Chapter Seventeen
Jamie stood at the altar in front of Father Peter. Soft sunlight filtered through narrow stained-glass windows. The colorful beams were the only joyous sight in the whole kirk. His kin filled the chapel, standing shoulder to shoulder. Each person seemed more despondent than the last. The courtyard and the battlements of the inner wall were also filled with members of his clan—none of whom rejoiced on this so-called day of celebration.
The chapel doors opened. He flexed his neck from side to side when Lady MacDonnell stepped into the chapel on Matthew’s arm. She kept her gaze downcast. Her unbound black hair was swept over both shoulders, skimming her thighs. In her hand, she gripped a strip of her clan’s plaid.
His people strained to see his bride. Some wore expressions of curiosity while most glared at her with open hostility. For a moment, he worried that one of his kin might do something cruel or stupid that would demand he take action. He despised the woman slowly walking toward him, but he would not stand for her to be abused by his kin. To his relief, she made it to the front of the chapel without incident. Matthew bowed his head solemnly as he placed Fiona’s hand in Jamie’s.
Her fingers trembled. He looked down at her. Her whole body quaked. For a moment, he wanted to reassure her, but then she raised her gaze. Her blue eyes shone with malice. Straightaway, his heart turned back to stone. The priest spoke words Jamie barely heard. Fury built within him with every passing moment. When it came time to make their vows, Lady MacDonnell nigh spat her “I dos” at him. His own vows he gave in kind.
He kept his face passive as Father Peter wrapped their hands together, binding them with strips of MacDonnell and MacLeod plaids. But when the priest spoke the final blessing and bid Jamie kiss his bride, he had to fight against his desire to recoil. Leaning down, he brushed his lips to her rigid mouth, the barest caress. Then he turned with her to face his people.
The silence was palpable. No one cheered. He walked down the aisle with his new bride, passing only grim faces—faces that mirrored his own heart. He felt as if he were walking to meet the henchman’s ax.
In the great hall, supper was being served, but without time to prepare a proper wedding feast, the meal was unembellished. At his side, the new Lady MacLeod did not even keep up the pretense of trying to eat, so he was glad he had not wasted the cook’s time or his clan’s food by giving special orders. He glanced sidelong at his wife who sat unspeaking with her hands in her lap. Even when the musicians struck up a melody, she made no acknowledgement of their song, nor did she glance at the dancers when they spun in a reel in front of the high table.
Frowning, he reached for his ale, but it was empty. Straightaway, the serving maid, Brianna, was at hand.
“I can fill ye up, my laird” she said, her voice sensual. She leaned over, her full, milky white cleavage on display. At that moment, he noticed his new bride look at him for the first time since the dinner had begun. Her scowl deepened, and she flashed eyes like daggers at Brianna. This only fueled his desire to enflame her anger more. He smiled at Brianna as though they were intimate companions when, in truth, he had hardly spoken to her beyond typical orders regarding the workings of the keep. Reaching out, he lightly clasped a lock of hair that had escaped her braid. “You’ve always been able to satisfy me.”
He received a snort from his wife, but she wasn’t the only one to react. A throat cleared on his other side.
Jamie sighed impatiently. “What is it, Matthew?”
His second in command gave Jamie a stern look. “Ye’ve had enough ale,” he said under his breath. “Ye don’t want to do anything ye might regret.
“I already have,” Jamie snapped. With a brisk gesture, he shooed Brianna away. Then he pushed back his seat and motioned to Julia who stood off on one side of the high dais awaiting her new lady.
Julia hurried over to do his bidding. “Take the Lady MacLeod to my chambers,” he said, his voice harsh.
His bride jerked her head around, her eyes wide. “But I’ve not yet finished.”
He glanced at the trencher of food that sat on the table between their chairs. Neither of them had touched the contents. “Ye’ve had ample time.”
At that moment, he realized a hush had fallen over the great hall. All eyes were fixed on the high table. He leaned close to Fiona and said in a low voice, “Ye only disgrace yerself by disobeying me. Rise and do as I’ve bidden, or ye will force my hand.”
The words had barely left his lips, when she pushed her chair back and stood. Without any further protest, she nigh raced behind the screen to the stairs that led deeper into the keep.
He expelled a long breath.
Despite how little he thought of her, he had no wish to throw her over his shoulder like a sack of grain in front of his kin. He sat back in his chair relieved that his new wife was not entirely lacking in sense.
~ * ~
Fiona followed Julia, wishing the maid would move faster or get out of her way so that Fiona could run. Had her husband just said that she would force his hand if she disobeyed him? Was this how she was to spend her remaining days, tiptoeing around him, afraid to spark his fury…or else?
Fiona had never been hit before. “And I’m not going to start now.”
Julia stopped and looked back at her. “Pardon me, my lady.”
Fiona shook her head. “’Tis nothing. Carry on.”
Fiona tried to steady her breathing. They had crossed through the solar to the familiar stairwell, but when they crested the top, Julia led her down a new hallway. The corridor seemed increasingly narrow as if the stone walls were closing in around her. Her breaths were coming shorter and quicker. Her heart pounded even harder. She strained to swallow, her throat thick and tight.
She froze again.
She was panicking. She couldn’t protect herself if she panicked. She took a deep breath and straightened her back.
She was Lady Fiona MacDonnell.
She had stood on the battlements of her people’s castle and aided warriors.
Now, a new battle was being waged—one against her body—but her courage would not fail her. Jamie MacLeod needed to know that she would not submit to his cruelty. She would fight him to her last breath if need be.
Ahead of her, Julia swung a door wide. Fiona stepped inside and almost lost every ounce of courage she possessed.
Everything about Laird MacLeod’s chambers screamed at her like a battle cry. Tapestries depicting bloody battles lined the walls. Her eyes scanned over the decapitated heads and bodies skewered on tall pikes. A massive four poster bed was carved from dark oak. Blood-red velvet curtains hung from the cross posters and fluttered in the breeze from the open casement, the fabric fluttering like licking flames.
She turned away from the bed toward the massive hearth and gasped, stumbling back. Fanged demons were carved into the mantle and up both sides of the hearth. More tortured, demonic faces stared up at her from the hearth bed, their mouths straining wide as if they were being burned alive. She scurried away, tripping over the black pelt of a massive wolf. Her gaze scanned the floors. Animal pelts were scattered across the stones. In her mind, their eye’s opened, locking with Fiona’s gaze. “Run,” they seemed to scream at her. “Run!”
She had to get out of there!
She turned and reached for the door. With a desperate cry, she flung it open only to stumble back an instant later.
Jamie MacLeod’s massive frame filled the doorway.
“Going somewhere?” he sneered.