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Saoirse set her jaw as the blade cut across her palm, stinging her. She wouldn’t gasp or flinch or wince in case she disappointed her groom further. Instead, she watched as the blood pooled a bit. A light sob coming from the crowd reached her ears and she knew beyond all reasoning that it came from her mother.
Ye told me all would be well. Was it a lie, Maither?Lie or not, she had passed the point where she could flee.
“Turn yer hand, my dear,” the priest instructed, as Noah received his own scarlet strike.
Saoirse shifted her wrist and wondered if any of her blood would drop to the floor between them. Pressing her lips together, she clasped Noah’s hand just as he grabbed hers. The scraps of tartan that they had tied together encircled their wrists and hands, binding them together as their blood mingled.
“As God is my witness,” the priest’s voice boomed through the Kirk, causing the pigeons roosting in the beams over their heads to take flight. “May these two never forsake one another. May their lives forever be entwined by the sanctity of this Kirk.”
Suddenly, Saoirse’s heart was in her stomach as she drew her eyes to meet Noah’s. She stared into his dark eyes, discovering that they were not, in fact, black: they were a deep, strange green, like the moss that could only be found in the shadiest parts of a forest. Held fast by their intensity, she found it even harder to breath. For a moment, she wondered if it was the tightness of her stays and bodice causing such a strain on her chest, or the fact that somewhere deep within her very soul, she knew Noah was now hers forever, and she was not what he wanted.
“Ye may kiss yer bride, if ye please,” the priest said with a smirk.
Clearly, it didn’t please Noah. Still, Saoirse stepped closer to her husband, leaving enough space for him to close the gap. When he didn’t move at all, she edged closer still, until they shared the same air.
Stretching to the very tip of her toes, Saoirse barely reached the lips she needed to kiss. She sucked in a deep breath as fear rocked through her. She forced herself to wait in that painful position, giving him one last chance. Fully aware of the eyes on them, she inwardly pleaded for her new husband to seal their union. But it was clear he still wasn’t going to budge. He would not be the one to kiss her. If she was going to solidify the marriage, she’d have to do it herself.
“Lady Saoirse, it is usually the—” the priest tried to intervene, but she wasn’t going to stand there and allow her husband to embarrass her in front of everyone. Especially as her mother was already crying.
The apprehension in his gaze caused her to hesitate for half a second. Mustering all the courage she could, Saoirse leaned forward and crushed her lips to his. Her body flushed with a heat so intense she thought the Kirk had gone up in flames. Drawing back sharply, as if she’d been stung, she kept her eyes on him, wondering what it was that coursed through her veins and made her stomach flip. Humiliation, anger, or something else?
Slowly, she lowered herself back to the soles of her feet, somewhat proud of the stunned expression she had left on his face. She might not have understood what was going on inside her, but she quickly noticed she wasn’t the only one to feel it. Noah’s lips parted; his shoulders relaxed as he stared at her with the same perplexed gaze.
Turning to the crowd, she couldn’t help but hunt for her mother. In the first row, Saoirse found Iona. The pity and regret that Saoirse noticed made her want to cry. Evidently, her motherhadsugared the truth of this union, saying the things that would ensure that Saoirse saw the wedding through.
But how much was untrue?Refusing to make a scene or add to her mother’s misery, Saoirse lifted her chin and took Noah by the hand.
“Now that that is over wit’,” she thought she heard Noah say as he pulled his hand from hers and snatched her by the wrist instead. The heat she thought she’d felt radiating from the Kirk was no more, and she was left with a cold lump of rejection and guilt that cloyed in her chest. There was no going back from this.
She was stuck in the very situation she’d feared the most. A loveless, joyless marriage with a man who could not stand her.
CHAPTER3
“Congratulations!”
The cheers from the congregation grated on Noah’s nerves as he stood before the carriage with his hand outstretched so his bride could exit. The moment her hand slipped into his, his heart quickened. If he was to survive this marriage unscathed, he’d have to work on hardening his heart. He couldn’t let a mere touch arouse him the way it did.
That scent. That bloody scent!It washed over him, constricting his throat. Whatever perfume she wore, it would have to go.
“Hurry yerself,” he muttered, almost dragging her out of the carriage. The instant her eyes met his, he shifted his gaze to the crowd and flashed a tight smile, pulling his bride toward the front doors of Baxter Keep.
Michael McPherson, the Laird of Baxter and father of the bride, awaited them on the steps. “Welcome to the family,” he said with pride as he grabbed the hilt of his longsword and pulled it from its sheath.
Noah stared at the steel blade. In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder about the last time it had been polished or even used. Despite the metal not having a blemish on it, he found it odd that Saoirse’s family presented it to him here, instead of at the Kirk.
“Will ye nae take it?” Michael asked as he stepped closer. It sounded more like a warning.
Noah cleared his throat and took the sword out of Michael’s hand. It was heavier than he expected and the more he stared at it, the more details emerged. The leather wrapped around the hilt was smooth and tan. Noah was surprised how easily it fit into his hand, how the leather seemed to mold to his grip.
“This is fine craftsmanship,” Noah conceded with a nod. He couldn’t deny he was impressed by it.
“That it is,” Michael replied as he winked at Saoirse.
Her cheeks burned brighter. It was as if someone had placed her in a pot and boiled her by how red she had turned. Noah couldn’t help but find it endearing to see her blush so much, sparking a sudden desire in him to be the one who made her blush.
Clearly pleased, Michael pushed the entrance doors open. “Enter this humble home as man and wife. We have a feast to feed the King himself,” he boasted, urging the couple through.
The moment Noah crossed the threshold, his eyes widened. He thought her family were all gathered outside, but as he entered the home, he found an even bigger crowd waiting for them.
