Ferra drew in a breath to fight back the emotion warring in her body, moving to stand beside her intended. She might not agree with this marriage, but she had no other recourse but to go through with it.
Heaven help her for what she was about to endure.
After the ceremony, Ferra said a tearful goodbye to her mother while her things were loaded in the wagon. “Remember who ye are, Ferra,” her mother whispered to her as she hugged her tightly. “Yer new clan might be McGregors, but ye will always be a McLeish. No one can take away from ye the blood that runs through yer veins.”
“I dinnae know how tae be a laird’s wife,” Ferra whispered back, wishing she could cling to her mother for the rest of her days.
Her mother drew back far enough to place her hands on Ferra’s cheeks, giving her a watery smile. “Of course ye do. ’Tis something that ye have watched me do all yer life. Ye are a natural, Ferra, and they are going tae grow fond of ye in a blink of an eye.”
“Time tae go.”
Ferra pulled out of her mother’s grip and turned to her father, whose expression was impassive. “Ye’re mah daughter,” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Ye’re a McLeish through and through, Ferra. Go show them wot it means tae be strong.”
“Aye, I will,” she said in a trembling voice. Once she left the courtyard, she would be Lady McGregor and no longer just plain Ferra McLeish.
Her father looked as if he wanted to say more, but in the end, he just squeezed her shoulder. “May the gods be with ye, lass.”
Ferra gave a faint nod as she moved toward the wagon, where her husband was waiting. He had been quiet during the ceremony, and merely gave her a kiss on her hand when it came time for it.
Now he looked at her expectedly, holding out his hand to help her up. She took it, and he helped her into the seat before following as well. “Are ye ready, lass?” he asked to where only Ferra could hear him.
Ferra clenched her hands together tightly, giving her parents and her home one last look.
“Aye.”
They rode for the rest of the day until the sun was setting low on the horizon. The wagon was stopped, and tents were erected for the night. Ferra saw to her personal needs before she walked around the campsite, watching as the warriors tended to the fire. Her husband was seated on a log that had been dragged over to the flames, his eyes intently staring at them. Ferra knew that if she was going to find some sort of happiness in this marriage, then she must learn about her husband.
“I know ’tis not the life ye wished for,” he said as she sat next to him. “But ye will want for nothing, lass.”
“’Tis vera kind of ye,” Ferra said softly, wishing she didn’t feel so dismal about his words. There wasn’t anything he could give her that she wanted. She wanted to be a healer, to help others.
I didnae want tae be a wife, and a breeding mare at that!
“Wot is expected of me?” she asked instead.
He chuckled, still not meeting her eye. “Care for mah clan and trust that I have yer best interests in mind.”
It was an odd answer, but Ferra imagined the laird was an oddity himself. “Of course,” she finally decided on.
When it came time for them to sleep, Ferra was shown to her own tent. “Sleep well, lass,” he said, pressing his lips to her hand once more. Ferra watched, surprised, as her husband made his way across the campsite, disappearing into a tent of his own.
He wasn’t going to consummate their marriage? Her mother had told her, with a faint blush on her cheeks, what it meant to do so, and Ferra didn’t find it anything that she really wished to do.
But they were wed, and she would have expected that despite the laird’s advanced age, he would still wish to, well, share a bed with her. How else did he expect to grow the generations of McGregors?
Ferra stripped from her wedding gown and climbed into the provided furs, clad only in her shift. The fire danced along the tent, and she could hear the low murmur of the warriors talking as they guarded the campsite.
Why do I feel as if something is amiss here?
The next day, Ferra decided to ask her husband just that. “I dinnae believe ye married me tae ignore me.”
He smiled. “Of course not, lass. A lovely beauty like ye turns more than one head when ye walk past.”
Ferra fidgeted with the heavy signet ring he had slid onto her thumb, mainly because it was too large for her ring finger. “I mean, ye didnae share mah tent last night.”
He let out a heavy sigh. “I must confess, Ferra. We are not wed.”
Ferra started in surprise. Not wed? She had been at the ceremony. She had said her vows. They were wed in the eyes of all of Scotland.
