by Kat Bastion
Gawain laughed and winked at me. On a turn, he disappeared into the crowd.
“Fingall—” Brigid paused, catching her breath. “We’ve been handfasted.”
“Handfasted?” I stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her waist, murmuring, “Are you not to be married tomorrow?”
Her brow furrowed. “Nay. Seamus and Gawain leave with him tonight. They’re to resolve a dispute between two clans about their border lands.”
The crowd milled around us as we talked. I faced her, squeezing her upper arms. “He asked, though. And you accepted?”
“Aye, I did.” A broad grin returned to her face, flashing her cute dimple.
I hugged her. “Of course you did. I’m thrilled for you.”
My heart twinged with a touch of envy. She’d had years to discover the right man for her. Brigid knew what she wanted, and she had known it for a long time. Time for me had become a lost luxury . . . and a bane to my existence.
“Och, I’ve to tell Agnes.” Brigid darted away.
I tried to follow her, but my body got tossed and turned through a tight mob of people until I ended up at the edge of the crowd near the isolated tents. The peaceful quiet of the crisp night air lured me away from the noise, smoke, and frenzy. With lazy steps, I strolled along the perimeter, staying in the torchlight, casting occasional glances at the crowd a dozen yards away.
I enjoyed the accidental solitude, wondering about what would transpire tomorrow—my foretold wedding day. Not exactly what a girl dreams about: alone in the middle of someone else’s extended family. As if I would’ve had any family in attendance, anyway. The bittersweet memory of my seanair floated into my mind. The faded loss of my parents followed. An only child, orphaned by their tragic car accident, I didn’t harbor dreams of idyllic fairy-tale nuptials. No family would’ve ever been on my side of the aisle.
Will there even be an aisle? I wondered what their Beltane wedding rituals would entail.
A painful grip at my elbow got my attention. “Ow!”
“Look at what I found,” a gravelly voice rasped above my head.
Alarm bells rang out. I stared up into the face of a stranger: a very large, brutish man whose fetid ale breath explained his glazed-over eyes. Two other men surrounded me.
My heart pounded in my ears. I’d taken my safety for granted—beyond foolish on my part. Their lack of Brodie plaid indicated they weren’t even loyal to the clan.
If Gawain, Robert, and Duncan had been drunk, these men were plastered. I yanked my elbow to my side, but his death grip jerked my arm into his ribs along with the rest of my body.
Adrenaline clarified my dire situation. I either unleashed a bloodcurdling scream, or I’d remain completely at the thugs’ mercy.
“Well, lass, you’re in for a bit of fun,” said the fire-haired man in front of me.
The vice at my elbow tightened painfully. He pulled me backward. I inflated my lungs to scream, only to have my cry muffled by a dirty hand, my captor dragging me into a tent. I stumbled into darkness behind linen flaps.
The man behind me caged me as he braced himself against a back table. His hand snaked around my waist, holding me. The rough hands of his companions in front lifted my kicking legs, pushing my skirts high up on my thighs. Panic set in. I flailed my arms around, knocking a half-filled pitcher to the ground with a muted thud. Kicking the men only fueled their lust; their chests heaved, their eyes sparking with fire.
“Aye, go on, lass. We like a bit of fight,” said the blond.
An unusual calm washed over me. My brain engaged. One chance. I focused, dragging air into my nostrils, and bit down on the fingers over my mouth. He cursed, yanking his hand away and loosening his hold around my ribs, and I tore out the ear-piercing scream waiting in my lungs.
I seized on the window of surprise, breaking free of his hold and bolting for the tent opening. The other two grabbed me and spun me around. A tug-of-war ensued, one yanking me, then the other. I shrieked again, freaking out about men who could’ve cared less if they broke their new play toy.
Two heartbeats later, the tent nearly blew over from the hurricane bursting in. A dozen Highlanders stampeded through the tent’s closed flaps, ripping the opening to twice its size. Iain led the assault, growling like a rabid wolf as fury etched into every square inch of his maddened face.
