Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

“ Y ou look so beautiful, Tira!”

As Cora clapped her hands with delight, Tira swallowed hard against the nervousness threatening to overcome her…the wedding ceremony only moments away.

God help her, she still had time to change her mind, but why delay what she knew had become inevitable?

She needed a father for her twins and a husband to protect and provide for them, she couldn’t do it alone. Something else tugged at her, too, her heart welling again with emotion that Errol could still love her enough to marry her after another man?—

“Och, you must only have happy thoughts this day,” Cora gently chided her as she fussed with the flowered wreath atop Tira’s upswept hair—deep purple heather entwined with wild white roses. “The past is gone and your future with Errol in front of you, a man who truly loves you, Tira. Is that not enough tae make you smile?”

Knowing Cora wanted an answer, Tira did summon a smile, albeit a shaky one, and reached out to squeeze Cora’s hand.

“You’ve been so gracious. I can never thank you enough?—”

“My thanks will be your happiness if you will only open your heart enough tae embrace it. Now we must go. Your husband-tae-be and the priest are waiting for us in the chapel.”

Tira sucked in her breath, but Cora’s fingers squeezing hers back gave her a jolt of courage as she forced away thoughts of a wedding that might have been thrust upon her if Errol hadn’t been so determined to rescue her.

She hadn’t said anything to Cora, but she remembered the blond-haired lass who had been thrown overboard with Thorgren’s men laughing raucously at her panicked attempt to swim to shore. Her head going under the dark waves several times before she no longer resurfaced, Tira helpless to do anything to save her—ah, God, when would she ever be free of these torturous memories?

She was glad Cora walked in front of her as they left the bedchamber so as not to see the distress upon her face. Tira focused upon the swish of gold-colored silk around her legs, which helped to calm her.

The nursery door was closed, so she couldn’t cast a glance at her sleeping bairns, the candles in the wall sconces already lit in the hallway for it was nearing dusk.

Tira had seen little of Cora since she had rushed breathlessly into Tira’s room at midday to announce that Errol wished, indeed, to marry her, and then had left as suddenly, saying she had so much to do.

The rest of Tira’s day spent surrounded by maidservants who had bustled in and out to help with her bath, her freshly washed hair dried and swept up into a coiled bun at her nape, and a light meal of oatcakes, a wedge of goat cheese, and apple cider brought to her as she sat in a robe awaiting a new gown being hastily sewn by Cora’s seamstresses.

At one point the two wet nurses had appeared with Isobel and Monroe so Tira could hold them for a while, admiring with wonder their tiny fingers and toes and sweet faces.

Yet when they had grown fussy, the bairns were hustled away for a feeding, which had made Tira wonder how she would manage when she left this place with Errol. She knew they couldn’t remain at Castle MacLachlan forever.

She had imagined they would travel north to his family’s home in Sutherland country, which bordered Cheyne lands, but those musings had conjured painful feelings about her parents—Tira relieved to think about something else when her silken wedding gown had been presented to her and lowered over her head.

The shimmering garment truly one of the finest she had ever worn, along with matching gold slippers that felt soft as butter. Not long afterward Cora had reappeared with the delicate wreath for her to wear, Tira breathing in the rose fragrance that perfumed the air as she walked down the tower steps with Cora at her side.

Tira remembered then she had worn a similar scent that day in her father’s great hall when she had agreed to become Errol’s wife. Her face flushed with warmth as she wished wildly that the days and months would fall away and she would be back in his arms, so innocent and chaste—och, but then she wouldn’t have her bairns!

“Tira, we’re at the chapel. Please dinna look so anxious, I beg you. Errol is already waiting for you at the altar.”

Tira swallowed hard, nodding at Cora even though she had begun to tremble, her legs feeling weak. If not for Cora’s arm looped through hers, she doubted she would have been able to take another step, the two of them walking together into the candlelit chapel that smelled of incense.

Tira’s first impulse to lower her eyes at how intently Errol stared at her, her heartbeat begun to race, but strangely, she could not, as if he somehow willed her to hold his gaze.

His face so handsome and clean-shaven, any hint of stubble gone, his red hair glinting in the candlelight and falling upon shoulders so broad.

