Page 53 of Highland Storm

The priest held up a small reliquary, asking them both to place a hand atop the sacred relic to consecrate their vows. Lianae did so, and was acutely aware of the weight of Keane’s hand as he placed it atop hers.

“As this man and woman have now sworn afore God and the bones of St. Peter, henceforth they will be known as man and wife. Amen.”

“Amen,” said the king very quickly.

“Amen,” said all those gathered in the chapel.

“Amen,” whispered Lianae.

Only one man did not voice the final benediction: The man standing at her side.

But it was done, and it was far more than she had dared to hope for, when all she’d ever wanted was to be spared a life from the tyranny of William fitz Duncan.

Her husband clearly did not share her joy. He stood beside her, his expression grim, and he could barely look at her, despite the lovely attire his sister had dressed her in.

What more fitting union?

A prince of the forgotten Pechts and a daughter of the conquered Moray. Her people, like Keane’s, were the last of their kind, and for this alone, he might have welcomed her into his bed… into his home… and, aye, even into his heart. But some part of him longed to walk away, even now—the prideful part of himself that would be wounded by her lies.

“You may exchange the kiss of peace with your bride,” the priest allowed.

His bride.

His beautiful, treacherous, lying, conniving bride.

Kiss of peace?

How could there ever be peace now betwixt them?

Lianae met his gaze boldly, standing as tall as she could. Even despite that she wasn’t particularly small, she rose only as tall as Keane’s shoulders. Her golden-red hair was braided like two silken cords and her eyes glistened like polished amber. She made the loveliest of brides—far lovelier than he might have imagined—but this too was beside the point.

Her cheeks blossomed with color and she bit nervously at her lower lip, swelling it with her blood. And despite Keane’s fury, their bodies seemed naturally drawn together.

They were so close now that Keane could feel the heat emanating from her mouth. The scent of her dizzied his senses, and still he refrained… hovering near.

Only this morning he might have given anything to kiss her just once more, and if he merely did so now, he would walk away with Lilidbrugh, Dunràth, a seat on the king’s council and a lovely new bride.

But he hesitated, wanting more…

He wanted what Aidan had—what Lael had discovered. He wanted what Cameron only longed for, and until this instant, Keane hadn’t realized he did too.

Lianae stood waiting, anxiously nipping at her lip and finally, resentfully, he pulled her close. She swallowed visibly and he held her more firmly yet, wanting her to comprehend what it meant to be forced. It would serve her right after all the lies she’d told. But he could not force her. Nor did she test him. She melted into his embrace and grew pliant, and only then did Keane bend to cover her mouth with his own.

Sweet and heady, that was her taste.

She promised him heaven and yet she’d already sent him to hell.

Keane’s body tensed, and for one ungodly moment, he forgot entirely where it was they stood. Once again, they were standing in the snow-covered woods, her hands clinging to his waist. The taste of whitebeam filled his mouth and he stifled a groan lest it slip like juice betwixt her lips. His loins tightened at the feel of her so near and he longed to deny his own desire—until such time as Lianae could look him in the eyes and speak the words he longed to hear…

“Ahem,” the priest said, clearing his throat.

The kiss was bittersweet, and it took much of his willpower, but Keane peeled himself away, inevitably leaving a piece of him as he did so.

The priest’s eyes shifted from Keane to Lianae, and then he declared, “What God has joined let no man put asunder.”

No man… or woman…

But she already had…