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wort, and shamrocks. There would have been a length of ornate rope
to bind their hands together for the handfasting ritual.
Bound
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The twins’ father would have overseen the marriage, and bells
would have been rung throughout the city to let the people know the
heirs had been bonded. Music would flow out of the palace all night
long.
The little cottage was quiet. There were no flowers, but Meg felt
the weight of what she was doing all the same. She was binding her
life to this man. It wasn’t something she could walk away from,
though. Liadan had advised her to run, but how could she? She could
no more walk away from Cian than she would be able to watch a
person drown and do nothing to save him.
It was more than that. She could never abandon half of Beck to
fate. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t love her. She loved him. That
was all she could control. She firmly intended to fall out of love, but
she couldn’t let his brother die.
Then she stopped thinking, or rather she ceased thinking, her own
thoughts. Cian’s brain assaulted her.
She was flooded with memory and thoughts, dreams and fancy,
and everything that was Cian. Now Meg understood what the blonde
had been trying to tell her. She was overwhelmed with him. Sights,
sounds, even smells and emotions battered her system. She felt her
body sag under the onslaught, but Cian’s strong hands held her in
place.
She saw a young girl. She was chasing her through a gleaming
white palace. She was his sister. Bronwyn. The name was as clear in
Meg’s mind as the image was. In the vision, she was Cian, and she
was a seven-year-old boy, full of mischief. Bronwyn had been a bra
