It was a ridiculous question. Or, at least, she wanted it to be.
When Margaret sat in silence for too long, Ann said, “Listen, tis not a question I expect ye to answer. All I ask is that ye use that merchant’s mind to see that Gavin is no longer a choice if you wish for Mariah and Laura to remain here. Then, if the question is between giving Alexander a chance to make ye happy, and not, then ye ought to try opening yer heart.”
“Fine,” Margaret said, coming suddenly to a stand. “I am off to see Gavin.”
“Is that the conclusion you reached from this?” Ann said, her voice the same shrill pitch she used when talking to her misbehaving sisters.
“I guess so,” Margaret replied, not able to give any further explanation because she had none to give. The declaration had surprised her as much as Ann. With follow through seeming to be the simpler option than sitting to parse out her feelings, Margaret left the room, shutting the door softly behind her this time.
Margaret found Gavin right about where she had seen him last, crowded around a fire with the other men that her uncle sent riding with him to do whatever it was that they did. Margaret didn’t approach, deciding that it was better to wait for him to notice her than to approach him in the middle of a crowd. When his eyes found her immediately, Margaret gave a quick tilt of her head and carried forward. She walked along the creek for a time, continuing the journey even as the gardens gave way to a small wooded area. Though no one from the house could see her through the trees anymore, Margaret kept walking until she came across the tree she was looking for: a massive oak right along the edge of the creek. It was so close, in fact, that the earth surrounding half of its roots had washed away, exposing the ugly, misshapen twists that served as the foundation for something so impressively beautiful.
She stared up at the tree, remembering days when she used to climb it while Isobel sat at the bottom, throwing a fit about how she couldn’t follow without ruining her dress. Margaret would go as high as the branches let her, not caring about whatever she left behind or whatever dress she ruined to do it.
Now who is stuck on the ground in a pretty dress while the other escapes to a new world? Margaret wondered, feeling a smile flit across her face. Even though Isobel’s departure had ruined every plan Margaret had made, she was glad that Isobel had finally dared to climb.
“So, how is he?”
Gavin’s voice pulled her back from her visions of days gone by and the dreamy-pink softness that seemed to surround those peaceful memories. The reality of the present was far bleaker, with Gavin’s very presence before her reminding her of rainy days and trampled flowers.
He stood at least five paces away from her, probably the furthest away that he had ever stood from her by his own choice. Even from this distance, she could see the redness of his eyes and the dark shadows beneath him.
“You look awful,” she said.
“Havena been sleeping. Not a wee bit since the day I found out about all this, lass, ye should ken that.”
Margaret winced. She hadn’t been the one to tell Gavin the news. Her uncle had accidentally taken on that task when he had, unbeknownst to Margaret, gone to visit with Gavin and his father when Margaret and Ann had gone upstairs to pack their things. Gavin had shown up in her home soon after, barging into the house and demanding her confirmation. When she had given it, he had begged her to change her mind, promising to go and wed her the very next day if that is what she wanted. But then, before Margaret could answer, Ann had come into the room to say that she could see light from Laird Gunn’s lantern coming up the road, and Gavin had disappeared into the night.
Though it had taken her uncle longer than expected to reach the house after that, he had behaved as if nothing was amiss. The next day, when they had set out for Braemore, Gavin and his father had joined their party and, other than signs of a sleepless night, Gavin had not shown a bit of weakness. That was a strength of his, though she wished that he did not exclusively reserve moments of emotional release for her. If he hadn’t, maybe he would have dared to ask her uncle for her hand sooner and they would be living happily together in Thurso at this very moment.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not sure what else could be said without breaking them both.
“No, ye aren’t, for, if ye were, ye would leave this place with me right now.”
“But the clan—”
“Will he want ye for who ye are?”
No, Margaret thought. He wants an Isobel.
Though she hadn’t spoken it aloud, Gavin nodded, and Margaret knew that he had read her thoughts within the silence, for they had been as deafening as a thunderclap.
