Page 19 of Only a Highlander Will Do

With no other reason to stop the marriage from taking place, Fiona accepted his hand. Never in her wildest dreams did she think Ulster Castle would be hers. It was truly a dream come true, except for an unpredictable and somewhat untrustworthy laird who came with that bargain.

Chapter Seven

As Tormod led Fiona into the chapel, he hesitated at the doorway to look at the woman beside him. This marriage would not stop the MacDonalds from retaliating against the MacLeods. But at least their enemy could not force Fiona into a marriage that would be both painful and fatal for her.

He had not started this day with the intent to wed. He’d been hell-bent on war after the massacre at the village. But here he was, about to take a wife he knew almost nothing about except that she was a fighter just like him. She’d fought for her life when he’d abducted her, as the bruises on his shins still attested. And she’d fought for the one thing that meant anything to her in this life—her home.

For Tormod, it was enough to build a relationship on. Did Fiona feel the same? Her face was slightly pale and she stared straight ahead as they stood framed by the doorway with golden tendrils of light from a multitude of candles, inviting them inside the sparsely filled room.

From the family, Alastair, Gwendolyn, Orrick, Rowena, Callum, and their mother—the Grey Lady—were present along with Graeme, their chatelaine Mrs Morgan, Thomas Becks, their steward, and the minister, Reverend Vollar. Those gathered turned towards the doorway to watch as he and Fiona entered the chamber.

In her hands, Fiona wore flowers in the weave of her plait and clutched a single sprig of meadowsweet. The white flowers were innocent and sweet-smelling, much like the woman who held them. He wanted to keep her innocent of the evils that filled this world—evils he’d seen and experienced more than his fair share in the past five years. She might think him a beast for forcing her to this moment, but marrying him would keep her safe, protected from the horrors that awaited her had she gone to Alex MacDonald instead.

Unsettled by the direction of his thoughts, Tormod shifted his gaze to the room’s other occupants. His family stood at the front of the chapel, waiting. They had sombre expressions on their faces, but they did not judge him for what he was doing. They all knew the seriousness of the moment and the extra burden they would each take on as a result of disrupting the MacDonalds’ plans.

One attendee, however, did not refrain from judging him. Standing at the front of the altar, Reverend Vollar scowled at Tormod as he clutched a well-worn Bible in his hands. The minister had known the MacLeod family since the triplets were first christened. He’d called the three of them a blessing until their personalities had started to reveal themselves. Then he’d labelled them the peacemaker, the warrior, and the trickster. Reverend Vollar favoured Alastair for his peaceful ways. The minister often ridiculed Tormod for fighting whoever and whenever he could, and had spent much of his time at Dunvegan trying to save Tormod’s soul from certain damnation. Orrick, the minister mostly ignored, allowing him to play his tricks upon his family and the servants with only a disapproving eye. But tonight, all the minister’s focus was on Tormod.

“Are you certain this is the best course of action to take?” Reverend Vollar asked when Tormod and Fiona stopped before him.

“Aye,” Tormod responded. “It is what is best for Fiona and for myself.”

Reverend Vollar’s scowl deepened as he turned his gaze on Fiona. “And the woman of her own free will agrees to this joining?”

“I do.”

Tormod released a pent-up breath. Despite their agreement abovestairs, he had wondered if she would go through with the marriage since she’d been so quiet upon entering the chapel. She would no longer be a prisoner at Dunvegan. She would soon be his wife, his kin, and someone he would protect with his last dying breath if it came to that.

He clamped his fingers about the hilt of his sword. The weapon used to bring a sense of comfort. Now it felt cold and destructive. That coldness had once been enough for him until this evening as they sat along the shore of the jetty. Something inside him had shifted when she’d revealed hints of her previous life. She hadn’t said the words, but she’d sounded as lonely as he’d been for the past five years.

Without thinking about what he was doing for once, he drew her hand into his own. Her touch settled the chaos brewing inside him. It stayed him. In that whisper-soft touch he felt her warmth, her vitality, her essence. Pure and gentle, and nothing he deserved, yet she was the prize he’d wrested away from Alex MacDonald.

All eyes in the room settled upon Tormod and Fiona as the minister cleared his throat and clutched his Bible to his chest. “Let us begin with a recounting of the dowry.”

Tormod’s gaze moved to his bride. He wished he could read her thoughts. But her gaze was calm and unreadable as she focused on the minister. She brought nothing to the marriage except herself, compared to his many holdings and sources of income. Why acknowledge that fact? Even if she would never know the difference, he could save her that embarrassment at least. “There is no need to recount our holdings. Continue.”

The contract was laid on a flat stand before the two of them. Tormod picked up the quill and held it out to Fiona. She took the quill and in a fine hand wrote Lady Fiona Fraser. Then Tormod took the quill, dipped it into the pot of ink, and signed his name to the document. “Proceed.” The deed was almost done.

Reverend Vollar cleared his throat once more, then began droning the oft-repeated rites and vows of the marriage ceremony. He did not look at Tormod or at Fiona. Instead he directed the promises of love, honour, and obedience to the floor. Only once did his gaze stray, to the floating image of Tormod’s mother, and his words faltered before he continued. “Do you have a ring for the girl?”

Tormod released Fiona’s hand and withdrew from his sporran a gold band with a single gemstone of andalusite that he’d purchased in Spain. The yellow-hued stone held a tint of rusty red and sparkled in the candlelight. He’d retrieved it from his things after the attack on the castle this evening. He’d bought the ring not knowing who his bride would be, but as he gently eased the ring onto Fiona’s finger, it seemed to belong there.

Instead of looking at Fiona, Tormod turned back to the minister.

“By the powers vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

His bride. An unusual sensation tightened Tormod’s chest. He bent to give her a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek, but her lips called to him instead. She’d asked for there to be no physical expressions between the two of them until Ulster Castle was guaranteed to be hers, and yet Tormod could not resist this one kiss sanctioned by their vows.

She did not object as he tenderly touched his lips to hers. At the slight touch, his body weakened. She tasted sweet, like the first honey of spring. Her breath stirred against his mouth, and he pulled away, despite wanting nothing more than to feel her, taste her, experience all that she was. His heart thundered in his chest as he brushed his lips against her cheek and he whispered, “Welcome to the MacLeod clan.”

*

A shudder ran through her at the words Tormod had whispered against her ear. Fiona straightened, fighting the sensation that her knees would buckle at any moment. She’d had no choice but to marry the stranger beside her. Now their lives were forever joined. For better or worse, she was part of Tormod’s family.

She looked down at her hand, at the ring he’d placed on her finger. The beautiful earth-toned stone sparkled in the candlelight. She’d never seen anything like it. The weight against her finger felt foreign, but not uncomfortable. She let her hand drift to her side as the others came forward to extend their congratulations.

“Perhaps this wedding was not as spectacular as it should have been,” Gwendolyn said as she reached Fiona’s side. “But you looked particularly beautiful in the glow of the candlelight.”

Fiona’s cheeks warmed at the unexpected words. That heat evaporated a heartbeat later when Tormod stepped away from her, moving with the other men towards the back of the chapel where Callum passed mugs of ale for them to toast the health of the bride and groom.