Читать книгу Highlander Taken - Juliette Miller - Страница 11

CHAPTER FIVE

ON THE MORNING of my wedding day, I awoke to the gushing excitement of my sisters and my attendants. For them, the day promised fun, festive possibilities and a brighter future for the entirety of our clan. For me, however, it offered a wholly different view. I pulled the furs over my head to block out the light and relentless activity.

But my attempts to hide were quickly thwarted and I was fawned over, undressed and helped into my bath, which had been brought into the room and filled with perfumed, steaming water. “You’ve lost weight, Stella,” commented Ann. “You’re not eating enough.”

It was true. My stomach had been too uneasy for food, almost from the moment my father had presented me with the news of my impending marriage. And I was naturally somewhat slimmer than my sisters, although still curvy enough to fill out the fashionable wedding dress I would wear, designed and prepared for me by none other than Kade’s sister, Ailie Mackenzie. The dress had been fitted the previous day, and the waist had needed only minor adjustments. After much deliberation, it had been decided that I would wear my hair down for the wedding ceremony, as my many attendants found its dark waving tendrils with their golden tips pleasing against the off-white of the velvet dress.

“You shouldn’t lose too much weight, Stella,” Maisie scolded me. “Men don’t like their women too thin.”

The very subject of men in general—and one man in particular—was enough to start my stomach fluttering again. Whatever preferences Kade Mackenzie held for the size and shape of a woman’s body were shady, disquieting details that sent my heart racing. I stood up, dripping onto the floor as I made a move to step out of my bath. “I can’t do it. I cannot marry him. I don’t love him, and I don’t want to share his marriage bed.”

Hands were on me, stroking my hair and easing me back into the warm water.

“’Tis not about love, sister,” said Clementine, soothing in tone but hardly in subject. “’Tis about duty, honor, protection. You’ll be lady of the clan one day soon, remember. Your comfort, your bidding, your every wish will be ours to provide you. Your child will be heir of Glenlochie. You’ll have a new status to be proud of, and one which you’re bound to fulfill with grace, as kind and gentle as you are.” After a moment, Clementine added, somewhat grimly, “You can’t run from your duty, Stella.” And I felt for her then, I truly did. It should have been her, the eldest, to bear the heir: a thought that plagued her, I could see it written on her face. It should not have been me, the second child. Rather than fulfilling all the promise of her status as firstborn, she would see out her childbearing years in the self-imposed isolation of a nunnery, nursing her own heartbreak and defeat. And in the light of this truth that was clearly painful for her, I took her comment to heart. Nay, I could not run from my duty, a duty she coveted, yearned for, cried for and one that had passed her by. And Maisie, too. For all their faults, they were my sisters and I wanted to keep them safe and protected. For my family, I wanted to do right. My clan was depending on me, and I would not fail them, no matter what reservations I had about my soon-to-be husband.

“There are other duties you’ll need to carry out, too, Stella,” said Maisie. “Wifely duties that a husband will expect.”

I had heard some of these wifely duties discussed by my sisters, first when Clementine had been preparing for marriage—twice—and then when Maisie had been expecting a proposal from Wilkie Mackenzie. But I had studiously avoided thinking too closely about what such duties might entail. My sisters, however, liked details. “Firstly,” began Maisie, “a husband expects his wife to undress him.”

My soft groan was acknowledged with patting hands, but we all knew there was little they could do to help me aside from informing me and doing their best to pick up the pieces after the fact.

“He might not demand that of you on the first night,” Clementine offered.

“How would one even go about undressing Kade Mackenzie without getting speared?” asked Agnes.

“Aye, sounds dangerous,” agreed Ann. “Getting past all those blades might present a challenge.”

“Some husbands, I’ve heard,” continued Maisie, “like their wives to feed them. It makes them feel powerful, I would imagine.” Her comment trailed off wistfully, and I had no doubt in that moment that she had planned to serve her own husband—lost to her forevermore—in these ways and any other she could imagine.

“And then, of course,” added Clementine, “the marriage bed presents its own...duties.”

“The marriage bed is a minor detail to be endured,” offered Ann, perhaps noticing my stricken expression. But her words offered no solace; she knew less about what to expect than even I did.

“You don’t have to remain faithful,” said Maisie quietly. This comment was met with a moment of awkward silence. Maisie didn’t have to mention his name for the reference to be brutally clear. “He’ll likely be allowed to return to Glenlochie once you’re officially married.”

“Just wait until your husband strays before you do,” advised Agnes. “Ainsley Munro told me that her cousin’s husband annulled their marriage when he found out about his wife’s affair, and he was legally allowed to. But if he’d strayed first, then there are no legal grounds for an annulment.”

“Is that true?” asked Clementine, intrigued.