He charged the two men holding me, peeling them away and tossing them into furniture as if they were rag dolls. I fell backward, stumbling from the force of the separation, landing against the man whose hand I’d bitten. He shoved me back into Iain, who looked down at me through wild eyes for a split second before he grabbed both of my shoulders and passed me to Robert.
Robert pushed me behind him. Instantly, Iain’s men moved, flanking me on all sides. Relieved for the protection of his guard, I caught my breath and my wits. My heart, however, hammered out the inside of my chest.
Unable to see beyond the mountain range of men surrounding me, I leaned to one side. Through the human shield, I watched Iain lift my captor off the ground. The drunkard’s feet paddled the air like a duck unaware he’d lost water.
Iain growled in animalistic rage. “You never take from a woman what’s not freely granted. Never touch what belongs to us—what belongs to me. Step on these lands again, and you’re dead men. Leave!” Iain hurled the outcast toward the entrance of the tent.
The man stumbled and scrambled out, trailed by his scampering friends.
My shield parted, and Iain took my elbow. I winced from a developing bruise. He eased his grip, noticing my reaction, but said nothing as he led me away from the scene toward his tent.
When we’d walked beyond earshot, he spoke. “Did they harm you?”
I put my hand over his, tugging him to a stop. “They did not.”
As if in disbelief, he squinted at me. Five counted seconds later, he shifted me to his other side, grasping my uninjured arm, and continued into his tent. We went through the closed flaps, and I found myself deposited into a chair in the darkness. Before my eyes adjusted to the pitch-black room, he brought in a lit torch from somewhere outside. Perhaps his men had followed us. Of course they had. They were his guard. He lit candles on the table and slid the torch into an iron frame in the corner.
Iain returned to me in slow steps, his face easing from an expression of anger to one of pain. He began to pace in front of my chair, taking deep breaths. He suddenly stopped, looking at me as he opened his mouth, but no words came out. After a few seconds, he shut it, resuming his methodical pendulum path.
I waited patiently, understanding his frustration.
He stopped abruptly again, staring down at me. Words blurted out of his mouth so fast, I had to focus hard to follow. “Isa, I got so angry at them touchin’ you . . . I’m furious even thinkin’ it. I’m irritated at your bein’ alone. Never roam by yourself. You’d never wander down an empty street in Los Angeles. ’Tis no different here. Men will be men. Drunken men are the worst.” He sighed, furrowing his brows. “I’m mad at myself. I should’ve been by your side, protectin’ you.”
My stomach lurched. The proud and capable man before me chastised himself for a situation I’d foolishly created. “Iain, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m not hurt.”
“Nay, ’tis not okay. I failed you. I should’ve been there for you, and I wasn’t. ’Twill never happen again.”
I nodded, settling back into my seat. I wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to keep me under lock and key—I had to be free to truly live—but right now, he needed assurance of my safety more than I needed assertion of my independence. And I felt an overpowering need to comfort him, which was an interesting revelation. Above and beyond my wishes, I needed him to feel secure.
Iain dropped to his knees, clasping my hands into his, kissing them. He gazed into my eyes, and I saw tears sparkling over his dark hazel irises. My heart leapt out of my chest.
In that fraction of a second, I knew.
Love ignited into every fiber of
my being, and his eyes reflected the same heart-seizing emotion. I felt it happen—one soul connected to its counterpart. Rather than pinch myself in a life filled with reality checks, I squeezed his hands tightly, beaming.
“Isa,” he whispered. “I’ll protect you. I’ll honor and cherish you. I’ll make you happier than you’ve ever dreamed. It matters not which world we are in, only that we’re together. You’re mine, Isa. You know it. Submit to what’s already between us. Agree to marry me.”
A man I’d no idea I’d been waiting for had just promised me the world. In the short fragments of time we’d spent together, he’d become my world. If I hadn’t realized it before, I knew it soul-deep that very moment.
I bent forward, capturing his trembling lips in a soft kiss. He responded, kissing me back with tenderness, letting love and passion flow freely. Nipping his bottom lip gently, I pulled away, locking onto a gaze I’d never tire of seeing.
