He turned to her, and her gray eyes met his with a doubtful gaze. When he had kissed her before, it had been different. That had been just for the two of them, the tension wracking between them as she tried to defy him. It was a chance to remind her of who was in control here.
But this? This was different. This was in front of the better part of his whole clan, claiming her as his wife. This would confirm everything that he had done till this moment was true; that he was not backing down, that he was not letting this go. That he intended to make good on his promise to convince her to submit to him, no matter what it took.
She peered up at him, and she could almost hear her heart thudding through her dress. Her eyes searched his for a response. The seconds stretched out painfully between them, and he could hear a murmuring amongst the gathered crowd as they waited for him to make his move.
“Oh,” Innes muttered, quiet enough that only he could hear her. “So now, you dinnae want to kiss me?”
Just as she turned away from him, her cheeks darkening with the humiliation of being rejected, something stirred in him.
No.
He would not let her think for a moment that she was not worthy of his desire. She might have been unsure about everything else about him, everything else that had driven himto take things as far as he had, but this? This was real. This was the part that he did not have to play at.
He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and drew her back towards him. And, without another thought, he closed the distance between them, bringing his mouth to hers in a passionate reminder of his want.
It was a fierce kiss, barely suitable for the confines of the church, a claim staked in this woman, in everything that he wanted from her.
The scent of lavender warmed the air around them, and, after a moment, he felt her hand on his arm, fingertips sinking into him, struggling to keep herself upright. Whatever mutterings had been passed around the room, they were silenced just as soon as they had started by the sight of his mouth on hers.
And when he drew back, the flush to her cheeks had taken on an entirely different hue. A hue that spoke to something else, something that she might not have even known the word for herself. But, as he trailed his tongue over his lips to taste the remnants of her that remained, he swore to himself, by the end of the night, that she would have a better understanding of just what it was that lay beneath the surface.
Chapter Five
At the head of the high table, Innes had not left Lachlan’s side for a moment. If he wanted to play at husband and wife, then she would not be the one to make a mess of it.
The room was filled with jollity, music filling the hall, conversation flying back and forth, punctuated by explosions of laughter here and there that kept making her jump. She did not like this feeling of being so unsure of herself, but she knew that to show such doubt on her face would be to condemn herself to more than she was willing to contend with.
Lachlan had been drinking steadily since the moment they had arrived at the feast; he had offered her his arm when they had left the chapel, but there had been no sense of ceremony to it, no awareness of how enormous an event this was meant to be.
He had hesitated before he’d kissed her, and she had noticed it in an instant. Had it been that he had not imagined what it would be like to go through with this, after all the plotting and planning he had done to make it happen? Did he still expect Lady Isobel to be the one standing before him at the altar? The way he had kissed her had gone some way to soothing those thoughts, but why would he have to think twice about it if he had truly wanted her and her alone?
“Will the Laird no’ be taking the new lady for a wedding dance?” a man introduced as Keir cut in, landing a slap on Lachlan’s shoulder.
He seemed rather too drunk to notice the tension in the Laird’s face, and Lachlan looked up at him, face unyielding. He made no move to see through the suggestion of a dance. But Innes, sensing an opportunity to make something of this, rose to her feet, holding out her hand to him.
“Well, it only seems right, my Laird,” she remarked, narrowing her eyes at him in challenge. “Unless ye’re fearful that you might slip after so much ale.”
The sound of his chair scraping across the stone floor cast the room into silence.
“Ye’ll regret making such a wager, wife,” he warned her, but there seemed to be some flicker of amusement in his voice. Perhaps he appreciated her nerve in making such a demand. Reaching to her, he pulled her against him firmly, her body flush to his.
She could feel the strength of him against her body, the smoke on his skin. Was she imagining that, or did the memory of what he had done after Isobel’s rejection still cling to him, even now, on the day of their wedding?
He drew her close to him, his eyes fixed intently on her. Though everyone in the room seemed to be staring, he could not see them at all. As though she were the only person in the room, the Keep, maybe even the whole world. The air between them seemed to hum with intent, both of them alight with the thought of what might happen—what could happen, given the chance.
Anger and heat twined so intently together that there seemed to be no space between them, and she scanned his face, searching for something in the way of a reaction, but he did not give it to her.
His feet moved in time with the music, not missing a beat as they danced together. She was surprised at how well he seemed to move, the confidence with which he carried himself, like a man who already knew that he had won, a man not willing to grant her an inch of freedom.
She had almost lost sight of everyone else in the room; the weight of it all was hanging too heavy over her head, the thought of what might come next. Their wedding night still lay ahead of them, the weight of it hard for her to ignore, curiosity tangling with trepidation in her chest. His thumb skimmed over the small of her back, and she drew in a sharp breath, wishing more than anything that she could hide this from him.
“Enough of this dancing!” one of Lachlan’s men crowed, drawing her out of her reverie for a moment. “When will you take the Lady to yer chambers, my Laird?"
Innes’ cheeks burned red at the sound of those words.
How could they be so vulgar? But, she supposed, if this was to be like any other wedding, perhaps they had every right to answer, every right to edge the couple towards sealing this marriage. Lachlan seemed to ignore them, though, and she did the same, moving with him until they had finally come to a halt and the music had faded away around them.
The crowd moved aside once more as they made their way back towards their table. At the back of her neck, she could feel the pierce of his gaze driving into her so deeply it felt like a blade forced beneath her skin.
