Lavina bobbed her head, fighting the urge to run. It wasn’t something her parents would’ve condoned. But then again, if they were still alive, she’d never have ended up in such dire straits.
The oak doors moaned, echoing her sorrow. She was walking straight into a life she swore she’d never have. Her footsteps echoed through the hallowed halls as if she were being escorted to her grave.
Dread coiled in her stomach as she tried not to pay heed to the lingering glances of the servants she walked past. She didn’t want to think about what was going through their heads.
All she could focus on was the knots in her stomach, threatening to ruin the wedding. And as much as she wished she could get out of it, marrying Laird McGowan was the best choice she had. Not only for her safety, but Maisie’s as well.
And as she climbed into the carriage with Maisie, she couldn’t help but wish for another way.
Laird McGowan was a monster—a brute, sly and tricky. Perhaps he’d only lured her into marriage under false pretenses, offering security before turning on them both. Or perhaps this was all a test, and she and Maisie were his subjects.
The thought sent an icy finger down her spine.
The carriage trundled over the cobblestones, and the closer they got to the kirk, the more distant Lavina felt from herself. She was a bride now, soon to be a wife.
The reality hit her like a blow. So much had happened in so little time that she barely knew which way was up.
“Lavina?” Maisie’s worried voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “Just say the word, and we’ll make a run for it.”
“And after that?” Lavina asked, her eyes drifting to the cheery countryside.
A dark cloud loomed above, heavy with the promise of rain, waiting to burst the moment they stepped out of the carriage.
“What do ye mean, after?” Maisie blinked. “We go to the Americas.”
“And with what money? Nae to mention the journey would kill us,” Lavina replied more sharply than she had intended.
She wasn’t angry at Maisie; she was angry with herself. Angry at this situation. At fate.
“And what? Ye think marryin’ someone ye dinnae love is the best option? Surely we’d be better off dyin’ doin’ something new than under our uncle’s thumb,” Maisie argued.
“I love ye, little sister. But again, with what money? I’ll nae become a thief. When I marry,yerfuture will be better. The Laird promised?—”
“And what makes ye think he’ll keep his promise?” Maisie interrupted. “Ye remember who we’re dealin’ with, right?”
It was an accusation, blunt and painful. Lavina didn’t need a reminder. She was marrying Theodore Gavin McGowan, the nastiest laird in the south of the Highlands. A man with blood on his hands. A man rumored to have killed many people.
She shoved the thought to the back of her mind as the carriage came to a halt. If she let it fester, she’d act on impulse instead of reason.
Best to get this over with before I change me mind.
The kirk stood like a stone sentinel on the top of the hill. Lavina tried to calm the storm raging in her chest as she followed Stephen to the front door. Maisie clung tightly to her arm.
Stephen pounded three times on the massive doors.
The moan of the wood echoed like a cry from deep within Lavina’s soul. Her footsteps rang loud as they entered. The kirk smelled of heather and leather, mingled with the musty scent of mold. There were no decorations—no flowers, no ribbons, not even a wreath to mark the occasion.
A handful of people rose from the pews, faces she had barely begun to recognize. Amber’s wide eyes peered over the front wooden pew, just as big as saucers. Lavina couldn’t imagine what was going through her little head.
And next to her stood a wild mountain of a man. He looked as if he belonged with the beasts in the field rather than within the hollowed halls of God’s house. But there he stood, beard to his chest.
Lavina couldn’t help but wonder who he was and what business he had being there. But it was clear he was important to Theo, or else he wouldn’t be there.
The emptiness settled in her bones like a burial shroud.
“Why is there nay one here?” Maisie whispered. Still, her voice carried like thunder in the cavernous space.
Lavina’s breath hitched as her gaze landed on the altar. Theo stood there, tall and stoic, his hair tied back with a leather strap. Despite the scars that slashed down his cheek, he looked devilishly handsome.
