Page 13 of Highlander’s Torn Bride

“What good will it do?” Margaret asked, studying the face of the dark-haired neighbor boy that she thought she had known so well.

“Just, please, Margaret. As a courtesy to me and our history together, give me a few days knowing you aren’t truly a wife.”

Margaret tried to pull her hands away, but his grip was too strong. He would hold her there until she promised, trapping her in the shadow of the oak that had once been a place of freedom. “Fine, I promise.”

Margaret awoke at dawn to Ann harshly shaking her. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

After a bowl of fruits had been set in her hand, Margaret blinked. “We?”

Ann opened the door to Margaret’s room, and a horde of women came rushing in, armed with combs, pins, and bottles of rouge. Then came in Kenna Fraser, who appraised Margaret sympathetically.

Margaret was about to question that sympathy when the maids descended, making it all rather clear. They pulled her from the bed and encircled her, each of them attacking her hair and face as they tried to make her look like the noble Highland bride she was supposed to be.

Kenna sat with Ann at the opposite end of the room, chatting away as if they had been friends for a lifetime. Though, to Margaret’s annoyance, the subject was not their own interests, but Margaret’s. Ann was telling stories about the lass who used to escape to climb trees and who ripped every dress she ever owned before Ann seemed to correct herself, changing the stories to those of which Isobel had played the part of heroine.

“What about love interests? She is so beautiful, I would not believe it if you told me she never had any other suitors.”

Ann hesitated, and Margaret tried to push the coos of the maids out of her focus, listening only for the voice of her friend. “Only one,” Ann said, softly, as if she knew Margaret was listening and did not want her to overhear and be reminded of...

Gavin.

She hadn’t told Ann about the promise she had made him, nor did she intend to. It would only result in a fight, one which Margaret would lose.

Sure, she had her misgivings when it came to Alexander Mackay, and she was not entirely sure they would ever truly get along, especially if he continued to hold certain expectations over her when it came to her desires and behavior. But, regardless, he was going to be her husband and she had owed him the kindness of entering their marriage uninhibited by promises made to other men.

Margaret yelped as one pin dug too deeply into her skin, and Kenna Fraser stood and crossed the room.

“Tis quite enough, her hair looks fine,” she said firmly, holding out her hand to the maids to collect their remaining pins.

When Margaret looked up at her, unsure on if she should thank the woman or call her a saint, Kenna shrugged. “They’ll chase you to the church while pinning your hair, if you let them. My head hurt for days after my wedding.”

Margaret imagined the Kenna Gordon of a year ago being chased into the arms of Rob Fraser by a team of maids wielding pins, and the image in her mind gave her so much delight that it resulted in her first smile of the day. The smile, though, was reprimanded by a maid who was trying to spread rouge across her lips.

When Margaret was finally as presentable as possible, with one maid stating that it was “good enough” after hours of work, Kenna and Ann escorted her down to the yard. They wove their way through the throngs of people until they reached the church, where Margaret’s uncle was waiting. He was looking sharp in a fresh black jacket and blue trousers, a Gunn tartan draped across his shoulders and pinned with a gold and ruby broach. His eyes looked her up and down a few times before he nodded approvingly and returned to his conversation with one of the other lairds present.

“I’m off to find Rob,” Kenna said, squeezing Margaret’s hand. “Try and savor it. It will go too quickly otherwise.”

“I hope it goes quickly,” Ann said when Kenna had moved out of earshot. “I do detest a long sermon.”

Margaret grinned for a second, before it slipped away. It was as if she had been watching a landslide for days, seeing the rocks tumbling down the hill, but only just now been struck by falling debris. She was getting married today. To a man she did not know and who belonged to a clan that despised her own.

Doing her best to turn her head slowly, so as not to shift a single one of the pins in her hair, Margaret scanned the crowd. Her uncle had told her that he was going to keep her sisters out of sight during the wedding, just so that nothing would accidentally be revealed by a lingering glance or sentimental phrase. Margaret had believed him but now she wanted nothing more than to catch him in a lie.

Ann grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “It will be alright.”

“Aye? Will it?” Margaret replied, feeling her eyes beginning to burn. “I should like to ken how you ken that.”

“I just do,” Ann said, just as the sound of bagpipes suddenly sliced through the air, calling the attendees into the church.

Laird Gunn’s hand caught her arm just as Ann’s hand left, as if he had seen the shake in her knees and known she was tempted to make a run for it. “Settle down,” he whispered in her ear. “Now come on.”

The crowd of people in the church all stood when Laird Gunn led her in. At the front of the church, leaning against the alter while he spoke closely with Rob and another Mackay, much to the horror of the priest to his side, was Alexander. As Laird Gunn and Margaret approached, Rob elbowed Alexander, who immediately stood up straight and turned to look at her, his eyes widening for a moment before his expression shifted into the firm, unperturbed confidence of a Highland warrior.

This was the fearsome Alexander Mackay that she had heard about. And he had picked the worst time to show her that side of himself. She hadn’t been prepared for the way his gaze would make her tremble.

When they reached the alter, her uncle took her shaking hand and pressed it into Alexander’s steady one. Margaret felt a surge moving up her arm as all of her instincts told her to turn on the spot and run. But she couldn’t. Her hand was rebelling against the rest of her, refusing to detach itself from him.

Margaret was so focused on trying to determine why she was feeling the way that she was, that she completely ignored Kenna’s advice to savor the ceremony. Before she even realized it was happening, she was speaking her vows to him, pledging herself to him until the end of time. Then, just as suddenly, he leaned into her, placing a chaste but lingering kiss against her lips that left them burning. When he pulled away, she caught a glimpse of his golden eyes and it was as if something in her finally crumbled, leaving her feeling exposed and terrified.