She nearly cried out in protest when he dipped his head, but his lips met hers gently, as though coaxing her to join him in their embrace. It was not the aggressive, rough treatment she’d expected, and the shock of it caused her to drop her vigilance.
He deepened the kiss and the scent of his skin drifted between them. She could feel the rasp of his beard, taste the remnants of the wine he had drunk earlier. She allowed herself to embrace this invasion of her senses, surprised to realize she found it oddly stimulating.
He cupped the back of her neck, slipping his hand into her hair to hold her steady as his tongue pushed between her lips. A frisson of heat seared her, yet her body shivered. ’Twas a most amazing puzzle, but one she left alone, to ponder and solve another day.
Instead, Joan closed her eyes and savored the feelings. The bold touch of his tongue sent her heart into a wild canter. For one brief instant, she joined him in this playful delight, sweeping her tongue against his. He responded with a low-throated moan, and she felt a deeper pleasure surround her senses.
But she feared surrendering completely. Tearing her lips away from Malcolm’s mouth, Joan broke away from the sensual web he was spinning. She opened her eyes and found him staring. He looked at her for a long, thoughtful moment, seemingly as surprised by the kiss as she felt.
“Are ye certain ye dinnae want to be my wife?”
Her heart was beating fast and hard. She felt herself sway on her feet and was glad to be able to lean against his solid strength. Her mind struggled to make sense of these confusing thoughts and feelings. Surprisingly, the idea of marriage was not as repugnant as before, but Joan hit upon another, better notion.
“I would consider a handfasting,” she ventured.
“What? Ye want to pledge to live together as man and wife for a year and a day? Then, if at the end of that time we agree to stay together, we’ll make our marriage vows before a priest?”
“Aye. And if we choose not to marry, then we part,” she added. It seemed a reasonable compromise, but Malcolm’s expression told her that he would not be easily persuaded. The church frowned upon such arrangements, as did many nobles.
“There’s not been a handfasting in the McKenna clan fer over a hundred years,” he said. “I can find no good reason to have one now.”
“Why do ye insist on a traditional marriage? Ye should feel relieved that ye’ll have the chance to be rid of me. I’m prickly, selfish, strong willed, opinionated, and annoying.”
His lips curved into a faint grin. “No one’s perfect.”
Joan threw up her hands in frustration. It seemed that no matter what she said or did, he was determined to follow this course.
Malcolm gently stroked her hair. “’Twas a cruel blow being wed to Archibald, but fate has seen fit to give ye a second chance. Take it.”
The temptation was overwhelming. Confused over her conflicting emotions, Joan wanted to turn and run, but Malcolm embraced her, cradling her against his chest as though he would protect her from all the evils of the world. ’Twas an intoxicating feeling for a woman who had fought her own battles for so long. Despite her intention not to, Joan savored it.
The reality of her limited choices surfaced and she began to question her resolve to never again take a husband. In all likelihood her father would marry Agnes, which would make life unbearable for Joan and her child. Malcolm was offering her the chance to escape that fate—yet it came at a high cost.
“I need to think,” she whispered.
“There isn’t time. I’ve already announced our betrothal and I fear the repercussions fer both of us if I leave here without ye and yer son.”
Joan’s hand fluttered to her throat. A wife was the property of her husband. Did she dare trust that Malcolm would keep his word and treat her with honor and respect? She shut her eyes and prayed. Aye, it was a risk, but the promise of safety, security, and a home for her and Callum was simply too enticing to refuse.
Kissing Malcolm elicited many confusing emotions, but it didn’t make her cringe. He was a man of honor. He’d proven it to her time and again. And truthfully, the thought of being left behind made her feel bereft in a manner she didn’t fully understand.
Hardly believing what she was about to say, Joan inhaled deeply, dislodging the lump that had formed in her throat. It took every ounce of courage to fight off the sense of anxiety sweeping through her, but she knew she must remain calm.
“Aye, I shall marry ye, Malcolm McKenna, and I pray to God that it is a decision neither of us will live to regret.”