“Aye, she told me, too,” Maisie confirmed. “And it’s true that most men do stray. At least that’s what I’ve heard. And I’d wager Kade Mackenzie will be no different, especially if the rumors of his...vigor are true.”

“Well, hopefully Kade will stray,” Ann added softly. “He can seek his dark pleasures elsewhere. Then Stella can get what she wants.”

Their chatter continued somewhere outside my scope and I let my head slip under the bathwater to further distance myself. In just a few short hours I would be wed to and irrevocably bound to a man I had met but a handful of times, whose unholy vibrancy haunted me from afar. At this moment what I felt was fear, but I could acknowledge a curiosity, too, or what might have been better described as a survivalist instinct. I wanted to begin to emotionally prepare myself for what lay ahead. I couldn’t help letting my mind tread in disturbing directions. Tonight. The marriage bed. With Kade Mackenzie. Would he be kind? Or brutish? Would he be cold and disinterested, or possessive and demanding? Would he hurt me? Maisie and Bonnie had spoken to me about the very adventurous marriagelike activities they’d both indulged in with men they desired to wed. For Bonnie, the future looked bright. I worried for Maisie, having given herself like that, so fully, to a man who was now someone else’s husband; I worried that it would indeed have an impact on her chances for marriage to another man. She regretted nothing, though, she insisted. Those private moments with Wilkie Mackenzie, she’d said, were some of the most pleasurable and treasured of her life.

I wondered if my experiences would be at all pleasurable. Despite Agnes’s gossip, or perhaps because of it, I thought that possibility unlikely. Aye, Kade affected me in unusual ways. The rippling, primal awareness that seemed to infuse me whenever he was near: it was a reaction I had attributed to fear, but there was a warmth to my lingering panic that was quite removed from trepidation, which I might have described as wary curiosity. His grip on my shoulders had been so sure, so strong yet in no way painful. His rasped surprise that was laced with the slightest trace of vulnerability. Stella.

Nevertheless, I was too accustomed to violence to expect anything less of him, and this type of impending violence would be more personal and more damaging than anything I had so far experienced: this I knew.

If I hadn’t been pulled up to have my hair washed and attended to, I might have stayed in my underwater haven, to slip away and never know. As it was, I was so lost in my silent, fevered reservations that before I even knew what was happening, I was bathed, dried, dressed, primped, polished and perfumed to within an inch of my life, and ready to attend my own wedding.

* * *

IF I HAD been in a better state to appreciate such things, I might have registered through the haze of my distraction that the day was sunny and warm, that the mood was festive, that Kinloch’s small chapel was an exquisite, reverential space with its white walls and shards of colored light.

I floated through the proceedings as though watching them from a protective distance.

My gown was beautiful; that much I could appreciate. Its crushed velvet fabric was white yet tinged with pale shades of pink. The fitted bodice was inlaid with white silk ribbons, intricately woven in a seashell pattern. The long skirt fell elegantly to the floor, and the hem was gathered with shiny white pieces of shell. I wore a lace veil that offered me a welcome barrier against the events of the day, for now.

My father was dressed in his best finery: a purple cloak with gold silk trim, befitting his nobility. We did not speak. All that needed to be said had already been spoken. He led me down the aisle to the pulpit, where Kade Mackenzie stood, flanked by his two brothers. Laird Knox Mackenzie watched me approach with his arms folded over his broad chest. I couldn’t help noticing that there was a defined melancholy to his countenance, and I recalled hearing that his wife had died some years ago. Maybe the sight of a wedding dress was reminding him of all he had lost. Wilkie Mackenzie sported a much dreamier expression, but he wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were fixed on his own bride, the fair-haired Roses, who sat near him in one of the front pews.

And Kade.

I had not seen him for two weeks since I’d nearly collided with him in a corridor; since he’d rescued me from the clutches of Aleck; since my betrothal to him had been decreed. Now, his face was entirely stoic, as impassive as I might have expected of him. His eyes never left me, but I could look at him only briefly, noticing abstractly that his ceremonial garb suited him. He looked tall and noble and at ease in his clan colors. Yet in the aftermath of all the warnings and revelations of late, Kade’s subdued power and flagrant masculinity were enough to wither my courage. If I looked at him, I feared I might faint. So I diverted my gaze elsewhere.

As he lifted my veil, he spoke to me, and there was a soft, distinctive gravelly edge to his voice that I already recognized from the few times we had exchanged very brief conversation. “You look as though you’re about to be fed to the lions,” he commented. “Be assured, I don’t plan on eating you alive. Not yet, anyway.”

I looked up at him, caught by his cynical, sensual smirk. Was this an attempt at humor? Everything about him was so very undecipherable to me, I could only stare briefly at his face before blushing, dropping my gaze and wishing I was anywhere but here.

