“Not this day.” Marmaduke’s clipped words left no room for argument.
With a grim nod, he indicated the perspiring Father Tomas. The holy man hovered just inside the church door, praying and wringing his age-spotted hands.
At the sight, some of the bluster ebbed out of the Highlanders and Marmaduke released a long breath. “There are times I am almost grateful for the coolness of my English blood,” he said, more to himself than to his men.
“The craven will be cornered soon enough, but lest he come closer, I mind it’s wiser – for now - to let him see this marriage is a true one,” he added, lifting up his voice so the black-frocked priest was sure to hear. “We can draw steel on him later, when innocents won’t be caught in the fray.”
An audible sigh of relief came from the candle-lit interior of the little stone chapel.
Grumbles of discontent issued from his men.
But both the relief and grumbles soon gave way to the joyous roar that went up from the crowd when at last the bridal party rode into the churchyard and Lady Caterine Keith reined in before her groom.
Chapter 31
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,” Sir Marmaduke said, slipping his signet ring successively onto the thumb, fore, and middle finger of his bride’s left hand.
Awed by the raw emotion surging through him, he drew a ragged breath, holding it in for the sheerest moment – and eternity to let his demons rage and howl – but not a one of them raised their ugly heads. Nothing stirred inside him save the fierce pounding of his heart.
For once, his devils showed mercy and gave him peace.
Then, on the cold and windy porch of the little stone chapel and before they could change their minds, he released his relief on the breath he’d been holding and uttered the words that made Caterine Keith his wife.
“With this ring I thee wed,” he said, and eased the ruby heirloom onto her ring finger.
Surprised at the thickness in her new husband’s voice, Caterine held the too-large ring in place with her thumb, and wondered at the unexpected rush of emotion closing her own throat.
Something fine and sweet burst to splendid flowering deep inside her, and she stood perfectly still, savoring it, as he reached for her head veil. The look on his face as he did so, his smoldering intensity, filled her with unexpected contentment, and chased all other concerns.
Silenced the raucous cheering behind them.
Stilling as well, the wet, sniffling noises so close they could only come from Rhona, and even the droning voice of Father Tomas speaking the homily she’d heard so many times before.
Everything faded save the tenderness and pride on her champion’s face – and the exhilarating surety that he was about to kiss her.
Now, while James yet recited all she brought to the union as her dowry.
The words indistinct, she heard only the thunder of her heart. Then she raised her chin and met her new husband’s gaze, waiting as he smoothed back the shimmering silk of her borrowed veil. Freely, even eagerly, she offered her lips in a gesture meant to publicly honor his gallantry.
And to speed the kiss she burned to receive.
A kiss the onlookers apparently wanted, too, for the din in the churchyard rose to a fevered pitch. She blinked, fierce yearning scorching a path of twisting, breathless anticipation all through her, even clear to her toes.
This man, her champion, and now her lord husband, was responsible.
He quickened her blood as never before, and he did so here, before all her people, and in the shadow of Dunlaidir, the home that meant so much to her.
How odd that he suddenly meant as much.
No, even more.
“I am going to kiss you,” he said, beguiling her with six simple words.
And once I have, I shall never let you go.
Those words hovered between them, alive and pulsing, elusive as the frosty puffs of their breath. Truly spoken or heard with her heart, she’d never know because they’d no sooner touched her ear before he lifted his hand to her face.
Claimed her with one touch.
