Page 50 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
It irked him that his word would not be accepted by the Council on such a delicate matter as his marriage consummation. Yet he understood their qualms. He had no doubt that if Harris MacDonald was aware the marriage was a sham, and there was no intimacy between himself and the Lady Tyra, he would spare no effort in having the marriage annulled.
From the tower he gazed across the three lochs, dominated by Eilean Donan at the place where the three great bodies of water joined. The sun glinted like diamonds on the dark blue water, seagulls wheeled above, only white clouds soared in the blue sky.
The peaceful scene worked its magic. Before long he’d settled, his breathing was easier, the tightness in his jaw and his shoulders had slackened. His anger at the Council had diminished, leaving only a hollowness in his chest. There were unresolved feelings there that he pushed away. Today was his wedding day and at the very least, Tyra deserved his full attention without past pain crowding in to cast more shadows over the day than those which already existed in the shape of Harris MacDonald.
He turned and made his way down the stairs. It was time he prepared for his wedding.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Smiling to herself, Tyra slipped along the passageway leading from Isla’s chamber to hers. Isla had spent much of the morning creating an intricate confection for her hair. There were a myriad of tiny braids that somehow came together and were wound around her head like a golden crown. Threaded through these was the string of tiny pearls she’d inherited from her late mother. Her face was framed with wispy, flirty curls, softening what could have been a severe coiffure.
Even though this wedding was taking place in haste, her groom was a stern-faced and brusque lad and theirs was one of convenience, she was determined to make the most of it. This would be her one and only wedding and she would look her best. If not for Ewan’s eyes, then at least for Clan Mackenzie.
She was acutely aware she was the only member of Clan MacNeacail who would be present for the ceremony and she wished to present herself to the Mackenzies in the best light as a representative of her clan.
Holding her head high she was about to turn into her own chamber when she caught sight of Ewan at the end of the passage, about to enter his own chamber.
There was something in his stride and the frown so visible on his brow, that made her catch her breath. He appeared to be distressed, with a huge weight on his shoulders. Without hesitating she made her way along the passage to his room where she rapped on the door.
He flung the door wide but there was no polite welcoming smile for her. “Come in.”
She inched into the room, already regretting her decision, noting his clenched hands. Mayhap he was lamenting the nuptials to take place later that day. Her heart sank.
“I’m sorry tae intrude. I saw ye entering a few moments ago and it seemed as if there was much on yer mind. Is there a problem I may share wi’ ye?”
It was only then he managed a slight smile. He directed her to a seat by the fire, paced across to his cabinet, poured them each a dram of whisky and brought it to her. Instead of seating himself beside her as she expected, he stood by the fire, one hand clenched in a fist by his side.
She quailed inwardly.
He looks grim enough tae contemplate punching a hole in the stone mantel.
“Apologies milady. I have come from a discussion wi’ me councilors that has left me out of sorts.” He went on to explain what the Council had requested. “I’ll nae give them what they ask.”
She shuddered drawing in a sharp breath. “I dinnae ken what it is they’re asking. I ken little of these things.” She’d hardly dared contemplate what would take place between them in their marriage bed that night. The moments when she had dwelled on it had been a confusion of excited anticipation and dread. “Why would the sheets from our marriage bed be of such importance?”
He smiled at that and to her relief, she saw his hand unclench. “Ye are still innocent lass. The stain of virgin blood on the sheet proves that the marriage has been made true, according tae the laws of God and man.”
She felt her cheeks flush with heat. Now she understood. “Is it me maidenhead they question?”
He shook his head and swilled the last of his whisky. “Nay. ‘Tis nae a matter fer yer concern.” He walked to the cabinet and poured several fingers of whisky into his glass. “’Tis I who’ll nae give the Council what they ask. Fer, as we discussed, I’ll nae bed ye. Yer maidenhead will be intact, lass, and there’ll be nay stain on the pristine sheets.”
He turned away and she could see the tightness in his shoulders and hear the rage in his voice. “I told ye there would be nay love in this union of ours.”
His voice was harsh, and so cold it chilled her to her bones, causing chards of ice to press her heart. His words were crushing, yet something in her spirit rose up, burning bright, protesting. Suddenly, hot tears brewed behind her eyes and she rounded on him in fury, her usual measured calm deserting her.
“I dinnae understand, Laird Ewan.” Her voice cracked under the weight of her fury. “Ye’ve been at pains tae tell me there can be nay love between us since the start, but what of yer kisses? What of yer touches and yer soft words?”
Ewan stood frozen, his eyes fixed on her as she went on.
“One moment ye’re thoughtful, kind, and the next ye push me away with cold words. Ye play wi’ me as if I am naught more than a fish caught on yer line, or a foolish doxy from the tavern? Dae ye laugh behind me back at the games of hot and cold ye play on me?”
He shook his head, his eyes filled with sadness.
“Nae lass. ‘Tis naught tae dae wi’ ye. ‘Tis me own cross I carry and me own past that confronts and torments me.” He reached a hand and clasped her arm. “Dinnae fret so, lass.”
Calming, she hauled in a long, deep breath to steady herself, breathing it out slowly before she spoke. “We’ve already shared a bed on two occasions, Laird Ewan. Is there naught between us?”
He shook his head, seeming unable to answer. A long, uncomfortable pause hung in the air between them like a pall of black smoke belching from the chimney.