“Yes, Iain. I will marry you. I. Am. Yours.”
My stubbornness might have mandated my foolish pride, but an epiphany settled into my mind: the man asking to have me . . . had already owned me long ago.
“I belong to you, Iain. I always have.”
I always would.
CHAPTER Ten
Brodie Castle—Thirteenth Century, the Eve of Beltane
Three women surrounded me, admiring their work. I gazed into the large mirror in Iain’s bedroom. A gown of pale gold, the exact hue of my hair, graced every curve of my body as if brushed on canvas. Threads sparkling with actual gold were embroidered into delicate vines around the low neckline and wrist cuffs. Mairi had curled my hair into ringlets that spilled down my back from their pinning at the crown of my head, a few rogue tendrils teasing my cheeks. She’d woven the same golden threads into my hair, giving the blond locks an ethereal quality.
Agnes cried out, “She looks like an angel!”
“Aye, she does,” Brigid replied.
“I’m standing right here,” I said.
Their laughter tinkled into the room like rustled wind chimes as Brigid moved beside me. She wore an emerald gown, setting off her creamy, alabaster skin and deep-copper hair. It was a shame Fingall couldn’t see her now—he wouldn’t be marrying her tonight like they’d wanted—but not once had she let his absence bring her down. In fact, my altruistic girl had been the most ecstatic of the group about my big night ahead.
Brigid’s silver eyes danced with excitement as she grabbed my hand, leading me out the door. “Come. They’ll be waitin’ for us.”
Our small, female caravan, led by Iain’s newest guard, Fergus, rushed to catch up with everyone. We crossed the drawbridge and traveled down a narrow path in the woods, emerging into a large clearing. Two huge bonfires blazed about thirty feet apart, bordering either side of a natural amphitheater. The entire clan mingled on the near side of the clearing.
A priest I hadn’t noticed before stepped through the crowd. “Hello, my dear Brigid.” He grasped her hands and kissed her forehead. He spoke with an English accent. “And, my dear, you must be Isobel.” His sun-leathered face crinkled into a smile. “I’m Father John. I’m to marry you tonight.”
With all the commotion, I’d wondered if there would be any formality. Relief must have shown on my face, because the priest laughed. “Never fear, my child. We’ll bless these unions in the eyes of God.”
Iain burst through the crowd, looking nothing short of magnificent. He wore a crisp white shirt beneath his plaid with the brightly colored ribbons from my pennant fastened to his hip by his family’s brooch. Two fresh braids at each temple draped down below his shoulders, framing the clean-shaven face of the gorgeous man I remembered from California; and yet, in so many ways, he seemed worlds-apart different.
My heart stopped as Iain gave me a head-to-toe visual filled with admiration, love, and a healthy dose of lust. In two strides, he reached my side, pulled me into his arms, and kissed the breath right out of me.
“You’ve never looked more radiant, Isa.” He brushed the words into my ear on a whisper, sending goose bumps down my side with a punctuating growl.
Father John tsk-tsked us, pushing his arms between our shoulders, separating our faces.
Iain’s glare stopped the clergyman.
“Wait until I marry you, Iain. You’ve only a few minutes longer.”
Iain defiantly strengthened his hold around me, and Father John chuckled, shaking his head.
The priest climbed onto a low wooden platform erected between the bonfires, and a hush fell upon the crowd. Fragrant smoke from juniper and oak branches swirled up into the night breeze, floating toward the full moon that peeked above the pine-topped horizon.
Father John began. “We congregate in celebration of life: to rejoice in the fertility we are granted, to cherish what we’ve been given, and to bring forward life anew. In honor of those things, we bind together several couples in holy matrimony. Before God and your clan, these men and women pledge their love and loyalty until parted by death.
“This celebration of Beltane is a special one. Laird Iain Brodie will be mated to his bride Isobel, bringing strength to the clan and surrounding it with love and stability.”
Iain tightened his arms around me at the priest’s words. I glanced up, locking eyes with the man whose love for me poured out in his mesmerizing gaze. He broke our silent connection, kissing my temple as the ceremony continued.