“I’m not a fool, Margaret,” Gavin said, slowly stepping forward to close the gap between them. “I ken that if ye do not go through with this tomorrow, the queen will have all our heads. Maybe that is why she sent Rob Fraser here: to be her executioner. But, I may have a way to help us save both the clan and our love.”
Margaret studied his face, unsure if it was madness or the exhaustion that was making his eyes look so crazed. “How?”
“Do not consummate the marriage,” he said, lifting her calloused hands and pulling them gently to his chest.
Margaret immediately pulled away. “How can I possibly—”
“He is a polite lad. If ye tell him ye need a few days to adjust, he’ll give it. Donna believe me? Do ye recall the way he shook like a leaf before you earlier? You think that is a man that will push the issue?”
Margaret pressed her hands to her temples, exhausted. She would soon be like her uncle with streaks of gray shooting through her hair. “I just—”
“Promise me,” Gavin said, grabbing her hands again, pulling them away from her face and back to his chest. “Promise me ye will refrain from consummating the marriage for at least a few days.”
“What good will it do?” Margaret asked, studying the face of the dark-haired neighbor boy that she thought she had known so well.
“Just, please, Margaret. As a courtesy to me and our history together, give me a few days knowing you aren’t truly a wife.”
Margaret tried to pull her hands away, but his grip was too strong. He would hold her there until she promised, trapping her in the shadow of the oak that had once been a place of freedom. “Fine, I promise.”
Margaret awoke at dawn to Ann harshly shaking her. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”
After a bowl of fruits had been set in her hand, Margaret blinked. “We?”
Ann opened the door to Margaret’s room, and a horde of women came rushing in, armed with combs, pins, and bottles of rouge. Then came in Kenna Fraser, who appraised Margaret sympathetically.
Margaret was about to question that sympathy when the maids descended, making it all rather clear. They pulled her from the bed and encircled her, each of them attacking her hair and face as they tried to make her look like the noble Highland bride she was supposed to be.
Kenna sat with Ann at the opposite end of the room, chatting away as if they had been friends for a lifetime. Though, to Margaret’s annoyance, the subject was not their own interests, but Margaret’s. Ann was telling stories about the lass who used to escape to climb trees and who ripped every dress she ever owned before Ann seemed to correct herself, changing the stories to those of which Isobel had played the part of heroine.
“What about love interests? She is so beautiful, I would not believe it if you told me she never had any other suitors.”
Ann hesitated, and Margaret tried to push the coos of the maids out of her focus, listening only for the voice of her friend. “Only one,” Ann said, softly, as if she knew Margaret was listening and did not want her to overhear and be reminded of...
Gavin.
She hadn’t told Ann about the promise she had made him, nor did she intend to. It would only result in a fight, one which Margaret would lose.
Sure, she had her misgivings when it came to Alexander Mackay, and she was not entirely sure they would ever truly get along
, especially if he continued to hold certain expectations over her when it came to her desires and behavior. But, regardless, he was going to be her husband and she had owed him the kindness of entering their marriage uninhibited by promises made to other men.
Margaret yelped as one pin dug too deeply into her skin, and Kenna Fraser stood and crossed the room.
“Tis quite enough, her hair looks fine,” she said firmly, holding out her hand to the maids to collect their remaining pins.
When Margaret looked up at her, unsure on if she should thank the woman or call her a saint, Kenna shrugged. “They’ll chase you to the church while pinning your hair, if you let them. My head hurt for days after my wedding.”
Margaret imagined the Kenna Gordon of a year ago being chased into the arms of Rob Fraser by a team of maids wielding pins, and the image in her mind gave her so much delight that it resulted in her first smile of the day. The smile, though, was reprimanded by a maid who was trying to spread rouge across her lips.