The small chapel was full to capacity. My family sat near the front. My father wore a triumphant gloat, clearly relieved that our clan’s alliance to the Mackenzies would, at last, be sealed. My sisters and cousins scanned the crowd, making eye contact with possible conquests, reveling in the moment. There were Munros in attendance, Macintoshes, Buchanans, Machardies, Macsorleys, even Stuarts. People had come from far and wide to witness the convergence of two major Highland armies and to take part in the celebrations.

I realized with some alarm that the marriage ceremony was already under way. And the minister’s words only succeeded in deepening my despair. “The Scottish marriage vows are not to be taken lightly,” he was saying. “The union is an irrevocable bond never to be broken. Sacred vows, sealed with blood and body, forged by the true love between a man and a woman—”

The room seemed to sway slightly and I felt the light touch of Kade’s hand at my elbow. “Perhaps,” he said to the minister, “we should get straight to the vows.”

The minister paused and nodded knowingly, as though he interpreted Kade’s urgency to get this marriage secured as quickly as possible. He did as Kade requested.

I listened to Kade’s husky voice as he spoke. “I, Kade Mackenzie, take thee, Stella Morrison, to be my wife.” He continued, and I could acknowledge that his words had a mellow authority to their timbre that seemed to echo through me. He was calm, and showed no hesitation whatsoever. And it was fitting, I supposed. He was fulfilling his duty, as I was fulfilling mine. Maybe he gained more satisfaction from his fate than I did.

When he had finished, I recited my vows obediently, repeating the words spoken by the Mackenzie minister, listening to the droning sound of his litany that would bind me forevermore to a man I wanted nothing to do with. I thought of my clan, my sisters, their safety and protection under a strengthened army, the security the new alliance would bring, through trade, military might and commerce. I was a pawn to be used for the greater good and must accept my lot with as much courage as I could muster.

The minister requested my hand and I held my palm up as I was told to do. It was Laird Mackenzie who ran the blade of his knife across my palm in a clean, almost-painless slice, then he repeated the motion across Kade’s palm. Laird Mackenzie then sealed our palms together, allowing our blood to mingle. Kade’s large hand entirely encompassed my own in its hot, rough grasp. I felt unnerved by his proximity and the knowledge that our essences were combining, that his warrior’s blood now mixed with my own. But even if I had possessed the nerve to steal my hand away, I could not have done so; Laird Mackenzie wrapped a white linen ribbon around our wrists, tying a tight knot, binding us to each other.

The minister continued loudly with dramatic flair. “I now pronounce you man and wife. Kade Mackenzie, you may seal your vows with a kiss.”

A kiss.

I steeled myself, looking up into the eyes of my new husband. And I was struck by the pale, vibrant blue of them: I had never seen eyes that light, that cleanly blue. Like the sky on a cold, clear day.

He bent to kiss me, his lips barely brushing my own. I thought he would draw away, but his mouth settled with more pressure, inciting a brief sense of recognition at the boundary of my memory. But then it was gone.

The ceremony was done. I was led, by my imposing new husband, through throngs of well-wishers to the grand hall of the Mackenzie manor, where the festivities were already well under way.

* * *

“CONGRATULATIONS, YOU LUCKY SOD,” Tadgh Munro laughingly said to Kade, patting him on the back, “landing the delightful Stella Morrison.”

Kade did not reply to him, pulling me toward a table at the front of the hall. The crowd parted for us as we made our way through.

“Yet she doesn’t seem quite as pleased by the match,” Tadgh called after us. “She’s no doubt heard much of your barbaric reputation, Mackenzie. You’ll have to go easy on the poor lass.” Several men laughed.

Tadgh Munro’s words did nothing to calm my growing apprehension. I was led to the head table and instructed by Kade to sit. I did as I was told, as I always did. The only difference was that the person now dictating to me was not my father but my gruff new husband, who at this moment looked as displeased by the entire scenario as I felt. He glared at me briefly, then sat down next to me and took a large swig from a goblet of ale. He handed me the goblet and said, “Take a drink.”

“I—I don’t usually drink ale.”

“’Tis your wedding day, lass. Take a drink. Besides, you look like you need it.”

Thinking that his observation might be bordering on insulting, I frowned at him. But then I realized that I was already frowning. Maybe he was right. Maybe a drink of ale was exactly what I needed. In a matter of hours, this marriage and my fate would be sealed by the very man whose solid thigh now pressed firmly against mine. It was too familiar, this touch, too close—but then, he was now my husband. My body was his for the taking, in whatever capacity he chose.

As Kade watched me, I took a long sip of the sweet ale. And another.

