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While Kirsten had been trying to fall asleep, she kept glancing at the door, straining her ears to listen for the sound of anyone coming to visit her. She thought that perhaps Marcas might have wanted to come and speak with her before their wedding day to share some of his thoughts or at least start to form some kind of emotional connection, no matter how weak. But he didn’t appear, and Kirsten was left to fall asleep alone. She wondered if she would always be lonely in this place.

When morning arrived, Kirsten met it with a yawn and an outstretching of her hands. The golden sun poured through the window. She walked towards it and gazed out, looking at the world that stretched out beyond her. The rising moors were beautiful. The faint mist that lingered over the horizon made it seem as though a veil had been draped across the world. The land looked wild and untamed. From what she knew, the Monroe clan had claimed this land in the ancient reaches of time, and they might well have moved on to more fertile land, but this was their home and they were determined to make the most out of it. It was imbued with history, but it was also imbued with sorrow. Kirsten had always been deeply attuned with her emotions; she could feel the solemn melancholy that hung in the castle. It was a place where things had been lost, and she wondered if it were possible for anything to be regained. Perhaps there were some things in this world that were too far gone ever to be reclaimed again.

As she gazed out across the moors, she thought of Marcas walking Max at night, being enveloped by the darkness. She shuddered at the thought of how cold it must get in the small hours of the morning, and what it must be like to lose yourself in the midst of the moors, to watch the world disappear around you and be swallowed by an abyss. Kirsten felt a chill creep through her bones and a prickling sensation rippled across her skin. All her life she had been in a safe place—a place she trusted, a place where she was surrounded by family. Even away from home, she had still had Islay, who was more like a sister than a cousin. But here, she felt like a stranger and was unsure how long this feeling would last.

Either way, it didn’t matter. Her feelings were not of paramount importance. Just as it wouldn’t be right for Neil or Ramsay to protest going into battle for the honor of the clan, so too was it wrong for her to refuse her duty. Marrying into the Monroe clan was a boon for her family, and it would have effects for generations to come. Kirsten’s children, her grandchildren, and the generations that followed would all enjoy a sense of honor and prestige that would never have been their otherwise. If the price to pay was a little happiness, a little sense of contentment, then who was Kirsten to fight against it? It was selfish of her to think that her feelings came before the family. She simply had to buckle down and do what was right, but in all her dreams and fantasies of her wedding day, she had never imagined a man like Marcas being her husband. She had imagined someone who looked at her with interest, who listened to what she had to say and charmed her with warm smiles and amusing stories. She imagined someone who would light a fire inside her with just the merest touch, but instead, she was met with someone who seemed to have been carved from ice.

As she placed her hands upon the ledge of the window, she closed her eyes and breathed in the morning air, praying to the gods and to her ancestors for the strength to see this day through, and the rest of her life.

It wasn’t all a lost cause, she supposed. Even if Marcas couldn’t love her in the way she wanted, she could at least busy herself in motherhood when the time came. She knew she would be a doting mother and looked forward to bringing another life into the world. She was also looking forward to spending more time with Moira, who seemed the absolute opposite of Marcas. Perhaps it would not be the life she had always dreamed of, but she could at least find some positives in it.

Speaking of Moira, the younger girl came rushing up almost as soon as day had broken to prepare Kirsten for the ceremony. In a sense, it seemed as though Moira was more excited for the wedding than even Kirsten was. She drew Kirsten a warm bath in a thick wooden tub and let Kirsten wash before she came back with the dress. They shared stories and laughter, and for a time, Kirsten was relaxed.

Moira helped Kirsten to get into the dress. It fit her snugly, as though it had been made for her. The fabric was soft, caressing her skin, and it nestled around her neck, giving her a sense of security. The very bottom of the dress billowed out as she moved, giving the sense of a flowing motion. Her cheeks were rosy, and her heart fluttered. For better or worse, this was her wedding day, and it would define the rest of her life.

There was a knock at the door. Moira opened it and greeted her uncle. He smiled at Moira, but then his eyes became wide when he saw Kirsten. He opened his palms and approached her, taking her hands in his.

“Oh Kirsten, ye are the most beautiful bride there haes ever been,” he said, his voice heavy with admiration.

Kirsten blushed and gave him a demure smile. “Thank ye.”

“No, it is ye I must thank for gracing us with yer presence. I know ye will make a good wife for Marcas, and a good lady for the clan.”

“I hope I can live up tae yer expectations,” Kirsten said. Roderick squeezed her palms, and the smile widened on his face.

