Page 20 of To Claim His Highland Bride

The moment Alastair left, Gwendolyn and Fiona entered Rowena’s bedchamber. In a flurry of activity, the two women arranged her hair, weaving a string of pearls through the long, dark locks, then dressed her in the lovely green gown. They finished the preparations of the bride in a joyous discussion of the wedding to come, and before Rowena knew it, they were heading down the hallway to the stairs that would take her to Marcus.

At the top of the stairs, Mrs Morgan, the chatelaine, placed a bouquet of Scots bluebells in shades of lilac and periwinkle blue in Rowena’s hands. “Thank you, Mrs Morgan,” Rowena said with a smile of gratitude, for the woman had been a part of her life since infancy. “I hadn’t considered flowers, or anything else for that matter.”

Mrs Morgan patted Rowena’s arm. “Mrs Honey and I have everything ready. Your wedding might have been short notice, but we have not forgotten a thing.”

“I am grateful,” she replied before Gwendolyn and Fiona whisked her down the stairs. The wedding party waited at the doorway of the chapel. Alastair and Tormod smiled when they saw her, but Marcus stared at her, the expression on his face a mixture of appreciation and irritation.

Marcus’s hair was tied back in a black riband that made him look like a pirate, but his clothing was something only a gentleman of means would wear. He was dressed in black breeches, a black waistcoat and coat trimmed with gold lace, with a snowy-white shirt with lace sleeves and jabot. His parents flanked him, as if he were a man headed off to battle. James and Agnes’s expressions were severe, making Rowena wonder if they had suffered at the hands of their nephew, or if Marcus had told them the truth about why he was marrying Rowena in such haste.

The marriage contracts were laid out on a small table beside the chapel doorway. Marcus had already signed them, so Rowena picked up the quill and added her signature. Once that task was complete, Marcus and his parents headed inside the chapel.

Rowena’s throat ached from the tension within her as she watched them go. The others who had been milling about followed, until she stood with only her older brothers beside her. She had expected to be filled with joyous excitement on her wedding day, not weighed down with guilt. Forcing her emotions aside, Rowena pasted a serene smile on her lips as Alastair and Tormod walked her into the chapel. At Marcus’s side, Alastair and Tormod pressed a kiss to her cheeks before moving to join their wives in the small chamber.

Midday light streamed through the stained glass window, bathing the altar in a golden glow. As she approached, she shivered despite the warmth in the chamber. Marcus must have noticed because he reached for her hand. Warmth flowed from his strong grasp into hers as he gazed at her, taking in the pearls in her hair, at her ears and throat, and the small freshwater pearls dotting the surface of her gown.

His lips twitched. “The vision of you this morning in the loch is quite at odds with the woman before me now. Though both women were borne of the sea.”

Heat rose to her cheeks. “Gwendolyn knows I am fond of pearls.”

He acted like a man who was well pleased with his bride despite the fiction of this marriage arrangement. She suspected that even the sharp-eyed Reverend Vollar could detect no inconsistency in Marcus’s manner towards his bride.

The reverend cleared his throat, signalling his desire to begin. “Who gives this woman into a husband’s keeping?”

“Her brother and I,” Alastair responded in a clear voice.

The old reverend’s gaze travelled over those assembled behind Rowena and Marcus. “And is there anyone to object—any impediment to this marriage?” There was a chorus of ‘nays’ before the minister turned back to the couple before him. “Then we shall proceed.”

Rowena swallowed thickly, fighting the knowledge that her marriage would be based on a lie. In the days ahead, she would have to find some way to atone for her sin.

At a nod from the reverend, Marcus changed hands, taking her right hand in his and setting her bouquet on the altar.

“Do you, Marcus MacDonald, take this woman for your wife, to have her, to hold her, to honour her, so long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Marcus said in a clear, loud tone that held no trace of anger as she’d expected.

“And you, Rowena MacLeod, do you take this man for your husband, promising to obey him in all things, to be true and faithful to him, to honour him, so long as you both shall live?”

Panic rose up, threatening to choke her with the finality of what she was about to do. Unable to respond verbally, she nodded.

Reverend Vollar looked up, frowning. “I’d hear you speak the words.”

She swallowed roughly, keeping her eyes fastened on the hand that held hers, and said, “I do.”

“Then may God, who is just and merciful, from whom all things come, bless this union between you and make you fruitful, that you may bring forth sons and daughters to praise his name.”

“So be it,” Marcus said.

“So be it,” Rowena echoed, cringing at yet another lie she would have to make amends for when their marriage was dissolved.

“Do you have a ring for your bride?” the reverend asked.

Rowena shook her head, but Marcus released her hand and retrieved a ring with a single emerald at the centre from his waistcoat. As he gently eased the ring onto her finger, she suddenly recognised it as her mother’s ring. She shifted her gaze to Alastair, who smiled back at her and then to her mother hovering at the back of the chapel. Her mother’s ghostly eyes shone with pride as she nodded.

Tears formed in Rowena’s eyes, but she forced them back. She would have to return the ring to Alastair when this fabrication was over, but for now she would enjoy having the ring as a connection to the woman her mother was before becoming a ghost, to see Rowena through the days ahead.

Marcus took both her hands in his as the reverend announced, “As Marcus and Rowena have pledged themselves before God and witnesses, they are henceforward man and wife.” To Marcus he said, “You may kiss your bride.”

Marcus pulled her close and set his lips to hers. This kiss was just for show, Rowena assured herself. Even so, Marcus’s nearness buffeted her senses, ripping her from reality. His lips were hard and demanding, searching for a response she longed to give, but knew she should not. He tilted his head, his lips moving over hers in a powerful, elemental call to her senses. Fragment by fragment, she lost her will to resist and when he parted his lips, she slid her tongue between and tasted what she had been denied for the past six months.