Amelia fell silent. She had told Mary of the daring escape Arran had allowed her from the grips of the man who wanted to make her his bride, and she knew it had been a bloody, violent affair. Of course, it had been so she would end up in the arms of a man she adored more than anything in the world, but she must have been able to see the contradiction there.
She gazed at her sister for a long moment, taking her hand and giving it a tight squeeze. She always knew when she had lost with her little sisters, when she had to concede the argument to them. Mary was rarely the one who dug her heels so deeply, but she refused to allow her sister to talk her out of this. If she did not marry Kiernan, her father would wed her to some ancient old man who’d make use of her body in ways that made her ill just to think of. Kiernan might have been frightening, in some ways, but at least she desired him, the way a wife should.
“Are you sure?” Amelia asked softly, and Mary nodded.
“I’m sure.”
She pulled Mary into a sudden, tight hug, pressing her face into her shoulder and holding her close for a moment. Mary supposed that the birth of her son had left her feeling more maternal than she once had. Mary squeezed her back, gratefulfor her love for her but knowing, deep down in her soul, that she had to see this through. She had to be with this man. Even if something about the thought frightened her, the thought of going back to her father and allowing him to use her as chattel to pay off his debts was even worse.
“I’ll tell Arran you’ve made your mind up,” Amelia promised her, brushing a strand of hair back from Mary’s face.
“Do you think he’ll take it well?”
Amelia let out a chuckle, and shook her head.
“I expect he’ll be furious. But I’m his wife. I can get him to see anything from my point of view if I try.”
“You’ll have to teach me your ways,” Mary joked, her voice slightly shaky. “I’ll need to find some way to make Kiernan respect me the same as Arran does you.”
“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Amelia replied as she turned to head back into the study. For a moment before she stepped inside, she paused, and just looked at her sister for a long moment.
As Mary gazed back at her, she could tell that a thousand thoughts were rushing through Amelia’s mind in that moment, and she felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that she’d been the one to put them there. But she quickly brushed them aside. This was her choice, and she would stand by it. If it would save her from the marriage to Lord Whitecombe, then she would take it.
And if it meant that she and Kiernan could finally be alone together in the way she truly craved… then even better.
8
Mary stood before the polished glass of the mirror and took herself in. The soft white gown she was wearing hung from her body, the straps brushing across her shoulders. Goosebumps had appeared along her arms, and she reached for the delicate white shawl that Amelia had bought for her when she had realized that Mary was serious about going through with this wedding.
Mary could scarcely believe that the day was finally upon her, the day when she would marry Kiernan Fraser. She had seen him only a handful of times since their encounter in the stables, and never alone. Arran always made sure that someone was lurking nearby to keep watch on them, as though he feared that Kiernan might try to make off with her into the night before she was his bride.
A few times, she had considered doing just that. It would have been all too easy to leave everything behind, to forget the weight and enormity of everything she was going through, that she was about to dedicate her life to a man who had such a dangerous reputation, who came from a family with such darkness rooted into its core.
Every time she laid eyes on Kiernan, though, she knew that she had to see it through. She had to. She craved him, more than she had ever craved anything in her life before. In those brief moments they were together before the wedding, she could feel the heat burning between them, a heat that drove a curiosity she couldn’t hide from. She longed for him, every part of him, and soon, she would have it.
As she stared at herself in the mirror, in her virginal-white dress, a handful of violets woven through her blonde hair to draw out the purplish flecks in her eyes, she could hardly recognize the girl looking back at her. No, not the girl—thewoman.The wife-to-be. She had to keep reminding herself of that part, that she was soon to be a wife, a lover, maybe even a mother.
The wedding had been planned quickly. Kiernan had insisted on it, perhaps fearful that she might lose interest in going through with it if he did not make his move with haste. Of course, he did not know of the truth of what she was running from, the man her father had planned for her to wed.
Dispatches had been sent to her family, though she had not heard back from them in time for the ceremony itself. She had hoped her mother might be in attendance, but she supposed her father was still in a rage at knowing that he couldn’t use her to his own spurious ends any longer. Even if she had not agreed for the dispatches to be sent out, she supposed they would have found out about it anyway, given the gossip that was already swirling around the upcoming union. She’d had a few of the servants in the Keep ask her about her engagement to him, their eyes widening when she confirmed that the rumors were true.
Now, he waited at the altar for her, along with a priest who would marry the two of them. Amelia and Arran were to be the only witnesses in attendance—Arran’s choice, as he had fearedthat too many would come by and try to cast aspersions on the union.
Arran himself had struggled to come to terms with it. It had taken Amelia’s kind words to convince him that there was something to be said for allowing this to take place, a chance to mend the wounds that had long existed between their families. Much as Arran clearly despised Kiernan, he had agreed to allow the marriage to take place under the agreement that it would put their families’ history behind them. No longer would the weight of the war that had taken place between their fathers sit heavy on them.
A small knock sounded at the door, and Mary lifted her head, drawing herself from her reverie.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and Amelia stood on the other side, dressed in a soft red dress, her hair loose around her shoulders. She smiled when she laid eyes on Mary, and made her way towards her slowly.
“You look beautiful, dear sister,” she murmured as she stroked her hair, fiddling with a few strands to make sure it was well and truly perfect. Mary smiled at her.
“Thank you.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
The question caught her off-guard; she had thought, by now, that her sister had come to terms with the choice she had made, that she would no longer put up the fight she had when she had first heard about his intentions. She stared at her for a moment, not sure what to say, and Amelia continued to speak, the words tumbling from her lips before she could stop them.
