Page 5 of Captured By the Highland Devil
“Ahem,” the priest cleared his throat, his dark eyes flitting from Ruben to Paige. “May both parties please come to the altar, we are ready to proceed.”
Ruben grasped her arm and bowed, “We’ve a weddin’ to attend.”
Her very soul rankled at his words and tone, he was treating her like a recalcitrant child and not as the grown woman with her own mind that she was.
The cleric looked between them, then to her father—who was silently stewing in fury—and lastly to the cadre of the Brute’s soldiers who were around them. Paige was sure that so many weapons in the house of God was a sin.
She held her frustration in; no sobs, no cries of outrage, no pleading with her father to stop this. Mutely, she stood at the Beast’s side. The cleric wound a length of plaid around their hands, joining the two of them together. Then he hefted the ancient bible and began to drone on with the psalms to bless this union.
I already feel cursed.
“…and do ye, Ruben Miller, Laird of McKinnon clan take this woman, Paige Bradley, daughter of Laird MacPherson, to be yer wedded wife —”
“Aye. Move on,” the Brute clipped.
“Do ye, Paige Bradley, daughter of Laird MacPherson take Ruben Miller, Laird McKinnon to be yer wedded husband, love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health? Do ye pledge to forsake all others, keep only to her as long as ye both shall live?”
Any horror she might have previously felt was now dwarfed as she realized she was about to wed McKinnon. A man she hated to the depths of her soul.
The priest frowned at her silence, “Me lady?”
“She does.” Ruben said brusquely.
Nervously the cleric looked to Ruben, “I beg yer pardon, yer lairdship, I need to have her response.”
Paige could not bring herself to say the words.
“Ye will respond, woman,” Ruben said, his voice was low and threatening.
Air scraped through her throat as she took a desperate breath. “…I will nae.”
CHAPTER THREE
Her father’s face went mottled red, “Girl, ye are going to damn yer own self and this house!”
“Angus, please,” her mother pleaded with him, pressing a hand to the Laird’s chest. “Let her be.”
Ruben’s cold stare made her all but wither in her slippers.
“Ahem,” the cleric coughed. “Do ye Paige Bradley take this man to be yer wedded husband?”
Paige knew she could not say no a second time; she was already sure the Beast—Ruben, she corrected herself—understood that she wanted no part of this marriage.
“I do,” she said, resistance still brimming in every drop her blood.
“Ye are now wed.” the cleric’s voice intoned. “Ye can kiss yer bride now.”
The Beast—Ruben— fixed her with a cool stare. He fixed her chin with firm fingertips, lifted her face to his. She was a foot and a half shorter than him and his domineering presence looming over her irritated her—but that feeling was lost at the sensation of his skin on hers.
His touch seared her skin.
She did not know how to interpret the burn. A part of her wanted to lean into the touch and another part pushed her to leap away.
His eyes were dark and emotionless as he wordlessly leaned down and brushed his lips on her cheeks. Her breath stumbled in her chest. He smelled of fresh woodsmoke, leather and clean water— a scent that made her pulse suddenly quicken.
When he pulled away, she saw no emotion coming from him and that made her stomach tie itself in knots. She felt as if the floor under her feet had been ripped away from her.
This was not how she had expected her first kiss—as chaste as it was—to be. She did not move; she did not respond.
