“Lachlan,” he said in a soft voice. “You have the blessing of your clan on this happy day, with wishes of a long and fruitful union with your wife.”
Finley’s stomach clenched as the man from the forest snatched the brooch from Marcas Blair. It washim. Her skin prickled, her stomach fluttered.
“Which clan would that be, Marcas?” Lachlan Blair said in a low voice through clenched teeth.
Then Rory was at her knee. Finley hadn’t noticed him dismounting, so entranced had she been by Lachlan Blair. Her father helped her slide from the horse and then held her hand as he escorted her to the steps of the chapel where Kirsten was somehow already waiting. The friar had ascended to the threshold, and Lachlan Blair now stood on the topmost step. He stared over the green once again, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, including Finley’s.
If he recognized her from their meeting at the bridge, he certainly wasn’t letting on.
Finley swallowed as her father leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek, and then pulled his fingers from her tight grasp. She must walk to him on her own, a willing bride. But even knowing her future husband had turned out to be the man from the forest—fancied in her thoughts many times over since their strange encounter—did not make the journey easier. Finley now stood alone at the foot of the steps, the edge of the brooch digging into her palm. It took every ounce of her pride, her strong will, to command her legs to mount the steps.
At last she stood before Lachlan Blair and, setting her jaw, she raised her eyes to look up into his face.
He looked at her coolly for a moment, and then his brows rose slightly.
“It’s you,” he said.
An oddly pleasant wave of gooseflesh rushed over Finley’s arms. He simply hadn’t recognized her. “Surprised?”
“Aye.” Lachlan huffed a laugh and raised his face to the sky for a moment. “I should have known.”
Finley felt an unexpected grin tugging at her mouth. Maybe—just maybe—today wouldn’t be the worst day of her life after all. She heard Kirsten give a dreamy sigh behind her.
Lachlan dropped his gaze back to hers. “Of course they shackle me to the only woman in Carson Town no one else wanted.” He chuckled again, but there was no mirth in his tone.
The flesh of her face seemed to freeze, humiliation rising up in her like nausea. She forced it down her throat by swallowing hard. “I would have looked kindlier upon Eachann Todde had I known the alternative I would soon face.”
The smile dropped from his full mouth. “More winsome is your poet, now?”
“Winsome? Nay. But he’s nae half-English bastard being turned out for a disgrace.”
Lachlan’s face darkened, his shoulders stiffened.
Finley lifted her chin.
The friar cleared his throat. “Shall we begin?”
“Hellion,” Lachlan growled.
Finley narrowed her eyes at him. “Fraud.”
“Lachlan Blair,” the friar called out cheerfully, “do you swear to take this woman, Finley Carson, as your wife?”
He turned to the holy man. “Nay.”
The friar stuttered and harrumphed as a murmur of confusion and alarm swept over the crowd gathered on the green. Clomping footfalls heralded Marcas Blair’s arrival on the chapel’s threshold, and he pulled Lachlan back roughly.
Finley felt as though her very head would burst into flames at any moment. Kirsten reached out to squeeze Finley’s arm reassuringly, but Finley shook her off. She had never felt such shame in her life—not even when, at ten and two, she had slipped from the roof peak of the storehouse and been caught on the hoist upside down, her skirts around her head. It had taken the better part of an hour to get her safely down, but it seemed as if she’d been standing before the chapel doors for days.
The two Blair men were arguing in hushed tones—at least, Marcas Blair’s tone was hushed.
“I willna,” Lachlan said, shaking his head at the older man, who was clearly attempting to persuade him. Then Lachlan leaned his nose close to the Blair’s. “Turn me out, then. I’d rather die alone in the wood than be shackled to her. She’ll likely kill me in my sleep, any matter.”
The murmurings in the crowd exploded into contentious rumbles, and Finley turned on her heel and swept down the steps, swerving around her father at the bottom.
He caught her arms, preventing her from reaching her horse. “Finley, wait,” Rory pleaded in a low tone. “’Tis a difficult thing for the both of you.”
“I’ll not be spoken of in such a manner,” Finely said. “On my wedding day.By the man who is to be my husband. He clearly doesna want me.”
