Dinna think on it, Adaira!she cautioned herself.
When she entered, her father joined her at her side and took her hand in his.
“Are ye sure of this, my lass?”
She dropped her gaze.
“What other choice do I have, Father?”
“Ye dinna have to wed. I’d never force ye.”
Liar, she thought bitterly.
He had already forced Reade and Maddock. She would be no exception when the moment came to make an arrangement to benefit the MacDonalds. While she would have preferred the time to mourn her love of Sawny fully, it was better to have some command of her future than none at all.
Flanked by her parents, they reached the altar where the priest looked at Adaira with sad eyes as he explained the details of the betrothal.
When the priest paused, Arran looked directly at her and leaned close.
“Are ye certain?” he asked in a voice low enough that only she might hear. “We dinna have to do this.”
She recalled her conversation with her father and how kind Arran was to offer this solution to her lack of a marriage. Then she shrugged as a slip of a wry smile graced her lips.
“Nay. ‘Tis the best option, I believe. Ye have the right of it.”
He took her hand and patted it. She noted that he dressed in his finery and felt a moment of dismay at her careless attitude toward her own attire. Brushing at her skirts to neaten them, she looked up at the priest in his white vestments again and nodded at the man.
Then Adaira sent up a final prayer before he finished his lecture of the importance of betrothal.
Please let this be the right decision. Give me a sign if no’, otherwise this poor man will be wed to a cold woman, dead inside.
The priest’s face was sallow as he spoke. No matter how sorrowful the priest appeared, he understood the situation as well as Adaira. This betrothal was something that must be done. Giving her the most comforting look he could muster, he placed his hand atop hers before handing her the inked quill.
She had to give the priest credit. There was not much he could do but offer her a modicum of comfort.
“Here’s the agreement, lass. Make your mark here and we will have the marriage within a fortnight. ‘Tis enough time for you to prepare, aye?”
What preparations?She was determined to keep everything about this wedding as simple as possible. Nothing that might make her recall her joyous anticipation of her wedding plans with Sawny.
Nodding almost imperceptibly, Adaira accepted the quill from the priest’s wrinkled hand and poised it above the paper.
The air in the church was hot and muggy despite the wet, misty morning, and Adaira found the air too thick to breathe. There was something final in this moment, something absolute making her signature. It was as if by signing this betrothal parchment, she was acknowledging that Sawny in truth was gone from her forever. Her breath hitched as she pressed the quill tip to the parchment where the black ink bled into the fibrous parchment.
A rumbling sound came from the door, thunder it seemed. The perfect accompaniment to the turmoil in her belly at this moment. She exhaled hard and let the ink stain grow into a large splotch.
Then the door burst open, rumbling and squealing on its hinges, and the slit of the opening doors created a subdued glow against the dim church interior. The priest jerked upright as Adaira, Arran, and her family turned to the door.
“Who is there?” the priest called out as he narrowed his eyes.
Everyone who is supposed to be at this betrothal signing was present. A Sleat McDonald from Arran’s family perhaps?
A silhouetted figure emerged from the mist at the door, dark and wet with long lanky hair dripping down over the figure’s dark face and shoulders.
With commanding force, the figure shoved the doors wide enough and entered through them like a demon from hell on a mission. Arran started and moved closer to her.
Wisps of her blonde hair caught on her eyelashes, and she had to brush them away to fully see what her eyes were showing her.
Drenched from the rain, the scraggly-looking man strode into the narthex with force, like the devil himself emerging his way out of the bowels of hell to reclaim his throne. He was moderately tall, and while the expression on his face was hidden by his sopping hair, his body was clenched with fury.
