The door opened, and Isobel entered with her husband. Hagan intercepted them, and they stayed near the door. But others soon arrived, and finally Alan said, “Do you feel better now, knowing the story?”
“I worry that he will never become fond of me . . . that he feels forced into this because of your illness.”
Her father made a rude sound. “If he doesn’t ken what a fine lassie ye are by now, he’s surely drawn to your other, more obvious, attributes.”
Gillian blushed and felt conspicuous in her low-cut bodice.
“Fash not, lass. He’ll come around.” Her father’s gaze moved to something behind her. “It’s time.”
Gillian turned and froze, suddenly breathless. Lord Kincreag stood at the door. He had forgone the severe black attire he usually wore for something more fitting to the occasion. His coat was still black silk, but over it he wore a scarlet-and-black plaid, secured with a blood-red ruby. His hair, devil-black and rich as silk, was tied at his nape with a scarlet ribbon, an errant lock touching his brow.
But it wasn’t his clothes or hair that arrested Gillian. It was his fathomless black eyes, intent on her. His face was carefully expressionless, yet savage in its darkbeauty. But his eyes—they burned over her possessively. Gillian’s heart beat a rapid tattoo, so loud in her ears that she was certain everyone could hear.
The next few minutes passed in a daze. Her father called the room to order. The pastor came forward. Isobel and Rose practically lifted Gillian off the bed and positioned her beside Nicholas. She placed her hand in his, startled by the heat from his skin, penetrating the thin lace of her glove. She glanced up at him and was caught again in his black gaze, riveted on her. She barely heard the pastor’s words, though she was vaguely aware she repeated her part on cue. Nicholas finally looked away to pass the ring over each of her fingers in turn—to protect her from evil—before coming to rest on her fourth. His lashes, so long and black, shadowed his sharp cheekbones. She never looked away from him through it all. Her husband. To love and cherish.
When his gaze captured hers again, she wondered if she’d somehow drunk the love philter by mistake, for she felt warm and fluttery and slightly giddy. She had no time to consider it further; his mouth was on hers in the kiss to seal their union. She squeezed his hand reflexively, her mouth pliant, giving him whatever he wanted. It was a brief kiss, but when he broke away, he stared down at her for several heartbeats, eyes narrowed. Though his expression remained impassive, a war raged behind those shadowy eyes. She hoped one day he would share it with her.
Then people surrounded them, offering congratulations. Gillian was urged to say good-bye to her father,then was bustled through the castle, a sister on either side of her, gripping her arms.
Back in their chambers, they helped her change into something suitable for travel.
“Did you see the way he looked at you?” Isobel said, silver-green eyes wide with amazement. “Perhaps Daisright and this is a good match.”
Rose smiled secretly at Gillian. “Aye, he looked like a ravenous wolf and you but a juicy wee lamb.”
“He never looked atmein such a manner,” Isobel said. “He looked at me like I was a piece of rotten meat someone was trying to force him to eat!”
Gillian tried to smile at their jests, but she felt inexplicably melancholy. She told herself it was because she was leaving her family, but she knew that was only part of it. Her husband’s desire for her was a sham, induced by a love philter. That made her deceitful. After hearing about his late wife, she felt particularly uncomfortable about what she’d done. When the effects of the philter faded, she would not repeat it. She would take what fate meted out and not seek to cloud his mind with untruths.
She had not anticipated the regret she would feel at deceiving him. At the time, it had seemed the only thing she could do to ensure he would follow through with the betrothal. But now it felt insidious. Her mind briefly touched on the idea of telling him the truth, but she shied away from it. They hadn’t yet consummated the marriage. She couldn’t predict how he would react to such a confession. So perhaps she wasn’treallysorry for what she’d done. Just sorry she’d been forced to resort to such tactics.
But what couldn’t be changed, must be endured. She could not change what she’d done, and so she must endure the consequences. She would make up for it by being a most loyal wife. No one would ever question her devotion to her husband. And maybe, when the philter faded, his affection for her would remain.
10
They rode for several hours in silence, excepting the occasional shouted order, the clank and jangle of harness and bridle, and the creak of saddle leather. Nicholas and his men seemed extremely watchful to Gillian. He’d hardly spoken to her since they’d set out. He’d said more to her horse, Morfran, than to her, admonishing the beast when it tried to bite his men. But still, it seemed Morfran had resigned himself to the earl’s continued presence in his life and tolerated him well enough, merely baring his teeth and glaring nefariously. Gillian’s belongings and Broc were to follow, arriving at Kincreag a few days after them.
Gillian slid another look at her husband from beneath her lashes. He sat tall and straight on the enormous white horse beside her. He squinted slightly into the sun, thick black lashes shadowing his eyes.
Her husband.It was done now. There was only one thing left to bind them together. With nervousanticipation Gillian wondered when and where. Kincreag was not far from Glen Laire, but they’d started late, and unless he planned to travel at night, they would have to camp. She surveyed the score of men in their party and didn’t relish laying with her husband for the first time among so many strangers. But then again, they were witnesses. No one could claim non consummation later if they heard it all.
Gillian glanced over to find her husband watching her like a sleepy wolf.
“My lord?” she said, cheeks warm from the direction of her thoughts.
“My lady.” He inclined his head to her.
Gillian’s mouth curved into a secret smile of pleasure. She was no longer Gillian MacDonell. She was now the countess of Kincreag, Lady Glenesk, and an assortment of other titles he held, including the sheriffdoms of a dozen shires. Kincreag’s men treated her with great respect and deference. She found herself a bit nonplussed by it all and uncertain how she was expected to behave.
She studied Nicholas’s expression—obscure, as always. “Do you still have reservations?”
“Oh, aye,” he said readily, still watching her with that curve to his lips that wasn’t quite a smile.
Her lips thinned in irritation. When would she learn that if she didn’t want to hear the truth, she shouldn’t ask the question? For Nicholas was always brutally honest.
“Then why did you rush forward with the wedding?”
“I promised to wed you. I keep my promises.”