“I realize this is a marriage of convenience,” he said. “But for the sake of our clan members and our guests, for this evening if not beyond, you might at least pretend that there is something in the match worth celebrating.”

I was irked by his request. Was it not enough that I had dutifully, selflessly gone through with an arranged wedding to a man I suspected to be a merciless scoundrel, all for the sake of my family and my clan? In fact, I wanted to be anywhere but here, with anyone but him. Did I need to put on an act for him, as well? As though I was overjoyed that I would momentarily be ravaged by this brute who wore his formidable reputation as a badge of honor? I made a small attempt to constrain my reply, yet allowed myself a quiet response. “For you, perhaps.”

He contemplated me with a look of mild exasperation. “I hardly find your scowling grimace a cause worth rejoicing over.”

I stared at him, attempting to control not only my unease but also my temper. How rude he was! “I’m sorry if it displeases you, but as used to subservience as I may be, I don’t consider a forced union a cause for celebration. I had hoped to marry for love.”

“We all do,” he commented. “Yet we’d be wise to make the best of our situation, no matter how difficult it may be for either one of us.”

I felt a sense of quiet outrage at his statement. Of course that was easy enough for him to say. His situation was hardly difficult. He had just entitled himself to the impending lairdship of our growing, prospering clan, giving him total control over not only our army and our resources, but also...well, me. If his reputation as a ruthless warrior had any credence whatsoever, I had no doubt he would avail himself of all his new endowments with gusto, me included. It was with a sense of resignation that I quietly asked him, “And how do you propose to do that?”

He paused, sitting back in his chair, as though considering the question thoughtfully. “I had thought to start by drinking some ale with my new wife and discussing the evening’s proceedings, yet she wears a sullen expression and appears to be less of a conversationalist than I had hoped.”

My new husband was an absolute ogre! Any ethereal attraction I might once have felt for Kade Mackenzie abruptly vanished. “I’m so sorry to disappoint,” I replied icily.

“I’m experiencing a wide variety of emotions over our nuptials, lass, but I can assure you disappointment is not one of them.”

I eyed him warily, noticing the strong stripes of his eyebrows, his straight nose, the hard line of his jaw. The cords of his neck were pronounced and his arms strained the white cloth of his shirt as he, unnervingly, clenched his fist. His eyes were narrowed slightly in casual speculation as though he were having as much difficulty interpreting my thoughts as I was baffled by his. I wanted to ask him what emotions he might be referring to, yet I was restrained by one detail of his phrasing that echoed disconcertingly in my mind: the evening’s proceedings.

Before I could dare to ask him to elaborate, we were interrupted by the servers, who brought heaped plates of food to our table and placed them before us.

Laird Mackenzie stood, presenting an eloquent speech, welcoming me into the Mackenzie family and waxing lyrical about the bright future of our allied clans. I tried to adjust my expression to one of gladness, however forced, not to appease my husband—not at all—but out of respect for my clan members. It would hardly do, after all, to sulk through the speeches. There would be plenty of time for that later.

As I listened first to Laird Mackenzie’s speech and then my father’s, I surveyed the crowd. I hoped my sacrifice would benefit my people. I knew my father’s failing health had negatively impacted our clan’s general well-being. Glenlochie was looking somewhat unkempt. The army was less organized. Food, of late, was less plentiful than in past years. And there was the ongoing threat of Laird Campbell’s rebellion against the King of Scotland. I hoped our alliance would deter the rebellion, and that my new husband would prove to be an effective leader, as his brother was.

If the appearance of Kinloch was anything to go by, the Mackenzie clan was indeed prosperous. The manor was spotless and well equipped. The bounty of food and drink was enviable. There was lamb and beef, duck and pheasant. Bowls of exotic fresh fruits were displayed on the tables, and a wide variety of vegetables, grown in the Mackenzie gardens, were sumptuously flavored with herbs and butter. Fresh-baked breads were abundant and garnished with seeds and nuts. And the staff and servants worked as an amiable, cooperative team.

I hoped Kade Mackenzie could bring order and a new vigor to our keep, and introduce a fresh optimism to our clan. It was worth the sacrifice I was making: my body and my obedience. Maybe I could find happiness outside my marriage. Maybe Maisie was right: Kade might stray, and my life might be bearable outside the bedchambers, when I was away from my coarse husband.

And so my thoughts trod as I ate and talked and smiled and drank the ale that was offered to me, late into the evening. In fact, I found that, at times, when I was briefly separated from my husband and surrounded by the buoyant excitement of my sisters and friends, I was mildly enjoying myself. That is, until I heard the low, distinctive voice whisper in my ear. “Stella.” Again, I felt a twinge of wishful familiarity. “Wife, I must ask you to accompany me now. ’Tis time for bed.”