Page 113 of The Highlander's Auctioned Virgin
He pushed the truth behind his teeth.
“I’ll keep ye safe, Elinor,” he vowed. “Nay matter what, I’ll always keep ye safe.”
She furrowed her brow as they turned together to face the priest, who had a look of both confusion and utter admiration on his face.
“Ye look sharp, M’Laird.”
Ciaran gave a weak smile and felt Elinor’s hand squeeze his.
He made it. He was here. That was all that mattered. Everything else was noise.
Noise that continued to pierce his ears even as he stood at the altar, taking note of the crowd behind him. Behind them both.
The priest lifted his hands, the folds of his robes settling around his wrists. A sweeping wave of thick silence fell over the hall. It was so silent that Ciaran could hear his heart pounding in his ears along with his brother’s harrowing words.
“Ye will always be a weapon.”
He shook off the thought the instant it came, letting the priest’s words filter in instead.
“Elinor Lane and Ciaran Brooks,” the priest began. “Ye stand before these witnesses and the Almighty to pledge yer commitment to each other by word and will, by heart and hand.”
His words carried across the hall without strain, and Ciaran felt them press against his chest. He did not look away from Elinor. Not even when the priest took up a strip of blue and green cloth and wrapped it around their joined hands twice before tying the knot firmly.
“From this day, ye walk as one,” he declared. “To guard and to guide. To endure when the days are lean, to rejoice when the days are full. What the Lord has sealed, let nay man unbind.”
The silence held a moment longer. Then, the priest stepped back and clasped his hands together.
Ciaran nodded at Elinor. Her eyes shone, though she did not smile. He thought she looked steadier than he felt.
They stepped off the altar side by side, and the hall erupted in hesitant applause at first before it turned into roaring cheers.
When they sat at the high table, the food laid out before them, Ciaran felt the knot still digging into his wrist. The cloth had already absorbed the heat of Elinor’s skin. He ate little and felt the noise in the room move around him like the thoughts swirling in his head.
“Do ye plan to tell me what happened anytime soon, or am I supposed to keep guessing?” Elinor asked, looking him right in the eyes, almost like she could pull the truth out of him if she wanted.
Ciaran swallowed, returning her look. Her blue eyes were bright like the sky of a summer morning.
“Nothing ye have to worry about,” he muttered.
“They said ye rode in with blood on yer shirt,” Elinor pressed. Then, her voice dropped to a whisper. “Do I have to worry about who ye killed?”
“‘Tis the last thing ye have to do.”
“So ye did kill someone?”
Ciaran said nothing.
“Who was it?”
He did not respond again, but his ears burned. He did not know how to explain any of this to her if he even tried.
“Ciaran, who was the man ye rode out to kill on our wedding day?” Elinor asked again, the worry in her voice palpable.
Thankfully, before he could answer, she was coaxed to her feet before the first course was cleared.
Anna stopped before them and reached for her sister’s hand.
“Anna, I daenae ken if I am in the mood for dancing.”
