Page 16 of Wedded to the Heartless Highlander
How long had she been standin’ behind me? How much did she hear?
Laird MacKinnon silently walked around Erica and disappeared into the castle.
She remained rooted to the spot. Her hands were clenched, and her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She stared off into the night, letting her breathing slow to the beat of the leather pouch swinging uselessly at her hip.
4
Hunter stood near the chapel and watched the ongoing preparations. He was dressed in his best tartan, the Buchanan plaid draped proudly over his shoulder. There was something about weddings that made a crushing weight of guilt settle on his shoulders.
The last wedding he had attended was also the last event in which he wore his ceremonial kit. He was the youngest of the four Buchanan brothers, and he had lost all of them. Yes, all of them. His niece was just a bairn at his brother’s wedding, and one of three grandchildren. It had been the last event they had all attended together.
It’s just a formality. It doesnae mean anythin’.
He tried to refocus and push down the guilt, but his mind refused, pulling him down into the depths of despair. He remembered the laughter of his older brother, Murdoch, and the admiration he had for his betrothed, Ailsa. Hunter rememberedhow proud his parents were, how happy everyone was—how happyhewas.
Ach! Enough, man! Ye are here now. Be here.
He let his mind wander to the relentless badgering of his councilmen?—
“Ye must marry to strengthen the clan’s position.”
“The McFairs’ invitation has gone unanswered.”
“We, the councilmen, stress that it is in yer best interest, and the interest of the clan, to attend the games.”
But then he sawher,and his mind went blank. Erica Kilmartin, the answer to his problem.
She stood stoically with her family, wearing a dress that hugged her waist and fell elegantly around her legs. He could see her siblings clinging to her in one way or another, all talking and laughing.
Despite her joyful façade, he could see the tension in her slightly slumped shoulders and the rigid way she held herself.
Her father approached her and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, and the crowd quieted. Tavish Kilmartin was beaming with pride as he led his daughter to her future—to Hunter.
Hunter straightened and let himself relax upon seeing his father’s old friend looking more hale than he had in years. Though his daughter looked, for all the world, like a young woman marching toward her death with calm acceptance.
Iphigenia…
He chuckled to himself as she took her place beside him. Those glacial eyes gave nothing away throughout the ceremony. It wasn’t until the handfasting that he felt her trembling fingers.
The officiant, an old clergyman with a voice like gravel, began reciting the vows. He chanted in old Gaelic, invoking blessings, prosperity, and unity. Hunter felt the words roll over him like an ancient spell, binding them together, and he wished for all the money in the world for this entire affair to be over.
Why is it takin’ so long? Just say the words, man, and let’s be done with it.
He looked at Erica out of the corner of his eye, and from the looks of it, she was thinking the very same thing.
“Almost done,” he sighed to himself and rolled his shoulders back as the officiant stepped away from them momentarily.
“Thank Christ,” he heard Erica mutter just as quietly.
“I wasnae speakin’ to ye,” he said with a furrowed brow.
“Nor was I speakin’ to ye,” she threw back, her brow also furrowed.
Hunter stood unmoving, but his grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly. “I do love a challenge, lass.”
Before she could respond, the crowd erupted in cheers as the old officiant wrapped up the ceremony. The sound startled Erica, and Hunter found himself instinctively stepping closer to her, gauging her reaction.
She was smiling, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and she kept looking over at her parents and siblings, searching—perhaps for support or reassurance.
