Page 8 of Tempting the Highland Captive

“Then there are some things that ye will be wantin’ tae ken about the marriage bed.” At Maggie’s words, both men cleared their throats and turned away, not wishing to be privy to any part of the conversation. Taking a deep breath, she began. “When a man takes a woman tae his bed…”

* * *

Ron stood in a round wooden bathing tub as prison guards poured buckets of water over his head and torso. One of the guards placed a scrap of cloth in his right hand and slapped a handful of slimy soap in the other.

“Scrub,” he commanded. “The poor lass does nae need tae be drownin’ in yer stench.” The man snorted in disgust. “How ye are tae wed a lady such as she, I dinnae ken.” Shaking his head, he turned to grab another bucket of water.

Ron held his tongue. He knew that the guard spoke out of jealousy, but he honestly had to agree with him. How am I the one she chose? He shook his head in disbelief but set to scrub every part of his body three times over. Even with her explanation, her desire to wed him still made very little sense, but who was he to argue if a beautiful woman wished to grant him his final desire? When he was thoroughly washed, the guard handed him a clean set of clothes, plain and a bit snug but serviceable, consisting of shirt and trews. They were not made with someone as tall as he in mind, but they covered everything that they were meant to. Chuckling, Ron found humor in the fact that if all went well, he would not be wearing them long.

Once he was dressed, the guards took him to an empty storeroom that had been converted into a chapel of sorts for the occasion. They didn’t want to risk taking him out of the prison to St. Giles’ Cathedral allowing him to find a means of escape. A moment later a priest appeared.

“My son,” the priest intoned in greeting. “I am Faither Jacob, and I am here tae take yer confession before the nuptials. I have already heard Lady Amelia’s.”

“I have nae wish tae take confession with ye or any other man,” Ron refused with a snort.

“But my son,” the priest protested.

“My answer is nae, Faither, and it shall remain ever so.”

Father Jacob sighed deeply, then nodded. “I will pray for yer soul.”

“I thank ye, faither, but there is nae hope for that now.”

The priest held his eyes for a long moment, weighing whether to say anything more. Instead, he laid a hand on Ron’s shoulder and moved passed him to the door.

“We are ready,” he informed the guard outside and a moment later the sound of pattering feet and swooshing skirts could be heard against the stones in the corridor. The red-haired giant strode in first giving Ron a warning look that loudly proclaimed his disagreement with the proceedings. Ron was certain that given half a chance, the larger man would have killed him. A few seconds more, and the Lady Amelia stood before him in the same beautiful blue dress with golden trim as the day before.

She was just as cold and icy in her stance as she had been, but there was a fear in her eyes, nearly imperceptible among the determination, that made him reach his hand out to her. To his surprise she took it and allowed him to lead her to the front of the room where Father Jacob now stood. “Are ye certain, lass?” he asked, allowing her one last moment to change her mind.

“Aye.” She nodded firmly. “I am ready.”

“So be it,” Father Jacob intoned, then began the ceremony.