* * *
Walking with a single-minded purpose, Malcolm strode toward the great hall in search of Laird Armstrong, replaying in his mind the kiss he had just shared with Joan.
The taste of her lips had sparked a flame of desire deep in his gut, nearly making his head spin. Yet he had held back his passion. She had given the kiss most reluctantly, convinced she would find it distasteful. Convinced, also, Malcolm believed, that he would not be satisfied with a mere kiss and demand more.
In truth his body was aching for things to go further, but Malcolm had only ever lain with willing, eager partners, and Joan hardly qualified. Thankfully, she was not unmoved by the kiss. He had felt a small ripple of pleasure move through her and it brought a rush of satisfaction surging through him.
She was not cold and dispassionate, as she claimed, as she believed. Their kiss had proven that she was capable of feeling passion and desire, if only she allowed herself to. But her fear was real and he respected that it came from a brutal past.
Malcolm was so caught up in his own thoughts that he took no notice of those around him until he was roughly jostled. Instinctively, he wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword, then slowly eased his grip when he saw his brother’s muscled frame blocking his path.
“James! Is anything amiss?”
“’Tis I who should be asking ye that question,” James replied grimly. “I realized that ye were being backed into a corner, but what could have possibly possessed ye to tell Laird MacPhearson that ye were betrothed to Joan? His anger will increase tenfold when he discovers yer treachery.”
“I wasn’t lying, James.”
His brother’s eyes widened with shock. “Damnation, have ye taken leave of yer senses? Ye cannae marry her!”
Malcolm arched a brow. “I dinnae see how this is any business of yers.”
“Of course it’s my business! Ye’re my brother. I know ye better than to think yer head has been turned by her beauty, but I cannae fathom why ye would do it. Marry Joan! She’s a heartless, selfish shrew. ’Tis madness, I say, and nothing but misery will come of it.”
Malcolm’s ire heated at the passion in James’s voice. He had expected some resistance from his family, but not such adamant objections. “Joan’s not the devil incarnate.”
“Are ye certain?” James muttered. “My memories of her are anything but pleasant.”
Malcolm blew out a rough breath. “She’s changed.”
“I dinnae believe it,” James retorted flatly.
“Why not? Ye’ve changed. Ye returned from the Crusades with a heart of ice, but Davina melted it. We’ve all heard the stories about Father and the kind of hard, unrepentant warrior he was before he married our mother. He changed.”
“Father is still a hardened warrior,” James interjected.
“Aye, but he has a heart that has made him a better, stronger, loyal man to his family and his clan.”
James shook his head, clearly unconvinced. “I want the best fer ye, Malcolm. ’Tis what ye deserve. Joan willnae make ye happy.”
“Ye’re wrong. She’ll bring the excitement and challenge into my life that I’ve been craving.” Malcolm placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, imploring him to understand. “She’s not the same woman that ye knew years ago. Aye, she has a stubborn pride and at times a haughty air, but she uses it to shield herself from disappointment and hurt. I’ve seen the quiet sadness in her eyes that she tries to hide from the
world and the flashes of vulnerability on her face when she speaks of her son. She needs me, James, just as I need her.”
“Bloody hell, dinnae tell me that ye’ve fallen in love with the woman,” James cried.
Malcolm paused. He, too, had wondered the same thing. “I cannae say exactly what it is that I feel fer her. All I know is that it is strong. It beckons to me in a way I dinnae fully understand.”
“Walk away,” James urged. “Ye can always return in the fall or next year. I doubt any other man will make her an offer of marriage.”
Malcolm wished he could explain, but he couldn’t put into words what he didn’t fully comprehend. “I’ll not wait. We shall be married in the morning, before departing fer home. Will ye be there?”
James let out a rough grunt. “Aye. But I willnae be happy.”
’Twas not precisely what Malcolm had hoped to hear, but it was better than nothing. The mood between the brothers glimmered with unspoken disagreement, but each realized an open debate would yield nothing but an estrangement.
“Sir Malcolm, a word.” Laird Armstrong stepped from the shadows and advanced. James favored his brother with a cryptic glance, then turned and swiftly departed.
