Page 18 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

CHAPTER FIVE

"Come in. The Lord's house is always open to those who seek His blessing."

The chaplain was an old man with kind eyes and gnarled hands that shook slightly as he opened his prayer book. David had expected questions, who they were, why the rush, where they'd come from. Instead, the man had simply looked at Elinor's pale face and torn lip, at David's tense jaw, and nodded.

Now they stood before the simple altar, Tristan positioned awkwardly to the side as witness. The chapel was cold, their breath misting in the air. Late afternoon light filtered through a narrow window, casting long shadows across the stone floor.

"Do ye take this woman," the chaplain was saying, his voice thin but steady, "to be yer lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward?"

"Aye." David's voice came out rougher than he'd intended. "I dae."

The chaplain turned to Elinor. "And do ye take this man to be yer lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward?"

Elinor's hands were clasped so tightly her knuckles showed white. For a moment, David thought she might refuse. Might turn and run, even though there was nowhere to run to.

"I do." Barely a whisper. But it would do.

The words should have felt like victory. Instead, they settled in David's chest like a stone. She'd agreed because she had no choice. Because the alternative was worse. Not because she wanted this. Or him.

"Then by the power vested in me," the chaplain continued, "I pronounce ye man and wife." He smiled, the expression surprisingly gentle. "Ye may kiss yer bride, son."

David turned to Elinor. She looked up at him, those pale green eyes wide and wary. The split on her lip had scabbed over, a reminder of the events that led them here. What he'd taken her from.

He leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted. "We're meant tae kiss now," he muttered. "Fer the ceremony."

"Are we?" Her voice was cool, controlled. But he could see the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat. "How unfortunate."

"Unfortunate?"

"You'll have to do a lot more than pay for me at an auction to earn a kiss, Laird MacDonald."

The words hit David like frozen water had been poured on him on a Highland winter day. Deserved, perhaps, but they stung nonetheless. Behind them, he heard Tristan's low chuckle.

"We'll see about that, me lady," Tristan called out, amusement rich in his tone.

David straightened, stepping back. He kept his expression neutral, even as something that felt dangerously like hurt coiled in his chest. "As ye wish."

He turned to the chaplain, placing a few coins in his palms. "Thank ye, Faither. Fer yer time and discretion."

"Go with God, me children." The old man's eyes moved between them, knowing. "Marriage is a journey. Sometimes the beginnin’ is the hardest part."

"Or the easiest," Elinor murmured, so quietly David almost missed it. "Depending on what comes after."

By the time the small party reached the tavern, they were relieved to find it was warm after the cold of the trail, fire crackling in a large stone hearth. The smell of roasting meat and fresh bread filled the air, rich enough to make David's stomach clench with hunger. They'd been riding for hours with nothing but travel rations.

"Two rooms," David told the tavern keeper, a stout woman with shrewd eyes.

She glanced between them, taking in Elinor's fine gown, David's dark clothing, and Tristan's practical travel wear. David caught the woman's knowing look and felt his jaw tighten. "Me wife and I will share. Me companion needs his own."

"Ah." The keeper's expression shifted to something more approving. "Newlyweds, are ye? Well, congratulations. I've a nice room upstairs, away from the noise. And I'll send up a tray."

"We'll eat in the common room," David countered. The last thing he needed was to be alone with Elinor in a bedchamber. Not yet. Not when she looked at him like he was another cage she'd been locked into. "Just bring us whatever ye have that's hot."

They settled at a corner table, away from the handful of other patrons scattered throughout the room. Tristan took the chair closest to the door, old habits from years of watching David's back. Elinor sat across from David, her spine rigid, her hands folded primly in her lap.

The keeper returned quickly with three bowls of stew, a loaf of bread still warm from the oven, and a wedge of cheese. Simple fare, but the scent of it made David's mouth water.

"There ye are, loves. Eat up." She set the bowls down, then paused, looking at Elinor. "Are ye alright, lass? Ye look pale."