enough already to help him. He’d have to find an unused cottage, one that afforded them privacy. She might appreciate being left on her own since she declared her aversion to him.
Breckin’s shoulders tensed at that thought. He didn’t want Eva to loathe him—he wanted her to be fond of him, to want to be with him, or at the very least suffer his presence without being chagrined. If he could induce such a miracle, marriage to her might not be half bad.
Chapter Six
The light melodyof a harpist sounded as Eva entered the great hall for the night’s festivity—namely her wedding to the Highlander. Breckin, from what she’d discerned of him, was that he turned a deaf ear to her, was unkind to children, and arrogant. But he was also handsome—Lord, was he pleasant to look at—and he was the leader of his clan. Hopefully, when he got to know her better, he’d be softer, kinder, and more courteous.
As much as she pleaded with her father, there was little either of them could do to refute the marriage. Eva wore her best gown, the blue velvet with golden embellishments. She always felt regal in it but this night, nothing brought her joy. Her end waved before her as if she was drowning in a vast sea with nothing to hold on to. Even gulps of breath did little to ease her apprehension. She despaired at the thought of her future—an impending destiny without her father, her home, and the opulence to which she’d become accustomed.
The queen entered the chamber and walked quickly to the dais. She held up a hand and all silenced. “Lords, Ladies, and Gentlefolk, we are privileged to bear witness this day the marriage betwixt Laird Mackintosh and Lady Sorsha, and Laird Buchanan and Mistress Eva. The chancellor has come down with a malady and so we asked Father Benedict to perform the ceremonies. If the brides and grooms would step forward.”
Eva walked ahead of her father and stopped at the base of the dais. Laird Buchanan reached her side and stood silently next to her. She kept her gaze averted because she didn’t want him to see how dismayed she was. But that was short-lived because he smelled so nice. She took a moment to gaze at him, at the way his hair hung past his shoulders unbound. He hadn’t removed the short-trimmed beard that covered part of his face. He appeared manly, warrior-like, and strong. If anything, that gave her a little comfort because he certainly would protect her.
A young priest strolled forward and stepped onto the dais next to the queen. He cleared his throat and peered at them. “My good Lords, Ladies, and Gentlefolk, I am pleased by her Grace’s request to perform the Sacrament of Marriage…”
Eva’s mind roamed and she thought about all the reasons why she’d object. Yet even if she wanted to balk at the marriage, she couldn’t. She had to agree and give her consent to marry the Highlander. The priest continued his flowery description about what marriage meant but she barely heard a word. Beside them, Laird Mackintosh and Lady Sorsha spoke their vows and all in the great hall rejoiced. They seemed amiable to the marriage and smiled at the revelry of those who cheered.
Father Benedict turned and whispered something to the queen to which she responded. Their words were so softly spoken that none heard them. After, he motioned to her and Eva thought she’d be overcome with faintness. Her hands shook and heat rose within her. She managed to stay on her feet as the priest spoke to her. All eyes in the chamber fastened on her and her face burned with coyness.