“Laird Armstrong.” Malcolm inclined his head respectfully. “I was hoping to speak with ye privately after the evening meal.”
“I assumed as much. I could scarcely believe my ears when ye announced yer betrothal to Joan in front of the MacPhearsons. The vein throbbing on the laird’s forehead looked near to bursting.” Laird Armstrong chortled. “’Twas a clever move, though now ye’ll need to be even bolder in order to find a way out of it.”
Malcolm swore beneath his breath, yet held his temper. Why did everyone simply assume that he had lied and would now reject Joan? “Joan and I shall marry tomorrow morning.”
Laird Armstrong stepped back in surprise. “Truly?”
“Aye.” Malcolm tried to temper the harshness in his voice. Though he doubted that Laird Armstrong could prevent the marriage, since it would serve no purpose for him to openly oppose the match.
The shock deepened on Laird Armstrong’s face. “She has no dowry,” he proclaimed. “Fraser kept it after he cast her aside.”
“Ye dinnae challenge him fer it?”
“Nay. It wasn’t worth the effort. In spite of her beauty, I doubted any other man would be fool enough to take her in marriage.”
Malcolm stiffened at the blunt words, yet let the insult pass. “No matter. I’ve more than enough to provide fer her.”
Laird Armstrong stroked his chin thoughtfully. “What about the lad? Will ye allow her to keep him or will ye leave him behind?”
“A bairn so young needs his mother. ’Twould be cruel to separate them.”
“Aye. The child is her greatest weakness and the best weapon to crush her willful, disobedient tongue. She might be brought to heel faster if ye threaten to take him away.”
Malcolm was taken aback by such a harsh statement—from Joan’s father no less. “I’d never resort to such brutality. I have a fondness fer a woman with spirit and shall relish the challenge of winning Joan’s heart.”
Laird Armstrong eyed Malcolm as though he spoke in jest. “Joan doesn’t have a heart. She cares only fer herself.”
’Twas impossible not to hear the certainty of judgment in the older man’s tone. A shiver of anger trickled through Malcolm. “I disagree. Joan has a tender side along with many fine qualities that appeal to me. She will make a splendid wife.”
“I dinnae think that ye were fool enough to be captivated by her looks. Beauty fades, Sir Malcolm, leaving misery in its wake.” Laird Armstrong’s jaw muscle twitched. “Be forewarned. If ye cast her off, I’ll not take her back. Ye’ll have to lock her away somewhere, that is, if ye can find a convent willing to take her.”
Malcolm shook his head at Laird Armstrong’s gruff tone and attitude. Joan was hardly the easiest woman to abide, but she certainly deserved better from her own kin.
“When we wed, she becomes a McKenna,” Malcolm said stiffly. “And the McKenna guard and care fer their own.”
“Ye are welcome to her.” Laird Armstrong turned away, paused, then turned back. “I wish ye luck—ye’ll be needing it.”
Chapter Ten
Joan walked toward the chapel just after sunrise broke, with her maid, Gertrude, at her side. Despite the persistent mist of falling rain, the bailey was busy with its usual morning activity. Carts laden with food were pushed through the courtyard toward the kitchen, several soldiers were heading toward the practice yard with a group of squires following closely behind them, and servants hurried to the castle to begin their duties.
Joan could see pages fetching water from the well, smell the aroma of baking bread, hear the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. As she walked among them, few gave her more than a passing glance, though she was certain many members of the clan knew she was being married this morning.
Yet few cared. There would be no wedding feast, no drinking, no music or dancing to celebrate this union, leaving most disinterested in the event.
When she arrived, Joan counted no more than twenty people gathered outside the church doors, nearly all of them McKennas. ’Twas embarrassing to have such a poor showing of Armstrong support, but she was hardly surprised. She was not beloved by her people—nay, she was barely tolerated. Those few that were in attendance were most likely there out of morbid curiosity.
Head held high, Joan favored them all with her most haughty look, desperate to control the rising swell of sickness in her throat. What am I doing? A wife is ruled by her husband; he wields enormous power over her person. When she escaped from Archibald, she had vowed never to become the property of any man, yet here she stood, ready to place herself once again in such a helpless position.
