Gordon Sinclair’s pockmarked jowls jiggled as he returned to appraising the room. He licked his lips and cast a glance at the tables like a pig jostling for position at the trough.
Ignoring Ciara’s words, he fixed his beady eyes upon Faolan and waved a meaty hand through the air. “God’s teeth, man! Where is the priest? Let us have this betrothal done and over with so we can proceed to the food and drink!”
Faolan’s eyes flared at the rudeness of the potbellied Sinclair and he stiffened at Ciara’s side. Drawing a deep breath, he covered Ciara’s hand in the crook of his arm and forced himself to meet her gaze. “Shall ye join me at the ivied archway, Lady Ciara? The priest awaits to hear our troth.”
“I would be honored.” Only she found herself biting back laughter when she realized she led the way. Glancing back, she nearly gasped when she saw Maxwell bump Faolan once to get him moving forward.
Pulling him along, Ciara bit her lip to keep from giggling aloud and wondered if Cerridwen and Brid enjoyed the entertainment from their viewpoint of the cauldron. This is ridiculous. It was like leading a bull to slaughter. She looked around the room then looked up at Faolan’s face and barely shook her head.His clan is celebrating and he’s behaving as though he’s about to lose his head.Risking a glance around the hall again, Ciara smiled at the throng of faces.
Apparently, not a person in the clan wanted to miss the chieftain’s betrothal.
The round-eyed priest stood awaiting the couple beneath the flowery arch. Beads of sweat peppered across his brow as he worried with his beads. His eyes flitted around the room, growing a bit rounder at the many ancient carvings in honor of the mother goddesses. The MacKay clan had been followers of the old religion since the rites and rituals had been born.
Ciara glanced at the shining steel blades of a cross looming on the farthest wall. Newly forged, the soldering connecting the hammered pieces wasn’t even old enough to show signs of rust or oxidation.Surely, Faolan didn’t believe switching to Christianity would make the goddesses leave his clan in peace?
Faolan and Ciara made their way to stand in front of the priest and waited for him to begin the ceremony. Ciara stifled an impatient huff as the holy man rifled through the prayer book held between his shaking hands.
As far as she was concerned, the sooner he got this ceremony over with the better. Then she could begin the enjoyable part of her duty. She was ready to begin the seduction. She had promised her mothers eight years to this task. As far as she was concerned, that was being generous. Ciara realized eight years was a brief speck in the life of an immortal, a mere batting of an eye. Being bound to a mortal for that set time had her chomping at the bit.
With a covert glance up through her lashes at her husband-to-be, Ciara smiled to herself. At least he pleased the eye, although he tended toward the dark and brooding side. Ciara swallowed a sigh and recalled she’d always been attracted to that sort of mortal. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a surly mood to match. Nothing stirred her passions more than a formidable challenge.
She’d sensed as she entered the keep that Faolan not only exuded power by his mere presence but also commanded a deep respect from all in his clan. However, she’d also detected this respect had been earned; the MacKay clan was well pleased with their laird. She’d detected a high level of love in the energy coursing through the room. This warmed her heart even more toward Faolan. His soul was pure.
Gaze dropping, she couldn’t help but wet her lips as she admired the lines of his body. His image within the waters of Cerridwen’s cauldron had not done the man justice. He towered above her. Muscles well-defined, his tensed arms corded with strength. This was no sedentary man. His black silk tunic stretched tight across broad shoulders. His kilt slung low about trim hips. Faolan moved with the smooth, predatory gait of the wolf; he was the image of his Gaelic namesake.
Too bad he’s not a shape-shifter.Ciara heaved a breathless sigh with this silent observation.What a time we would have, the dark wolf and I. I’d have him howling by the next full moon as we chased each other through the midnight woods.
The nervous hacking of the high-strung priest interrupted her erotic musings. It was apparent by the uncomfortable expression on the man’s face, he’d asked her a question and waited for a response.
