The most terrifying part wasn’t his threats or his cold demeanor. It was the way her heart had raced when he’d defended her against her parents’ criticisms. The way something in her chest had fluttered when he’d called her intelligent and courageous.
What’s wrong with me?
CHAPTER FOUR
“Stop fidgetin’, or I’ll never get these stays laced properly!”
Iris gripped the bedpost as Mairie tugged at the corset strings, each pull making her feel more trapped than the last. The white silk wedding gown lay across her bed like a burial shroud—beautiful, expensive, and totally unwanted.
“I cannae do this, Mairie,” she whispered, her knuckles white against the carved wood. “I cannae marry a man who threatened to destroy me family just to get what he wants.”
“Hush now,” Mairie soothed, her fingers working quickly through Iris’s hair. “Perhaps the rumors about him arenae true; ye ken how people love to gossip, especially about powerful men.”
Even though Mairie was her maid since she was a wee lass, Iris trusted her more than she trusted her own mother, and she felt free to discuss whatever she felt with her.
Iris let out a bitter laugh. “Rumors? I watched him threaten me faither nae three hours ago and saw the look in his eyes when he promised to crush us if we dinnae comply. That wasnae gossip, Mairie; that was a man showin’ his true nature. I told ye what Moira said to me and Lydia yesterday. Mairie, those things she said about him cannae be all lies.”
Mairie’s hands stilled for a moment, and she let out a loud sigh, barely containing her impatience. “What exactly did he say?”
“That he’d withdraw his protection, call in our debts, leave us defenseless.” Iris closed her eyes, remembering the cold calculation in Elijah’s voice. “He dinnae raise his voice, dinnae show anger, just stated facts, like he was discussin’ the weather. That’s what makes him so terrifyin’.”
“But he defended ye against yer parents,” Mairie pointed out gently, resuming her work with the hairpins. “Told them ye were intelligent and courageous; that has to count for somethin’.”
“Does it? Or was he just protectin’ his investment?” Iris turned to face her maid, her friend. “He needs a wife, Mairie; any wife will do, as long as she can bear children and run his household. The fact that he chose me over Lydia doesnae mean he cares about me. It just means he thinks I’m less likely to run. He said so.”
Mairie’s reflection met hers in the mirror, brown eyes full of sympathy. “And are ye? Less likely to run?”
The question hung in the air. Iris stared at herself, blonde hair swept up in an elaborate style she’d never worn before, stays pushing her breasts higher than was proper, her face pale with fear and resignation.
“Where would I go?” she asked quietly. “He’s right about one thing; me family depends on his protection. If I flee, they’ll suffer for it. Maither, Faither...” She swallowed hard. “They may nae love me the way I wish they did, but they’re still me family.”
Mairie moved to stand behind her, hands resting gently on Iris’s shoulders. “Then ye’re braver than yer sister.”
“Or more foolish.”
“Nay.” Mairie’s voice was firm. “Brave, and I want ye to ken, whatever happens after today, wherever he takes ye, I’ll be there. Just like ye promised Lydia, I’m promisin’ ye, ye’ll nae face this alone.”
Iris felt tears prick her eyes; she reached up to cover one of Mairie’s hands with her own. “Thank ye, I daenae ken what I’d do without ye here.”
The door burst open without so much as a knock.
“It’s time.” Edward Douglas stood in the doorway, dressed in his finest plaid and looking like a man walking to his own execution. “The priest is waitin’.”
Iris’ stomach lurched. “Already?”
“Elijah Craig is nae a patient man,” her father said, his voice carefully neutral. “And we’ve kept him waitin’ long enough.” He stepped aside, gesturing for her to precede him. “Come, let’s get this done.”
Iris stood on unsteady legs as Mairie quickly arranging the folds of her gown. The silk was beautiful, ivory with delicate embroidery that caught the afternoon light, but it felt like armor. Heavy, constraining, meant to transform her into something she wasn’t.
“Miss,” Mairie whispered, “ye look beautiful.”
“I look like the sacrifice that I am,” Iris whispered back, but she squeezed her maid’s hand gratefully.
The walk to the kirk felt endless and far too short all at once. Her father walked beside her in silence, his jaw set in grim determination, servants lined the corridors, watching with curious eyes as she passed. Some looked sympathetic; others merely seemed interested in the drama unfolding in their midst.
The Douglas daughter who couldn’t keep her first betrothal was being married off to the Beast of McMurphy.
That’s what ye are all thinkin’. I can see it in yer faces.
