Tressa guided her through each dress as Moira tried them on, describing what suited her as well as which ones didn’t. The green and blush shades were too light, but the lilac wasn’t bad as it caught the colour of her eyes. But it was the off-white gown with beading and a series of twisting bluebells and what appeared to be heather stalks interwoven along the bust that fit to perfection. It was as if the gown and cut had been made for her. While it had long sleeves, the tops of her shoulders as well as her collarbone were exposed, creating a beautiful line along her neck and upper body.
‘Oh, miss,’ Tressa murmured, gathering another looking glass so Moira could see the front and back of it. ‘I believe this is the one. Do ye like it?’
Seeing herself at all angles made her gasp. Was this even her? She’d never seen herself look so becoming, not even on herfirstwedding day. ‘It’s as if it were made for me, isn’t it? The proportions are magnificent. Aye. It’s the one.’ She pressed a flat palm over her stomach and smiled. Perhaps this wedding, this marriage,wouldbe joyful. Perhaps this time, her future would be without pain and upset and she’d look forward to seeing the sun rise every morning with Rory by her side.
She swallowed hard and a bit of the joy she’d just felt melted away into the reality that a wedding day led to a wedding night. Her intimacies with Peter had been brief, but painfully and brutally unpleasant. She sighed, resigning herself to the fact that she had to uphold her end of their agreement by being a participant in his attempts for gaining an heir. Enjoying it had not been a requirement, so she would merely await it to be over as she oft had before. It was a small sacrifice for having some safety, security and peace in her life.
‘Miss?’
Moira glanced over to see Tressa studying her with a pinched expression.
‘Are ye unwell?’
Moira looked to her reflection in the mirror and flattened the pained frown that had initially greeted her. ‘Nay. I am fine. A bit of nerves, I suppose.’
‘Ye needn’t worry a bit. Laird McKenna is a kind and generous man. He will treat ye well. I can also see by the way he watches ye that he is quite taken with ye. Never seen him look at another lass the way he studies ye when he thinks no one sees him.’
He does?
‘Now, let us take this off. I shall bring ye a tray to break yer fast and then we shall get ye ready. I’ve been ordered to bring ye to the carriage at half past ten and not a moment later.’
In a few hours, she would be a bride once more. She released a breath and let her eyes flutter closed as Tressa began the tedious task of unlacing the back of the gown. As the young woman tugged on the laces and buttons, Moira prayed.
Help me to begin a new life and new chapter without fear or at least without as much fear as I held in my last marriage. Help me to be a good wife for the time he remains alive and, once he is gone, let me know the peace, confidence and certainty of independence.
She opened her eyes and then squeezed them shut again and added to her prayer.
And let my father and family not interrupt this union, but accept me and my choice and one day come to my new home at Blackmore.
Part of her worried her last prayer would never come true. Her father might not storm the castle to stop the union, but he’d be slow to forgive her disobedience, if he ever did. She shivered. His stubbornness and pride were traits he shared with her late husband. Traits she prayed her new husband did not possess.
Chapter Twelve
When Rory thought he couldn’t bear the wait a moment longer, he heard the slow rumbling arrival of the carriage along the dirt road that led to the designated wedding location on the hillside overlooking the sea. He released a breath. Part of him feared she would cry off, not come and leave him here alone perpetually waiting for his bride. But he should have known better. Mrs Moira Fraser was no Lorna. She was a woman of her word, and she no doubt viewed their union as part of a larger plan for her escape. Just as she served as part of a larger plan for his survival, even if in name only.
Despite Angus’s urging not to look back, Rory turned to watch her arrival. His heart roared in his chest and his palms grew damp. The carriage door opened, and he saw Moira, his future wife, emerge. One graceful step, then another until both of her white slippered feet were settled on the soft dirt. When she met his gaze, he felt weak in the knees like a lad.Good Lord.She was beautiful, and that dress... His heart may have stopped in his chest. He recognised it from the large portrait in the library. It had been his mother’s from her wedding day. The familiar blue and purple curling flowers and green vines along the bodice and the smooth sloping neckline. He’d stared at it for so long as a boy wondering at all he had missed by not knowing her. That Moira would have chosen it amongst all the dresses he and the village had sent to her moved him beyond measure. He swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat as he watched her approach. She smiled, and he commanded himself to return it despite how overwhelmed he felt.
She carried a bound bouquet of pink, yellow and purple flowers and a small necklace with a blue jewel bobbed in the notch of her throat. It was the colour of her eyes, and he willed himself to breathe. Soon she was at his side. For a woman who had left her own home in haste only a day ago, she looked remarkably settled, relaxed and prepared for this union.
Which was more than he could say for himself.
‘You look lovely, Moira,’ he murmured, cringing at the small crack in his voice. ‘Breathtakingly beautiful.’
Her cheeks glowed, but there was a cool distance in her eyes as she replied in even tones, ‘As you look handsome, my laird.’
Before he could question it further, Rory turned to face Cawley, the long-standing minister of Blackmore, who had agreed to marry them in such haste casting aside the reading of the banns and any other ‘required nonsense’ as the man called it.
‘Who am I to stand in the way of a blessed union?’he’d always spouted.‘There’s God and then there’s the law. I always put God first. The rest of it be damned.’
One of the many reasons Rory enjoyed the wry humour of the tall old man, who was so trim he looked as if he might blow over in a gust of wind. He’d been Blackmore’s man of God for as long as Rory could remember. He’d also provided Rory guidance and support through his many losses. He trusted the man with his life and now his future.
Cawley led them through the opening pleasantries, and Rory didn’t notice any nerves from his bride-to-be until the handfasting. Angus handed him Moira’s wedding band, which he held out in his cupped hand to her. When she extended her hand and placed it atop his own, the tremble was unmistakable. His heart pulled in his chest as he placed his other hand atop her own and hers beneath. As the McKenna plaid was wrapped around them both, he met her gaze. The fear residing there gutted him.
Her hands were ice cold, and Rory realised he’d been a fool.
She wasn’treadyfor this union, but terrified. The three knots were tied to symbolise his love for her, her love for him and the love they shared for those in attendance, and he cursed himself. How else could she feel? She had not a soul here she knew to witness their union. No family, not even her lady’s maid had arrived in time. While he knew everyone here, she knew no one, save him, and she’d only known him a short time. He’d have to be more aware in the future, and he needed to do something to help her feel more at ease.
As Cawley commanded their repeating of vows to one another, they each complied in turn. The plaid was removed, and Rory slipped the wedding ring upon her trembling finger. When Cawley announced them as man and wife, Rory smiled at his bride and she mirrored his own, but he noted the smile never quite reached her eyes. His bride was worried, and he had no idea how to lessen the strain. He squeezed her hand and led them through a small throng of McKenna revellers cheering their union. While he felt full of hope, he worried about his bride, who gripped his arm with a fierceness that only rivalled the pit of unease cramping his stomach.