“And how is my brother taeday?” Moira asked.

“He is as Marcas always is: ready tae get on with things,” Roderick replied. He arched an eyebrow towards Kirsten and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

With Moira in tow, Roderick led Kirsten out of the small room to the main hall. With every step, Kirsten’s heart beat a little more quickly. Her hands trembled, and she was grateful for Roderick’s presence to help steady her. A great swell of emotion rose within her and curdled her thoughts. This was it. When she stopped walking, she would be standing in front of the man who was to become her husband. The path of her life would be inexorably set, and she would no longer be a girl; she would be a woman in every sense of the word. The future wrapped around her and became constricting, as though ropes were being drawn around her body and were tightening with every passing moment. She had a sense of what Islay must have felt, and the urge to run flashed in Kirsten’s mind. But she could not have fled even if the inclination was a serious one. She was not like Islay, she could not take things into her own hands like her cousin.

But despite her worries, Kirsten looked radiant. Her heart-shaped face glowed with beauty. The dimples on her cheeks appeared when she smiled, and her eyes sparkled. Her long, curly hair flowed down her shoulders like a cascade of water.

The hall was mostly empty. Upon Marcas’s insistence, the ceremony was small, with only the closest family members invited. The hall could seat at least a hundred people, so the room was cavernous and empty. Kirsten’s footsteps echoed around, and her eyes were drawn to the shadows in the corners of the room. Neil and Ramsay were standing to one side, smiling as their sister approached. Moira and Roderick stepped to the other side, standing parallel to Marcas once they reached the groom. Kirsten’s gaze darted to Marcas, almost afraid to look at him. He stared straight ahead and focused on the priest, barely ever looking in his direction. Max was by his side, the dutiful dog watching events with great interest.

The priest was a white-haired man who wore a dark brown cloak. His hand rested on an old tome, although he did not open it. His voice was as thin as the wind in winter, and the words drifted around the high walls of the hall. Kirsten had always imagined a lot of people being present during her wedding, and she tried to stop herself from looking around at all the empty space. She forced herself to look up at Marcas, the man she was going to look at for the rest of his life. His expression was stone, his eyes were flint, and she wondered if she would ever peel away the layers of this man. A sense of tension and unease surrounded him. He continually shifted his weight between his feet, almost as though he was itching to be away from her. It was a horrible feeling for Kirsten to feel unwanted on her wedding day, and that what her husband really wanted was for it to be over.

When the priest had them give their vows, Marcas’s words were rushed, and she couldn’t ignore the conflicted tone in his voice. Frankly, she was surprised he didn’t call the whole thing off in fury and stride away, disappearing into the shadows of the halls. When Kirsten spoke, her voice was light and trembling, catching on her emotions. Despite the unease she sensed from Marcas, this was still her wedding, and it meant a lot to her. However, there was something that didn’t seem quite right, and it disappointed her. She had always imagined herself feeling excited and fluttery when she spoke her vows, but because of the lack of any kind of connection she had with Marcas, they were mere words. She just hoped the promises were not empty.

Once the vows had been made, the priest joined their hands and presented them to their families. Max barked, and there were cheers and applause, but Kirsten didn’t feel at all like she had expected to. It was as though the wedding hadn’t really happened at all. It didn’t feel like a momentous occasion, and she was left fearing that the rest of her life would be this unfulfilling.

Still, Marcas showed little emotion. As soon as their hands were unjoined, he turned around and crouched down, petting Max. He showed more affection towards his dog than he did his wife. Kirsten pouted, even as her brothers came up to her and congratulated her.

“Now, I know that we had a small ceremony at Marcas’s insistence, but that was on the provision that I should make the arrangements for the feast afterwards!” Roderick boomed in an excited voice. He clapped his hands, and as soon as he did, servants and other members of the clan poured in. It was a cavalcade of color and noise. A band struck up a merry tune, and the air became alive with music. Servants carried in platters of meat and mugs of ale and mead, sharing them out without any hesitation. Roderick greeted all the guests with words of joy and pointed to the bride, announcing her as Lady Monroe. A great cheer went up, and Kirsten found herself wishing that Marcas was as enthused as Roderick. She turned to look at her husband, hoping that he at least appreciated the crowd that had come to celebrate with them, but instead, his attention was on his dog.