“Oh, I am sorry. I am afraid I didn’t hear you. Please find it in your heart to forgive me. I’m afraid I’m a bit nervous in front of such a large crowd. I’m not used to so many people.”
Ciara forced herself to babble inanely at the priest. She allowed her voice to tremble just a bit as though unsure of just what she should say. She played upon the rumor of her simple-mindedness she heard running through the judgmental man’s little mind. She might as well enjoy herself while she was here. Hypocritical holy men were so easy to manipulate. She widened her eyes until they stung for the want of tears and fixed the priest with as vacant a stare as she could muster. She’d run across his kind before.
The priest licked his dry, chapped lips as though he were a lizard tasting the air. He heaved a sigh and leaned toward Ciara as though he were about to lose his patience. With a forced smile as though he spoke to a dullard, he slowly repeated his words. “I asked ye if ye would repeat the betrothal words,I…will…take…thee…Laird Faolan MacKay, to be my betrothed.”
Ciara turned and locked her golden gaze with Faolan’s troubled stare. She stared unblinking up into his face and repeated the priest’s instructed words. “I will take thee, Laird Faolan MacKay, to be my betrothed.” Then her smile widened as she added a few words of her own, much to the priest’s dismay. “And by the power of my goddesses, I pledge to thee my life and open my womb to your seed.”
* * *
Faolan drownedin the depths of her gaze. There was nothing simple or safe about this woman. His long dormant mystical nerves tingled and roared to life. His inner alarms sounded with a warning blare. Before he realized he violated his own edict, he spiritually opened to her aura with his senses.
He’d never seen an aura so intricate and colorful. Most people possessed only a single hue that changed according to their state of emotional being. Ciara’s aura rainbowed a miasma of violets, pinks, blues, and reds. The colors swirled and danced around her form. The longer he watched, the more he relaxed and the farther he drifted away. He felt himself slipping, losing his careful control.
Faolan blinked and disciplined his mind back into its regimented state. He stiffened and ignored Ciara’s whispered ad-lib as he coldly repeated the priest’s words. “I will take thee, Dierdra Mairi Ciara Sinclair, to be my legally betrothed.”
With a tensed jerk, Ciara’s chin lifted, her smile faded, and she turned to face the priest.
As he turned the page of his book, the priest squinted at the pages and ran a trembling finger along the words. “Then let the betrothal be recorded. The wedding shall be held a year and a day from today, unless…” He cleared his throat and glanced about the room. “Unless an…uh…ev-event oc-occurs that brings about the marriage sooner.”
“If he’s anything at all like his brothers, she’ll be his wife before tomorrow’s dawn!” A rumbling voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling as Angus MacKay shouted from the back of the room.
The crowd cheered at this announcement. They clapped their hands and stomped their feet upon the wooden benches. “Aye, Faolan! Consummate your vows this eve! Dinna wait for the wedding feast!”
With a groan, Faolan ignored the rowdy crowd and bent to brush his lips across Ciara’s in the required sealing kiss. With a start, he stiffened when she slid her soft hand up the back of his neck. He shuddered as she laced her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down to hers. The wind fled his lungs as she opened her mouth beneath his. She sent him the most intimate of messages with her warm, moist tongue. Her other hand rested on his chest as she slid her body closer. Instinct overrode his stubborn mind and Faolan deepened the kiss. He pulled her close and hardened into her curves as she pressed in subtle invitation against him. Her delicious scent, a warm mixture of ginger and vanilla, intoxicated his senses. His mind filled with visions of her sprawled across the pillows of his bed. He reeled with the taste of her, lost in her arms he almost forgot he stood before his clan.
“Oh, aye! There’ll be no wedding feast in a year
and a day for this union. We’ll more than likely be celebrating the christening of a bairn! Here’s to the birth of the first of many sons!” Head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd, Angus once more roared across the room. “Pipes! Play the pipes and strike the fiddles. Let us seal this day with music!” His broad face split with a wicked grin; Angus settled his pipe between his teeth and filled the hall with the eerie strains of clan MacKay’s favorite sound.
