Spoken in a pleasant tone, but Darragh prepared for the worst. “Thomasina.”
“Oh, Mother. Please. Call me Mother. After all we are now mother and son, are we not?”
Fighting the grimace that seemed stuck on his face, Darragh coughed into his hand before answering. “Beg pardon…Mother.”
Thomasina smiled brightly before tipping her head. “Verra nice. I was wondering how ye would feel about a bit to eat before the bedding ceremony?”
“Well, I had actually—”
“No bedding ceremony.” Brighit came to stand between the two of them, her back to Darragh as if he was of little importance. Instead, she faced down her mother, a hand to her hip. It was the only way to describe this encounter. Though not much taller than her mother, Brighit did appear quite imposing. “I have said as much to ye, Mother. Repeatedly.”
“Brighit,” Thomasina’s scolding tone grated on Darragh’s nerves. “Yer father and I—”
“And that is all well and fair,” Brighit’s interruption left Darragh wondering what exactly his mother-in-law had intended to say. “…for yer children—whatever it is ye and father want should certainly be seen to—but I am a married woman now.”
“In name only.”
Bridget’s loud gasp seemed to echo around the room. As still as a doe caught unawares by a hunter, she stood there, mouth hanging loose. Thomasina was demonstrating a stubborn side Darragh had not yet witnessed, but she was going too far, and his own ire was rising. The scathing glance Thomasina sent to him halted the words he was about to say.
Sean, forgotten until this moment, moved casually closer to the women, who had the attention of everyone in the room. He made eye contact with Darragh, the smug smile on his face declaring that his new son-in-law certainly did not appear to be a man about to set his bride aside. No. He no doubt appeared as befuddled as he felt. Befuddled. Bewildered. And beyond words. When the older man placed a hand on him, squeezing his shoulder in a reassuring way, Darragh realized his reaction to what was happening was easily read. And that irked him.
“Ladies?” Sean gave him a reprieve by engaging the two. “Why this scene?”
“Sean.” Thomasina now used the same tone Darragh had heard her use with her youngest son, Lorcánn. A tone meant to elicit her husband’s support. “We’ve been preparing our dau—”
“My wife.” All eyes turned toward Darragh, showing an assortment of reactions. Though surprised at his own words, he suddenly realized their importance. He would not be forgetting that any time soon. “She is my wife now.”
Thomasina’s face turned a bright shade of red, and though her lips parted, no words came out. Turning to Sean, Darragh waited politely, brows raised, for any denial of the fact. There was none. Instead, Sean inclined his head, took his wife gently by the upper arm, and led her away from Brighit. The rest of the group followed and the two of them were left alone. As alone as two people could be with a throng of people focused on them.
“Sit with me.” Darragh indicated the large chair beside his own. Places of honor for the bride and groom. “Please.”
Brighit kept silent but came around the trestle to join him. Not a moment too soon, as Darragh plopped down again, feeling the full effect of the excess libations. She didn’t seem to notice.
Picking up the goblet beside his own, he pulled it toward Brighit and filled it to the rim with wine from a clay pitcher. “I hope ye find this pleasing. A friend brought this to me when he was visiting from Castile.”
“Not from my uncle then?”
“His has long since been dispatched.”
She took the goblet to her mouth. The room swayed gently around him, but his eyes remained fixed on her sweet, full lips parting for the liquid. That lighter powder was still visible on her jaw and cheeks, giving her skin a strange discoloration.
Brighit closed her eyes as if in appreciation and he allowed his gaze to wander over her. Admittedly, he studied her. Or more accurately,appreciated her. Her generous curves, the slope of her elegant neck, and the gentleness of her hands, again clasped in her lap. And her expressive eyes, flashing with anger or outrage. Quite a change from a year earlier dressed like a lad. A dirty one at that. He would like to see those eyes filled with passion.
Darragh pressed back against his own chair and gazed out at the guests still milling about despite the food about to be served. The others appeared to be giving them little attention. He was certain, however, that they had their ears wide open.
“I prefer not to have a bedding ceremony.” Despite the quietness of Brighit’s words, a few heads turned toward her. Her voice had lost the edginess she’d used with her mother.
Darragh glared back at those who had turned toward him, anticipating his reply. Some took the hint and went to their table, but others lingered. Finishing his wine, he refilled it before answering. “Then we are in accord.”
She beamed at him, a lovely smile. “Ye agree?”
“Of course.”
Her expression shifted back to concern. “But they’ll try to insist. They could—”
“They will not succeed.” His lips curved at her look of disbelief. She had much to learn about the difference between being a daughter and a wife. “I assure ye.”
Brighit’s chest expanded with her deep breath and her eyes brightened considerably. She was pleased with him, which would make things much easier later.