The deep blue of his well-fitting tunic the same color as his eyes, a plaid breacan in rich hues of blue, green and red wrapped around him and tied at his waist.

Tira had never imagined any man could look so magnificent, aye, even more so than she remembered from last year—ah, God. She stopped suddenly with a sweeping sense of panic, though Errol cleared the short distance between them in two strides and took her arm as Cora stepped aside.

“Tira…I willna marry you against your will,” he began in a voice hoarse with emotion, his eyes searching her flushed face. “Tell me you want this…want us…”

Errol couldn’t seem to finish while Tira felt a clutch in her throat, her panic now dismay.

It wasn’t fair that she marry him— it wasn’t right ! Mayhap she could never be a wife fully to him and their lives together would become a misery…she and her children nothing more than a burden to a good and honorable man who deserved so much more?—

“I love you, Tira…enough tae overcome whatever you’re thinking, whatever you fear,” Errol said as he gently drew her toward the altar, his low voice resolute. “I will never do anything tae hurt you or make you regret this day, I swear it. Say you will wed me?—”

“A-aye,” she broke in softly, the look of relief upon his face making her wish she hadn’t faltered and caused him distress.

She loved him so much, though something would not allow her to say it, why, she didn’t know.

All she could muster in that moment was to stand with him, trembling from head to foot, in front of the altar where the middle-aged priest looked doubtful as to if he should proceed, until Cora spoke up behind them.

“Begin the ceremony, Father Ezekiel.”

Tira sucked in her breath when the priest bobbed his balding head and began to intone the service, Errol taking her hand and interlacing his strong fingers with hers as the sacred words flew by in a heart-pounding blur.

Then it was done, she and Errol pronounced husband and wife and Cora rushing forward at once to congratulate them.

“I wish Gavin could have been here with us—but we’ve a fine wedding feast awaiting you in the great hall. Come!”

With Errol still holding her hand, Tira found she couldn’t look at him, her legs no longer trembling but wooden as they left the chapel with an effusive Cora leading the way.

“Oh, Tira, you’re such a lovely bride. I’m so happy for you both—and Gavin will be so pleased as well when he returns. It should be soon, he promised we would have a few days together before he must head south with King Robert. You and the bairns must stay with me while Errol is gone, too—och, we’ll talk of that tomorrow.”

Errol, gone ? Tira glanced at him while his grip on her hand seemed to tighten as if to reassure her, though she had no idea of what Cora had spoken.

He shook his head slightly, which told her now wasn’t the time to ask him, as Cora led them into the great hall packed with those assembled to celebrate their marriage, everyone rising to greet them.

Gavin’s warriors mostly, some with what Tira guessed were their wives and even some children laughing and running around trestle tables laden with platters of food.

Servants bustled to fill cups while a great shout of congratulations went up as Cora led her and Errol to the head table, Tira’s face burning at all the raucous attention. Still Errol held her hand, but he released her to help her into a cushioned seat, his solicitous gallantry making her blush even more.

How could she have deserved such a man as Errol Sutherland? To Tira’s amazement, no one seemed to be whispering about her behind their hands or casting sideways looks as she might have imagined, but seemed to be wholeheartedly pleased about their marriage—Cora beaming as she raised her cup in a toast.

“I speak for both my husband and myself this day and wish great happiness upon whom I now consider family…Errol and his lovely bride, Tira Sutherland!”

Another loud roar went up and seemed to rumble from the very rafters, Errol handing Tira a cup and lifting his own to drink, his gaze riveted upon her.

In the bright torchlight, she would swear that she saw moisture glinting in his eyes, and she felt some welling in her own as she took a sip of red wine with trembling fingers…some of the tart liquid dripping down her chin.

At once Errol reached out to wipe the wine away with his thumb, his touch making her start and set down the cup for fear of spilling any more.

“Forgive me, lass,” he murmured, a flicker of dismay across his face as if she had found offense at his caring gesture.

She hadn’t, but she could say nothing now as the enthusiastic clamor grew more deafening until at last, Cora raised her hand and the great hall fell silent.

