Page 3 of Captured By the Highland Devil
Ruben had no positive feelings for this man and from the tempered glare the laird returned, the emotion was mutual.
“Greetings MacPherson,” Ruben said firmly. “I hope the arrangements are finished and we can get this weddin’ underway.”
“Laird McKinnon,” MacPherson said stiffly. “Aye, almost everythin’ is prepared but we have to do things by standard. We need to publish the banns and get the license before we proceed.”
. “Here are the papers,” Ruben said, pulling out a rolled sheaf from his tunic, splaying them out upon the table. “The King waived the time for publishin’ the banns and here is the license, signed by the archbishop himself. All is in order so we can proceed.”
The priest took the papers, his little rheumy eyes darting back and forth between Ruben and MacPherson.
MacPherson’s face bloated with fury—just as Ruben expected. He knew the man would try to delay the proceeding somehow. Who knew if the man wanted to secret the girl away and double-cross Ruben by framing him for her murder?
MacPherson thought he was cunning at least, but he was not the sharpest arrow in the quiver. The man had been outmaneuvered many a time by the other lairds around him. In truth, MacPherson had been a bit of a laughingstock among the other lairds for his dim wit.
“All seems to be in order, me laird,” the friar said. “We may proceed.”
Angus’ mouth twisted with displeasure and fury before he forced a pleasant smile on his face to replace it. He reached for a bottle of wine and goblets. “How about we toast to this occasion?”
Ruben shared a look with his second. Did MacPherson think he was a fool? Why would he drink with a man who he knew actively hated him?
“Nay,” he said to Angus then turned to the priest. “We need to have the ceremony now. Find the girl and let us start. I have other affairs to attend to.”
As he spoke, he reminded himself that this marriage was a means to an end, and that he must never forget that. It was an alliance, not a love match, and when this was all done, he’d put her away into a house somewhere and move on with his life.
Nothin’ good will come from this and nothing will. She is still a scion of the enemy and that is all she will be treated as…the enemy.
CHAPTER TWO
Tears were burning behind Paige’s eyes as her maid pinned the pearl-tipped comb into her hair. She was not angry, she was not furious, stunned or even feeling betrayed— Paige was numb.
It was the day of her marriage to the hellraiser of the McKinnon Clan and if she made herself think too much about it, she knew she would dissolve into sobs.
“Paige,” her mother said behind her, “Please daenae fret. I ken it isnae what ye wanted but if ye fret about it, it might make it that much worse.”
“I am nae frettin’, Mama,” she said.
In truth, she was not worrying. The deep-seated dread that had settled into the pit of her stomach from the moment she’d heard about the marriage surpassed worry.
Her maid Innes pulled her hair back into a long braid, then wrapped the braid around her head and pinned in place. Deftly, she wove in a few ribbons to give her flaxen hair a flair.
She stood and turned, looking down at her wedding dress. The tails of her finely woven wool dress were a faint bluish-grey with long bell sleeves. It was simple and well-fitting, but fashionable. Her mother pinned the sash of her clan around her left shoulder to her hip.
Her mother held Paige’s face, “I urge ye to find the good in the midst of this. Mayhap in due time, ye and this man can have a civil, even happy union.”
I doubt that will happen.
A knock on the door had them turning and as Innes answered, another young woman in dark clothing entered. She curtsied; the sun’s rays turned her dark red hair into a burnished brass. “Good mornin’, me ladies. I am Maisie Grant, and I was sent by Laird McKinnon to be yer maid, Lady Paige.”
Paige shared a look with her mother before she addressed the young woman, “Thank ye for comin’ but I question why. I already have a maid.”
“I will be yer lady’s maid when we return to Clan McKinnon.”
“But—”
“As much as we might like to talk this over, we daenae have time to do it now,” Daisy stopped them. “It’s time to head to the chapel.”
The chapel, affixed to the east end of the castle was large enough to hold thirty people. Her father had used it to hold masses for other lairds before they went to meetings.
Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass window above the altar and shone upon the hanging crucifix. If she weren’t filled with such misery and resentment, she would have admitted that the light, with dust motes floating around the cross, was beautiful.
