“Aye, Father, I do. Most gladly.”
A corner of the priest’s mouth twitched up, not quite a smile and quickly controlled, replaced by a solemn nod. “Very well. Let us begin.”
He gestured them to enter the kirk. But Erik heard people gathering behind them and glanced around. The news must have spread from those who were in the great hall as they passed through. What effect would this have on Fiona?
Fiona noticedthe sounds of people approaching and glanced around at the same time Erik did. But while he shrugged off the import of people following them to the kirk, she could only stare. This was real, and as more people arrived, she couldn’t escape the reality any longer. Especially when she spotted Lia and Hamish making their way to the front of the throng. Lia’s eyes were wide, distress plain in the set of her mouth and shoulders. Hamish stayed by her side, holding her hand, but Fiona doubted Lia noticed as she mouthedWhat’s happening?to Fiona. Fiona put a hand over her heart and smiled to reassure her, then said, “All is well, Lia.Dinna fash.”
Lia shook her head. “Ye are getting married? Who is he?”
Fiona was glad her hand was over her heart, because she needed it to keep it from shattering at the fear she heard in Lia’s voice. Regret filled her that she hadn’t sought out the lass and prepared her, but she’d barely had time to prepare herself.
“The priest is waiting,” Erik told her, softly. “Who is the lass?”
Fiona lifted a hand, holding him off and answered Lia. “’Tis sudden, but I am. I’ll speak to ye before I go.”
Lia’s fist went to her mouth and she turned into Hamish’s shoulder, then pushed past him and ran away.
Fiona wanted to go after her, but Erik took her hand. “I’m sorry yer friend is upset, Fiona, but we must go into the kirk. ’Tis time.”
Fiona looked back and realized Hamish had followed Lia. Good, he’d care for her until Fiona was able to speak to her. And perhaps after that, as well.
She nodded to Erik and let him escort her up the steps into the wee kirk. She watched her soon-to-be husband while the priest, not the one she remembered from years past, but a younger man who must now be responsible for traveling between clans in this part of Scotland, intoned the ceremony of marriage. How fortunate they were that he had been here as she returned from Inverness and Erik arrived looking for her. Without him, they would still be only betrothed, or perhaps Erik or the Rose would have insisted on a hand-fasting to ensure the alliance held, at least for a year and a day.
Erik’s words had surprised her. He was mostgladto be marrying her? It seemed somehow too forward, too intimate, for their brief acquaintance. Because of the stakes for all the allied clans, she’d expected a more solemn, more lairdly expression of his agreement and intent.Gladwas not a word she anticipated from him.
He caught her studying him and his lips quirked, as if in sympathy for her imagined boredom with the priest’s voice. Or Erik’s own boredom. This new priest droned on through the scripture as fully and sonorously as the old priest. He had yet to say the words that would make her a Ross. She gave Erik a slight nod and looked away, but other than the priest and the stones of the wall behind him, the only thing to look at was the carved wooden cross affixed to it with heavy iron bolts. And having grown up attending mass here for countless Sabbaths before she was sent to Inverness, she’d already studied it to the point of distraction. She knew every imperfection in the smoothnessof its surface, the gaps in the joining of the crossmember, the cracks from knots and graining in the wood as it dried over the years. It held no secrets from her. Did she hold any from it? She’d sat and squirmed and yawned and even dozed off a time or two over the years, dreaming of running along the glen or down to the pebbled beach below the keep. At least in her mind, she’d had freedom from the long and tiring masses the old priest had favored.
Now she stood before that same cross and willingly surrendered her freedom, her home, and her clan to a stranger. She put a brave face on her decision and hoped it would be enough to start this marriage well. So far, her betrothed seemed to approve.
Suddenly, the priest stopped speaking. Something had happened while her mind wandered, but what? Her gaze flicked between the priest and her…husband? Had the service concluded? Judging by the look of consternation on the priest’s face and the fierce frown on Erik’s, it had, whether the priest thought it finished or not. Her husband had had enough. She took a breath and turned fully to him. “’Tis done?”
“Aye, my lovely wife, ’tis.”
His glare returned and Fiona was glad he directed it at the priest and not at her.
“We have heard enough, priest. Pronounce us wed and let my wife take her ease. She has stood too long in this cold and listened to words she has heard enough in her life to quote them back to ye. We are well and truly kirked. We thank ye for yer care of our souls.”
The priest cleared his throat as if preparing to argue, then shrugged. “I pronounce ye wed, Erik Ross and Fiona Rose Ross. Ye may kiss yer bride.”
Fiona’s pulse quickened, whether with anxiety or eagerness, she wasn’t certain. A kiss was personal. Intimate. Even a lightone taken in the kirk after a wedding signified much more intimacy to come. Once it was done, she would feel bound to this man. Obligated to everything being married implied.
Erik wasted no time. Taking her face gently in his large hands, he whispered, “Ready?”
She froze for a second, and then nodded, and he kissed her. Not quickly, but with intent, slowly, as gently as he held her. Beguiled, Fiona leaned into his kiss for the moment it took her to recall where they were. She straightened, and Erik’s lips quirked into a knowing grin.
“Go with God,” the priest said, made the sign of the cross, and waved them away from him.
Relief filled Fiona as Erik took her hand and led her down the center aisle and out of the kirk onto its steps. She had indeed been swaying on her feet, mere moments from falling into a faint, but walking with him now seemed to revive her body, if not her spirits. His kiss had done that. She could still feel its heat on her lips. She wanted to touch them, but he would see her lift her hand and know what she was thinking.
Outside, everyone gathered around, those who had come to the kirk with them, and those who followed as the news spread of the sudden wedding. The Rose came up to join them as the priest arrived at their backs.
After he and the priest traded a glance to confirm the job was done, the Rose turned to the crowd and announced, “Today, we celebrate the wedding of our own Fiona Rose to the Ross laird, Erik Ross. Laird Ross, Lady Ross, Rose welcomes ye in the great hall for a celebration feast.” He turned to them and in a softer tone, added, “We wish ye both well.” His gaze travelled from her to Erik. “And if ye ever hurt her, lad, ye’ll have all of Rose to deal with. Am I clear?”
“Ye are, Laird Rose.”
A tiny tremor skittered down Fiona’s back. He had acknowledged the threat, but had not promised never to hurt her. Her stomach dropped. Had she made a mistake agreeing to this? Or did he think he had reassured the Rose and her that he would abide by the Rose’s wishes?
She fought to keep a smile on her face as they moved slowly through the crowd, being stopped often while acknowledging and accepting the well-wishes from everyone they tried to pass. Everyone but Lia and Hamish. Where were they? Mary finally came to her side, and the Rose took up position on Erik’s side to help them make their way into the keep.