Tira amazed by the deep respect shown to their laird’s wife as Cora bade Father Ezekiel to offer a prayer of thanks, and then she urged everyone to eat—benches scraping upon the stone floor as everyone sat down and set about the task with gusto while Tira’s appetite seemed to have fled altogether.

Even when her plate was heaped full by servants and her cup near overflowing, she could but pick at the steaming slices of roast venison and buttered root vegetables accompanied by fresh-baked bread to sop up the juices.

She could sense Cora watching her from one side and Errol from the other, but neither said anything to her…for which Tira was grateful, and undeniably touched by their understanding.

Only the antics of Cora’s twins, a giggling, red-headed Maud and Sinclair, his hair as raven-black as his mother’s, brought a smile to Tira’s lips. The two of them stealing food from each other’s plates and bickering playfully, which eased for a few moments her mounting trepidation about the wedding night ahead.

Would Isobel and Monroe one day spar so happily with each other? Tira hoped so, glancing at Errol’s plate to see that he hadn’t eaten much, either, though he had emptied his wine cup—ah God, no, a maidservant rushing forward to pour him some more.

Tira squeezed her eyes shut as awful memories flooded her of Thorgren drinking himself into drunkenness nearly every night…ale spilling from his mug and soaking the front of his tunic, which had made him bellow with laughter.

Wretched nights that had usually ended with him lunging from his chair to toss her roughly over his shoulder and carry her weeping to bed?—

“No more wine,” came Errol’s voice to snap Tira from her terrible reverie, and she glanced over to find he had covered his cup with his hand, the maidservant bobbing her head and moving away.

His gaze meeting Tira’s as if he had sensed what must have distressed her, her face afire and her heart slamming against her breast. Without a word, he reached out to clasp her hand and then rose from his chair, drawing her up with him.

“Lady Cora, if you dinna mind, my bride and I will retire now.”

Tira heard Cora draw in a startled breath even as Tira felt she might collapse into a quivering heap upon the floor, so great was her dread that made her knees wobble.

She had scarcely drawn a breath herself when Errol swept her up into his arms as the great hall erupted in raucous cheers, and this time, Cora didn’t raise a hand to quell them. Instead, she appeared hesitant for a moment until she nodded at Errol, who gave her a deferential bow of the head before carrying Tira away from the table.

His strides long and purposeful, he said nothing to her until they had left the still thundering great hall, and only then did he press the lightest of kisses against her burning cheek.

“You’ve walked enough for one day, lass, you must still take care that you dinna strain yourself.”

Stunned, Tira could only stare at him as he lunged with her up the steps as if her weight was no burden to him at all, Errol holding her close.

So close she could feel his strong heartbeat thudding against her arm that pressed against his chest, her cheeks flaring all the hotter.

Within another few moments, he had carried Tira into her bedchamber—och, now their bedchamber—and shut the door with his foot. The heavy thud had made her gasp, Errol setting her down gently into one of two chairs placed by the warming fire.

Two ? There had only been one before, Tira glancing around her in astonishment at the room that had clearly been made comfortable for them.

The fireplace ablaze with freshly stoked logs, a bedspread of dark blue damask gracing the four-poster bed instead of the plainer woolen one, four goose down pillows now instead of two, and a carved chest brought in for Errol’s belongings?—

“I told Lady Cora it wasna needed, I’ve very few garments with me and these fine ones are borrowed from Gavin,” Errol said with a chuckle, which made Tira glance up at him in surprise.

She hadn’t heard him laugh since years ago in her family’s garden when she was twelve and he was fourteen, and he had pulled her long braid to make her spin around and spout off at him. In truth, she hadn’t been angry at all and loved Errol then as surely as she did now…och, heaven help her.

Tears filling her eyes, Tira couldn’t have forced them away if she had tried as she lowered her gaze, her anguish so great at everything that had happened in those intervening years.

Years spent dreaming of Errol until he had arrived at her mother’s funeral, their promise made to each other to wed before she had been wrested away from him, and the suffering she had endured through nightmarish months with Thorgren.

The miracle of her rescue and childbirth, and now at last their wedding—yet she should have been joyful instead of stricken with fear and sickened that Errol hadn’t been the first man to hold her, touch her, claim her?—

“Tira, look at me.”