“Step forward, Iain and Isobel. Do you accept the terms of this matrimony with all your heart and with loyalty to God?”
“I do,” we replied in unison.
The priest nodded, then motioned to another couple, one of Iain’s guards and his betrothed standing on our left.
“Step forward, Calum and Rowena. Do you accept the terms of this matrimony with all your heart and with loyalty to God?”
The guardsman and his bride pledged their vows beside us, as did seven other couples paired together to be united. Loud cheering concluded the group wedding as Iain’s lips claimed mine in a searing kiss.
The crowd swept away the priest and disassembled the platform, tossing the dry wood into the hungry flames. A sea of people parted into an aisle, creating a path leading between the two fires and the empty clearing beyond.
Iain bowed his head to me and said, “Weel, Mrs. Iain Brodie . . . ready?”
I nodded, grinning wide. He led me straight between the blazes, pausing midway through. Heat flared against my back, but I had no complaint as Iain embraced me, kissing me more passionately than he’d ever done before. My knees buckled as I melted into the full-throttle kiss, our lips and tongues intertwining. A white-hot blaze ignited deep within me, surpassing the two burning behind us. The crowd hooted and shouted as Iain ushered us the rest of the way through the tunnel of fire.
We turned and faced the crowd from the other side. Iain pulled me back against his solid chest, locking his hands around my waist. I dropped my head back, grinning broadly, witnessing the historical event unfold.
The other newlywed couples followed in our footsteps, even emulating our midjourney kiss. Afterward, a group of men herded one representative livestock of every kind: horse, cow, sheep, and goat. People carried various crop items through, like wheat and root vegetables. Within minutes, the entire clan had passed through, and the celebration kicked into high gear.
A low drum beat lay down a cadence. Iain kissed me soundly before leaving my side as the men broke out in dance. The ground thundered with the stomps of their feet while we clapped to the accelerating tempo.
Beautiful glass lanterns of various sizes hung from branches that encircled our gathering. The flickering candles within them provided ample light to see the pure joy on everyone’s face.
Soulful bagpipes joined in the music, and Iain rushed over and grabbed my hand, whirling me into the lively scene. I squealed as Iain’s firm hands, one in mine and one at my back, twirled me around and around. His blatant happiness—and everyone’s contagious energy—fueled a drugging high, an
d the elation shot me into the stratosphere.
Iain spun me right out of the crowd and into the cool darkness of a stand of pines where Dubhar stood, tethered. The black stallion was saddled and carried a satchel and rolled up blankets. Iain swung up onto the horse and gently lifted me, seating me in front of him.
“Iain, where are you taking me?”
He brushed his lips over my ear and growled low, “I’m takin’ my bride to be bedded.”
Chills scattered across my body, and I shivered from the sensation and his words.
A squeeze of his thighs sent our mount off into the night, and I leaned back into my husband’s protective arms. I closed my eyes, absorbing the moment as the rocking rhythm of my man and his steed carried us into the night.
Our journey ended in an abrupt stop. Were it not for Iain’s tight hold around my waist, I’d have been thrown. In one swift motion, he dropped me to the ground, planted a free hand, and swung down without our breaking contact. He unfastened the tied bundle and dropped his hand into mine, lacing our fingers together as he led us down a narrow path lit by the moon’s glow.
Iain’s excited pace nearly rivaled mine, anticipation snapping my senses alive as we broke into a clearing of short grass along a lake.
The far shoreline looked familiar—our date from last night. I glanced up and confirmed that the same rocky ledge we’d sat upon extended directly above us. Perfect.
He led us into a shallow cave already illuminated by dozens of fat beeswax candles. They lined the perimeter and nested in random ledges along the walls. Iain unrolled the blankets onto the ground, and I smoothed down the silk folds of my dress in nervous excitement. After he placed the satchel in the corner, he turned toward me, looking almost as anxious as I felt. But then he smiled and my heart melted, dissolving every apprehension. His rugged features were awash in the moonlight flooding in from behind me. And as that smile gradually grew crooked, I smirked, suddenly feeling just as wicked as he looked.