When Margaret was finally as presentable as possible, with one maid stating that it was “good enough” after hours of work, Kenna and Ann escorted her down to the yard. They wove their way through the throngs of people until they reached the church, where Margaret’s uncle was waiting. He was looking sharp in a fresh black jacket and blue trousers, a Gunn tartan draped across his shoulders and pinned with a gold and ruby broach. His eyes looked her up and down a few times before he nodded approvingly and returned to his conversation with one of the other lairds present.
“I’m off to find Rob,” Kenna said, squeezing Margaret’s hand. “Try and savor it. It will go too quickly otherwise.”
“I hope it goes quickly,” Ann said when Kenna had moved out of earshot. “I do detest a long sermon.”
Margaret grinned for a second, before it slipped away. It was as if she had been watching a landslide for days, seeing the rocks tumbling down the hill, but only just now been struck by falling debris. She was getting married today. To a man she did not know and who belonged to a clan that despised her own.
Doing her best to turn her head slowly, so as not to shift a single one of the pins in her hair, Margaret scanned the crowd. Her uncle had told her that he was going to keep her sisters out of sight during the wedding, just so that nothing would accidentally be revealed by a lingering glance or sentimental phrase. Margaret had believed him but now she wanted nothing more than to catch him in a lie.
Ann grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “It will be alright.”
“Aye? Will it?” Margaret replied, feeling her eyes beginning to burn. “I should like to ken how you ken that.”
“I just do,” Ann said, just as the sound of bagpipes suddenly sliced through the air, calling the attendees into the church.
Laird Gunn’s hand caught her arm just as Ann’s hand left, as if he had seen the shake in her knees and known she was tempted to make a run for it. “Settle down,” he whispered in her ear. “Now come on.”
The crowd of people in the church all stood when Laird Gunn led her in. At the front of the church, leaning against the alter while he spoke closely with Rob and another Mackay, much to the horror of the priest to his side, was Alexander. As Laird Gunn and Margaret approached, Rob elbowed Alexander, who immediately stood up straight and turned to look at her, his eyes widening for a moment before his expression shifted into the firm, unperturbed confidence of a Highland warrior.
This was the fearsome Alexander Mackay that she had heard about. And he had picked the worst time to show her that side of himself. She hadn’t been prepared for the way his gaze would make her tremble.
When they reached the alter, her uncle took her shaking hand and pressed it into Alexander’s steady one. Margaret felt a surge moving up her arm as all of her instincts told her to turn on the spot and run. But she couldn’t. Her hand was rebelling against the rest of her, refusing to detach itself from him.
Margaret was so focused on trying to determine why she was feeling the way that she was, that she completely ignored Kenna’s advice to savor the ceremony. Before she even realized it was happening, she was speaking her vows to him, pledging herself to him until the end of time. Then, just as suddenly, he leaned into her, placing a chaste but lingering kiss against her lips that left them burning. When he pulled away, she caught a glimpse of his golden eyes and it was as if something in her finally crumbled, leaving her feeling exposed and terrified.
What was happening to her?
Tucking her hand in his arm, Alexander led her through the rows of cheering well-wishers, politely waving here and there with a stiff smile. Margaret tried to mimic him, relying on her Isobel disguise to guide her while she buried her true self, and all of the new complications that came with it, deep within.
They emerged from the church, and Alexander immediately pulled her to the side and around the corner, pressing her up against the smoothed stone exterior.
“Are you feeling alright, lass?” he asked, resting one of his hands on her forehead. “You were looking awfully pale in there. Of course, now you’re flushed. Should I ask for an apothecary?”
“N-no,” Margaret said, stumbling over the words as she pulled Alexander’s hand away from her face, somehow knowing that that was part of the problem. “I just did not sleep well. I need a moment to myself, if you do not mind.”
The hum of people emerging into the yard was growing, and Alexander straightened, moving away from her ever so slightly. “Aye, take all the time you need. I’ll see if I can find Ann.”
And with that, he rounded back to the front of the church, earning a raucous cheer from the few Mackays and even fewer Gunns that supported this arrangement. Margaret leaned her head back against the stone and took a few deep, calming breaths. If her heart continued to race like this, she would surely die on the spot.
