Page 57 of Marin’s Promise

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Marin should have been frightened. Mayhap even anxious. At the very least, she'd expected her stomach to be a chaotic swirl of emotion and fear. But instead, she felt absolutely nothing, as though she were simply empty within, like a doll. Certainly, she looked like one with her hair brushed to shining, and the smudges of rouge at her cheeks and lips. Her gown sparkled with small gems, made to look like a thousand stars winking in a midnight blue sky.

Her sisters sat back on their heels to admire their handiwork, all with triumphant grins. They supported her, for they knew it was what she must do. Marin, however, questioned every moment of it, from when she’d told Isla to stay the poison to now, standing to the left of the alter.

The priest’s head gleamed, having been freshly shaved, and he spoke the words of matrimony in Latin without once stumbling. As awkward a man as Bernard could often be, he had truly found his calling as a member of the clergy. His bright blue eyes glanced up from time to time to regard both her and Bran during the endless stream of words that closed her fate around her like a noose.

Bran, for his part, appeared elegant in the woolen hose and doublet of the same deep blue as her gown. His dark hair was clean, and his beard freshly trimmed. He'd lost a bit of weight during his convalescence, but he was still an imposing figure of stature and virile strength.

She did not let her attention linger upon him, though, for the grip on her control was tenuous. It was better to feel nothing than to fall prey to the crash of emotion.

The flower crown Catriona had ceremoniously draped over Marin's head that morning tickled her brow. The daisies had grown limp from the heat of her skin and cast about her a cloying, damp perfume.

Outwardly, she was aware of the wet heat of her palms, despite the chilled room, and how her feet ached from standing on cold stone for so long in delicate slippers. The priest's words rattled through her mind like dice being rolled in a cup, clunky and heavy with risk.

She exchanged her vows with Bran. Her mouth moved, her voice spoke, and still she did not feel.

A band of cool metal slipped over the third finger on her left hand, directly over her vena amoris, not that the vein running to her heart would make her love this man she married. The fat sapphire of the ring winked up at her in the multi-colored light of the stained-glass windows. It had been her mother’s and was the nearest thing possible to having her there.

Marin took a flat gold ring, procured from the smith just that morning, and nudged it onto Bran's finger. His skin was warm and dry.

“Marin.” He said her name so gently that it pulled her regard up to his brown gaze watching her with lingering concern.

Suddenly, the emotion hit her with the force of a tidal wave and threatened to drag her below its torrent depths. Each one powerful as it tore into her, the sadness, the anger, the excitement, the 1ust.

She blinked at the surprising prickle of tears in her eyes and flicked her focus to the floor before she succumbed. Who would possibly be convinced of her love if she began to weep? Bran gently touched her chin with his fingertips and directed her face upward. She looked up at him once more.

“My beautiful wife,” he murmured.

Her breath sucked in. “My husband.”

The entire room watched them with the weight of the world. They observed her stand uncomfortably in front of her new husband as he drew closer and closed his mouth over hers.

The kiss was chaste, as was expected within the confines of the church, but the connection of their mouths, and the familiarity of his spicy, clean scent, left the heat of desire winding through her body. She closed her eyes and gave in to the pull of lust. If nothing else, it would serve to see the people of Werrick Castle better convinced.

Bran pulled away and ran his thumb over her cheek. Her mouth hummed from his kiss and she bit her lower lip gently, enjoying the sensation, prolonging it on purpose. She opened her eyes and turned to the waiting congregation behind them. Despite her resolve, her cheeks grew hot with reticence at having been caught publicly enjoying a kiss.

They strode from the church together, as husband and wife. Though they did not make it far before her sisters surrounded them in a flurry of excitement.

Ella threw her arms around Marin. “You played the act well,” Ella whispered. “It all looked so romantic.”

“I hope it continues,” Marin said through a smile. In truth, her sister's complimentary words bolstered Marin's confidence and gave her the fortitude to withstand the feast. She took the arm of her new husband with a believably feigned joy and allowed him to lead her to the celebration.

Bran did not protest at her sisters accompanying them into the great hall. It was there that Marin stopped and gasped at their efforts.

Her sisters had outdone themselves with the decor in the great hall. Thick bands of blue cloth ran down the lengths of the trestles, and clusters of white and blue flowers dotted the walls, sconces, and tables of the massive room. The fine silver had been polished and set in a sparkling array along all tables, not just the dais. A true testament to the immense wealth of the Earl of Werrick.

Marin's smile had not been forced to see such lavishness at her wedding feast, for she knew all had been orchestrated by her sisters and all had been done with kind intent and love.

Even Piquette wore a crown of daisies as Marin did, though it kept falling every time he moved.

Bran led her to the dais, where flowers had been linked together and draped over the carved wood backs of the chairs. She sat first at his behest, but he did not join her. Instead, he took a long moment to stare out at the great hall from his elevated seat of honor. He raised his chin in a display of masculine pride. A man marveling at what he had conquered. And though she sat to his right, it was she who suffered loss at her own mighty capitulation.

“My fellow reivers.” He lifted his goblet, already brimming with the fine Noirien wine from Burgundy. “And the men and women of Werrick Castle.”

The excited chatter of conversation fell into complete silence as he spoke. Marin’s insides clenched with anticipation. He had not told her he would make a speech, that he would address her people as though they were his. Aye, he would get great wealth from her dowry, but he was in no way a lord.

He casually held his goblet by the rim with his fingertips. “We come together today to unite our lives, and our people, together as one. For peace and for prosperity.”