The party continued. Kirsten had some food to settle her stomach and stayed in close proximity to her husband, as was the right and proper thing to do. Marcas remained impassive and stoic, though. He greeted people when they came up to him to offer their congratulations, but he never sought anyone out. He didn’t even tap his feet or drum his fingers along a table to show that he was letting his thoughts get carried away on a tune. Moira was flitting around between various people, making sure that everyone was having a good time. Moira and Roderick were fine examples of people, and Kirsten had no qualms about becoming a part of their family, but why couldn’t Marcas be more like his kin? She worried he would forever be distant from her. He did not treat her as she always imagined a man should treat his wife. He did not look at her in the way she had expected to be looked at, and even though it was her wedding, she felt herself being poisoned by sorrow.

The rest of the family tried to do all they could to prevent this from happening. There were toasts given, celebrating the union of these two families and anticipating a wonderful future for them both. The words were met with huge, rousing cheers, and for a moment, Kirsten allowed herself to be lost in these kind wishes and to pretend that her husband felt the same way too.

As people drank more, they started to dance. Neil and Ramsay both pulled their sister away to dance with her. Ramsay, being the elder of the two, was sensible, and she enjoyed a nice dance with him.

“I know this is nae the wedding ye dreamed of, but it doesnae mean the rest of yer life is gaeing tae be like this,” he said. “It’ll all work out for the best. Life haes a way of daeing that, and our parents are gaeing tae be mighty proud of ye,” he said. The words were kind, and Kirsten tried to believe they were said with the best of intentions rather than trying to placate her and reassure her that it was all going to be fine.

When Ramsay was done, Neil took his place and whisked her around in an exuberant manner, practically ordering the band to play a song that had a high tempo. Laughter rose around them as the siblings whirled themselves around like a tornado. Kirsten’s hair whipped around her as she threw back her head in a throaty laugh. Neil could always make her laugh, and she loved him for it. They went around and around in circles, and when they finally stopped dancing, Kirsten felt as though she had drunk a barrel of ale. She staggered around, feeling dizzy. Her head was spinning, but she had a smile on her face.

She was finally beginning to enjoy the wedding.

“Would ye mind if I hae a dance with the beautiful bride?” Roderick said, smiling at Neil. Neil bowed and walked away from his sister. Kirsten’s head was still spinning. Roderick’s hands slipped into hers with ease. He was strong and graceful, and as was the case when he had walked her to the hall, she felt supported by him. They danced gently, and the turbulent sensations inside Kirsten’s body began to fade, which was a relief.

“Ye are gaeing tae light up this place,” Roderick said. “There is no fairer beauty in the land. Marcas is a lucky man.” Kirsten smiled in response and wished that Marcas felt that way. Although she didn’t think there was anything odd about dancing with her new uncle, she did find it a little strange that she was dancing with him before she was dancing with her husband. As she was twirled around, her gaze met Marcas’s. He stared at her intently, his jaw clenched. There appeared to be something like a snarl on his face, and she wasn’t sure why. All she was doing was ingratiating herself with his family, as any new bride should do. Her heart was filled with conflict as she wondered what she had done wrong. In a way, it seemed as though just her being there was wrong, and she wondered if there was any way for her to bring a smile to Marcas’s face.

All through the night, Kirsten waited for Marcas to ask her to dance, but he never did. Occasionally, she saw people whispering while exchanging pointed glances at her, and the fine hairs on the back of her neck pricked up. She was almost certain they were talking about her, and likely how humiliating it was that her husband showed such little interest in her. He was more interested in Max. And, to be fair, Max was a natural at grabbing attention. He performed a few tricks and gamboled around, taking advantage of the guests’ generosity who delighted in tossing him meat that he plucked from the air. He also went up to the stage and was involved in one of the songs, accompanying the music with loud barks. Even Kirsten allowed herself to smirk at his antics, but always afterward, her gaze drifted towards Marcas, and she found him with the same scowl on his face. She could well imagine that he wanted everyone to be gone, and was quite surprised that at no point during the evening did he storm through the hall with a great clatter and declare that the party was over and everyone should leave.

Perhaps that was part of the deal he had made with Roderick. Kirsten’s heart was filled with doubt. Was Marcas ashamed of being seen with her? He hadn’t wanted anyone at the ceremony, and during this feast, he had barely paid attention to her at all. It seemed that he would rather sit sullenly in the shadows of the hall rather than stand proudly beside her, and she couldn’t help but wonder if there was something deeply displeasing about her. Was Roderick just being polite when he spoke those kind words? It was a horrible thing to feel, and sadly Kirsten spent her wedding feast mired in doubt.