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Surely, he was a kinder and gentler man than George Wentworth could ever be, and Nimue was grateful that the other man had shown his true face before her father could marry her off to him.
Besides, what had Chrisdean done to make her hate him so? No, Nimue told herself, hate was not the right word to describe what she felt for him. It was a reluctant lust, an attraction that she fought hard to resist, but for what reason? He had kidnapped her and brought her to the Highlands, that much was true, but he had been nothing but good to her.
The realization that she had been clinging onto her kidnapping like a lifeline punched the air out of Nimue’s lungs. She kept refusing Chrisdean’s advances simply because she didn’t want to face the simple truth: that Nimue could have feelings for a man she once viewed as a barbarian.
A lass can change her mind. And I was too quick to judge him when I first met him.
“How do I look?” Nimue asked, plastering a smile on her lips that was truer than she could have expected. Coming to terms with her feelings had doused her in relief, and though she knew that she and Chrisdean were far from the perfect fairy-tale couple Nimue had dreamt of as a young girl, she knew now that her future would be brighter than she had once thought.
“Ye look like the Lady of the clan, me lady,” Ailsa said, and the rest of the maids nodded in agreement. “Are ye ready?”
Nimue was, though she wouldn’t have claimed so only moments prior. She was ready, armed with the knowledge that she would be saving not only her father but possibly all of Scotland, and it was that which consoled her. All she had ever wanted to do was protect her country, and now she had the chance to do just that without shedding a drop of blood.
Nimue was taken through the castle and into the great hall, her eyes widening when she saw the room. It wasn’t grand by any means. It wasn’t the kind of ceremony that one would expect from a Lady and a Laird, but it was more than Nimue could have expected with the little time that the servants had for preparations. The clan’s colors adorned the walls, and flowers were wrapped around the room's columns, the candlelight bathing everything in a sweet incandescence. The clansmen and women were talking excitedly among themselves, surely discussing the wedding—and the fact that it was so rushed; Nimue was no stranger to rumors.
Chrisdean was waiting for her there, clean-shaven, his hair pulled back at the nape, his lips stretched into a small, hopeful smile. He looked younger like that, though part of it must have been the fact that a weight seemed to have lifted off his shoulders, Nimue thought.
He looks . . . handsome. Verra handsome.
The thought brought a flush of red to her cheeks, her skin burning with it. She had never doubted that Chrisdean was a handsome man, but with the veil of her own stubbornness finally lifted, she could truly appreciate, for the first time, just how good-looking he was.
So good-looking, in fact, that Nimue found herself staring as she walked to him, her mind racing with thoughts of the kiss that they had shared and images of the two of them in bed, writhing against each other.
But even those thoughts were not enough to untangle the knot in her stomach. The only thing that helped was Chrisdean, his presence. The way that Chrisdean looked at her, when he noticed her arrival, made her worries melt away, and she almost forgot everything that had happened between them, everything that he had done to anger her and deceive her. Though she couldn’t forget everything that he had done, she could begin the process of forgiving him, and she could hope that once they were husband and wife, he would stop lying to her or hiding important information from her.
When Nimue reached Chrisdean, his smile widened, his hand reaching for her own. He gazed at her, his eyes taking in every inch of her, every detail, and Nimue couldn’t help but shiver under his attention, the blood rushing to her head, making her cheeks flush a deep red. His hand was soft against her skin, a hand that had never seen any manual labor save for the swing of a sword, and his eyes were glinting in the half-light, happier than Nimue had ever seen them.
Could he truly want this? Could he truly want me?
Could he see their marriage as something more than an alliance? Nimue could only hope for that, since she could now see a future with Chrisdean, one that could hold some love and affection, one that did not have to be as sorrowful and unbearable as Nimue had once thought.
“Look at ye,” Chrisdean said, a tone of awe in his voice. “Ye’re the bonniest lass in the world.”
“I heard that ye chose this dress before I was even here,” Nimue said, her lips twisting into a teasing smile. “Confident, weren’t ye? Had it na been for George Wentworth, I wouldna be marryin’ ye noo.”
“But ye would. One day,” Chrisdean said, proving just how confident he was. “Besides, I figured that if ye didna end up wearin’ it, someone else would.”
The thought of someone else wearing her wedding dress ignited a spark of jealousy in Nimue, despite her resistance to Chrisdean’s courting and her multiple rejections of him. She shoved that feeling away, reluctant to give it any more thought, and simply smiled at Chrisdean, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
It seemed to Nimue that as soon as the priest began to talk, he was done. The ceremony went by in a flash, with Nimue too nervous to pay any attention to it, and before she knew it, she and Chrisdean were husband and wife. She was the new Lady of the MacIntosh clan, and she was bound to spend the rest of her days there, in the Highlands, surrounded by strangers.
But they’re na strangers. They’ve welcomed me. They’ve accepted me as their own.
It was strange to think that she had a new home now and that even though she hadn’t been in the Highlands for a long time, these people were her family now. And they were a larger family than she had had since her mother had died, and she and her father had eventually lost contact with her people.
Her father had never liked any of them.
“Weel . . . that’s it, lass,” Chrisdean said. “We’re married. And ye said that it would never happen. Look at us noo.”
“I did it for me country, and for me faither,” Nimue insisted, though there was no bite behind her words. “And weel . . . out of all me options, I suppose ye were the best one.”
Chrisdean gasped in mock surprise, a hand coming up to clutch at his chest. “Do ye truly mean it?” he asked. “Those are the kindest words I’ve ever heard ye speak. Be careful . . . before ye ken it, ye’ll start bein’ pleasant.”
Nimue rolled her eyes at Chrisdean, shoving her elbow into his side as they walked to the table that was prepared for them. The feast that was to follow would surely be grand, Nimue knew, as even the simplest dinners she had had at the castle were extravagant, but she also knew that she wouldn’t be able to eat a single bite.
Before the ceremony, all that had been in Nimue’s mind had been her desire to protect her father and the clan. It hadn’t occurred to her before that moment that the night ahead of them would be the very first night that she and Chrisdean would spend as a married couple—or as a couple at all, in fact. There were certain expectations that Chrisdean would have, Nimue knew, and she didn’t know if she could meet them.
She wished that her family were there, her father and her siblings, Guinevere and Tristan. She wished that her mother was still alive, by her side, and that she could have prepared her for what was to come.
But she’s na here. I must do this on me own.
Nimue looked at Chrisdean, who was already flushed and giddy with wine, talking animatedly to Brock. He seemed so relaxed, so at ease with everything, and Nimue couldn’t help but envy him for it, her own blood thrumming in her veins, her uncertainty and anxiety making her grind her teeth.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Nimue grabbed the cup of wine that Brock had poured for her, taking a generous sip, trying to mask the shaking of her hand as she brought the cup back onto the table. She hoped that it would be a long feast.
A long night.
