A question came over her lovely features, and the baron blanched beside her.
Talorc realized he was scowling. He smoothed his features into expressionless repose
and put his hand out to take her from her stepfather.
The priest cleared his throat. "We are not yet to that part of the ceremony, my lord."
Since the man spoke English, Talorc chose to ignore him.
He lifted a brow to his bride, asking why she had not complied with his request.
In a move that surprised him and clearly Sir Reuben as well, she dropped her
stepfather's arm, stepped around him and took Talorc's hand.
He nodded, grasping her hand firmly and turned to face the priest.
The man looked flustered and took several moments to collect himself before
beginning the service. In Gaelic, after only one false start.
Talorc spoke the vows of his people in Chrechte when the time came, ignoring the
murmurs around him. When his bride's turn came, he moved her so they saw only each
other, not the rest of the congregation gathered as witnesses. He told her the vows to
speak, speaking slowly so she would not stumble on the unfamiliar words.
Her expression puzzled, but accepting, she whispered them back to him, making
lifetime promises he was determined she would keep.
Her mother had a fit then, demanding their vows be repeated in English. Talorc
ignored her until the priest intervened.
"I have married her in the way of my people," Talorc said in Gaelic.
The priest nodded. However, when he told Lady Hamilton in English what Talorc
had said, the older woman refused to be appeased.
Talorc did not care. The vicious bitch's opinion was of no importance to him. Bored
with the argument and unwilling to stay in the company of the English any longer, he
swung his new wife into his arms and carried her out of the chapel.
Abigail's arms flew around his neck, but she did not fight him. Nor did she make so
much as a peep in surprise. He looked down at her only to find her gazing at him with an
expression bordering on panic in her dark brown eyes.
"You are mine now."
"I know."