Page 27 of A Laird and a Fugitive

“Calm down, they’ll be none of that. If the Laird hae requested yer presence, then ye will be there. I suggest ye stop wasting time,” he barked.

Caroline looked towards him, filling the door, blocking it with his frame. There was no way out, no way to escape, and no time to plan anything. Ryan was smart enough to hasten the wedding, ensuring that the girls could not attempt another escape. Her future was rushing quickly towards her and there was nothing she could do, nothing apart from take the dress and don it with the help of her sisters.

The bridal procession took place with a guard escort. Caroline’s face was utterly dispirited, and her soul felt heavy. Nessa and Tara were allowed to attend, and they too looked dour. They looked more like they were going to a funeral rather than a wedding.

The white gown fit Caroline perfectly. The stitching was intricate, creating a subtle flowery pattern that stretched over the front of the dress. The design left her neck and collarbones exposed, and she was filled with the fear that the dress would slip off her shoulders at any moment. The dress reached down to her feet, the hem brushing the floor as she walked. It narrowed at her hips, and around her waist was a belt tied loosely, made up of the red and black tartan pattern of the clan. The knot pressed into the small of her back, and two pieces of fabric rested against her rump.

On any other occasion, she would have been blessed to wear something as fine as this, but she wanted to be anywhere else. There was a sick taste in the back of her throat that didn’t seem to go away, no matter how much she swallowed. She knew Ryan’s intentions, and surely, what followed the wedding would be his desire for an heir.

She shuddered at the thought because it seemed as though all that she wanted was being taken away from her. There was nothing she could do about this. She was about to be condemned, and she couldn’t even be certain that her sisters would be allowed to go free.

She doubted it, if Ryan’s eyes were still burning with hatred.

They entered the Great Hall, walking through the huge double doors. Caroline had always imagined her wedding being held in a gilded room that was filled with all manner of decorations. Because of the nature of this wedding, the assumed effort had not been taken. The servants had scattered petals along the aisle, and fine tapestries had been hung from the walls. These depicted romantic scenes from fables and history. Caroline gazed at the stitched women and wondered if any of them had been filled with such misgivings.

Ryan was standing near his high seat. He looked regal in his traditional garb. His kilt was made of the same tartan pattern that stretched around her waist. His shirt was laced across the chest, revealing dark shadows of hair. His sporran was silver-mounted in fur, and the clan emblem was proudly displayed on his chest, polished brightly. His boots rose to just beneath his knees, his stance was powerful.

A minister was beside him, holding the holy book. The servants of the Keep were in attendance, but this was no happy occasion. There was no music as Caroline walked down the aisle, no grand celebration at all. This was a mockery of a wedding, a grim taunt to romance. Frankly, it was an abomination and Caroline hated Ryan for putting her through this.

As she walked through the chamber and felt all eyes upon her, she searched for her sisters, and saw the anxious looks on their faces. They had been given new dresses to wear as well. Tara’s was pastel, blue, while Nessa’s was an earthy brown. Nessa had her hair pulled back with a thin tiara. Tara’s hair was tied in a tight bun.

Caroline couldn’t help but think how much Tara looked like their mother. Caroline and Nessa had both favored their father.

Tears glistened in her eyes. At least they would have a chance to find their happiness. Caroline would do all she could to see to that. But then her attention was drawn back to Laird Knox, whose presence dominated the room.

He didn’t even look at her until she was standing directly in front of him. His eyes were still cold and unflinching.

“Ye look lovely,” he said, although his tone was flat, and she didn’t believe the compliment was sincere. She hadn’t even been given flowers to hold.

The minister began the ceremony, and the words he spoke were traditional. He might have been the only person in the room who believed this moment was sacred. Caroline met Ryan’s gaze and vowed that she would not break it. She did not want to show him any sign of weakness. They exchanged their vows without any hint of romance or kindness.

Tara and Nessa clung to each other, watching on with concerned faces as they saw their sister being dragged to the grisly depths of sorrow from which there was no escape.

Eventually, she was asked if she took Ryan to be her husband. She stared at him and arched an eyebrow pointedly. The unspoken sentiment was, “Do I have a choice?” But she did not give voice to this.

“I dae,” she said in a soft tone.

Ryan exhaled deeply, as though there had been some doubt in his mind. He took her hand. His touch was rough, but warm. She searched his eyes for the same vulnerability she had seen the previous night, but it was absent from his eyes. Perhaps it had never been there in the first place, and it had only been a trick of the imagination.

“Ye may seal yer vows with a kiss,” the minister continued.

Ryan leaned in. Caroline tensed and closed her eyes. It was the first attack in this marital war. He was going to strike the first blow. She assumed he would have been overt and pressed his lips against her, suffocating her. But instead he placed a kiss near the corner of her mouth, more on her cheek than her lips.

His breath was warm, his lips soft, and the kiss was surprisingly affectionate compared to the rest of the situation. He drew back slightly. There was barely an inch between them. He squeezed her hand and turned his head, placing his lips next to her ears, and he whispered something that was only audible to her.

“Welcome tae yer new prison, my wife. Ye are mine, and soon enough yer clan will follow.”

It was a promise and a threat, and it chilled her to the core. She was little more than an object to him, and she would never be anything else. Soon enough, she would be a vessel to an heir that would betray every one of her father’s wishes.

Ryan then let go of her hand and strode away from the altar.

“Now that’s over and done with, ye can all get back tae yer duties,” he muttered, and marched away without looking back at his bride.

He had gotten what he wanted after all, she thought. The servants turned, while the minister gave her an apologetic look. The guards remained behind to escort her wherever her new husband demanded her to go. Caroline put her head in her hands and wept. There could be no escape now.