Joan’s knees began shaking and she grabbed Gertrude’s arm for support. The enormity of what she was about to do fell upon her like a stone wall, sending her into a near state of panic.
As though he sensed her fear, Malcolm turned to her, his eyes calm, his expression steady. His confidence rattled her even more. She was incapable of being the wife he expected. The wife he deserved. She was not honorable and selfless, kind or loving.
Malcolm claimed to want a woman with spirit, but no man appreciated having his will thwarted, his orders questioned. She would most assuredly disappoint him in any number of ways, trampling any budding feelings of regard he might have for her.
The realization brought on a profound wave of sadness. She tore her gaze from Malcolm’s, her heart pounding wildly. She must speak up now and put an end to this farce. For both their sakes.
Then what? Where would she go? What would she do? How would she provide for Callum, protect him, and most importantly, be assured that he had a worthy future? Was there another choice?
Her eyes darted frantically, instinctively searching for her father. He had dressed formally for the occasion, had even taken the time to shave. But Joan could see the cold calculation on his face. There would be no help from him.
Agnes stood at his side, a triumphant expression on her face. ’Twas clear they were each relishing the idea of being well rid of her.
Father John took his position in front of the chapel doors. Ignoring the rain that was now falling harder, he spread his arms wide and loudly proclaimed, “Is there anyone here who can show just cause why Lady Joan and Sir Malcolm cannae marry?”
No one spoke, yet Joan’s mind raced with dozens of reasons. She wondered if a bride or a groom had ever had the nerve to make an objection, then decided if the bride had, she would have most assuredly been ignored. And then silenced.
“Shall we go inside?” Malcolm asked, as he held out his arm.
Asked. Not commanded. Joan’s fear receded slightly. She summoned Callum’s sweet face from her memory, straightened her back, and accepted Malcolm’s arm.
One step, then another. In an almost dreamlike state, Joan took the journey to the altar. Dozens of thinly tape
red beeswax candles twinkled through the dimness of the chapel. It added a warmth that was sorely needed and Joan was surprised that her father would have approved such an expense. More than likely he did it for the McKenna’s benefit.
“Fer ye.” Malcolm handed her a beautiful bouquet of early spring flowers, tied at the stems with a blue silk ribbon. “There was not time to get ye a proper wedding gift. I hope these will suffice fer now.”
Joan was speechless. She adored flowers. How did he know? She caught a glimpse of a beaming Gertrude and surmised her maid must have told him.
“Thank ye,” she finally managed to croak, amazed at the thoughtful gesture.
“Where is Callum?” Malcolm asked.
Startled, Joan stared at him wide eyed. “I knew he’d be unable to stay quiet fer any length of time, so Brienne agreed to care fer him.”
“As ye wish, though I wouldn’t have objected to his presence.”
A jumble of emotion caught in Joan’s throat, but there was no chance to ponder that revelation as the priest began the ceremony. She tried very hard to concentrate, yet her dreamlike state continued as she listened to Father John’s voice in a strange, disjointed manner.
“Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor and obey him, keep him in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others keep thee only unto him as long as ye both shall live?”
Obey? The word mocked her, giving rise to every fear she had struggled so hard to conquer.
The priest cleared his throat. Twice. “Lady Joan?”
They were all waiting. Waiting for her to take her vows, to say the words that would bind her to Malcolm forever. Words, they are only words.
Yet their meanings were clear. If she spoke them here and now, in good faith, she must abide by them. Nervously, she licked her lips, then peered at the chapel door. If she walked swiftly, she could escape to freedom in a mere minute.
As if somehow reading her thoughts, Malcolm placed his hand on her shoulder and gazed down at her. “Joan?”
“I beg yer forgiveness, Malcolm, but I dinnae . . .”
He reached down and took her hands in his. Squeezing them gently, he spoke in a low, clear tone. “In the name of God, and before these witnesses, I, Malcolm, take ye, Joan to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, in sickness and health, to love and to cherish, to honor and to guard, forsaking all others until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”
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