It was only because she was now a wife. Yes, the weight of that change was what was pressing upon her. Nothing more.
“Hey.”
Margaret opened her eyes and looked forward to where Gavin stood a few paces away, his arms crossed in front of him. There was something in his dark eyes that was unsettling, and she found herself suddenly wishing to run back to Thurso so she could hide from him in her father’s office.
“Hey,” she replied, pulling herself away from the walls of the church. But she had overestimated the power of her knees and stumbled forward. Gavin rushed ahead, a single cold hand grabbing her wrist to keep her upright.
He stared at her for a few moments, or perhaps a few minutes, Margaret could hardly tell anymore. But then, from the front of the church, Ann’s voice could be heard. Gavin glanced in that direction before he sighed and dropped her wrist.
“Just remember, you made me a promise,” he said quietly before turning to disappear around the back of the church, leaving her with nothing more than a forming bruise.
“I always heard that brides cried on their wedding day. But, I dare say, this is far more entertaining,” Alexander said, eyeing her with a bit of amusement as she stared forward, stone-faced, one foot held up in the air in preparation of taking another step. Unfortunately, the floor was spinning, so she could hardly put it down just yet.
“Yes, well, you ken that I donna cry and I’ll not tell ye why,” Margaret replied, hearing the heavier accent of a dockworker slip into her voice as her focus was being dedicated elsewhere. She stomped her foot down suddenly, as if she was going to stop the spinning through sheer force. But then, she had the distinct feeling that the floor was rushing up to punish her for it.
“Ach, be careful,” Alexander said, reaching out to steady her. Margaret shivered, noting the heat radiating off of his arm as it encircled her waist. “If you fall, you might ruin that pretty dress.”
Pretty was hardly the word to describe it. It was a beautiful dress, a light green velvet that perfectly matched a shade shared by both Gunn and Mackay tartan. The bodice was an embroidered masterpiece of interwoven flowers and vines, with each flower’s center being stud
ded with white and pink pearls. Halfway between her elbow and wrist, the velvet gave way to a thin and wispy lace. Or, at least, it would have been thin and wispy if there hadn’t been so much of it, for it seemed to fall down her arms in massive white drifts. From the back of her arm, the pieces were so long that they came down to her knees, which had proven to be a source of near constant frustration throughout the night, seeing as she could hardly pick up her goblet without dragging the perfectly white lace through some sort of sauce, stain, or spill. Isobel, who had ordered this dress the very day she had suspected an engagement, was the only person that Margaret knew who would both design and pay for this sort of self-inflicted torture.
“I shouldna tried drinking with Kenna,” Margaret said.
“No, that lass is deceptively capable with her drink,” Alexander said, his hand not moving from her waist as he continued to guide her forward through the hall.
After Ann had found her and helped her settle her raging nerves, the crowd of merrymakers had moved their celebrations to the pavilion behind the house, where a feast and musicians were already prepared. Margaret had found herself seated between her new husband and Kenna Fraser, the latter of which taking it upon herself to continuously top off Margaret’s goblet throughout the feast. For Margaret, who hadn’t had the money to pay for wine in months, the dull heat of the alcohol had been welcomed, as it allowed her an excuse for the flush of her cheeks that was entirely unrelated to the man sitting beside her.
But, where alcohol gives, it also takes away, which Margaret remembered only when a suddenly acidic taste came into her mouth while she was in the middle of the pavilion, listening to some important Highland laird or another going on about the spice trade. She knew she had to get away, and soon, or else she would be sick right there in the center of the pavilion, bringing swift and immediate shame both upon her clan and herself.
When the laird finally paused to take a breath, Margaret said, “Would you mind excusing me for a moment, sir? I have a very important friend I need to discuss something with.”
Highlander's Torn Bride (Highlander's Seductive Lasses Book 2) Page 5
