Chapter 11

11

" E rin, lass, ye look like a vision straight from the Highlands themselves," Flynn's voice broke through the din of conversation and clinking tableware as Erin stepped onto the castle grounds where her wedding was to take place.

"Flynn," she breathed, seeing her brother warmed her heart. She embraced him, the familiar scent of pine and earth clinging to his clothes, bringing memories of home rushing back. Around them, servants scurried about laying out platters upon long tables while the smell of roasted meats filled the crisp air.

"Tell me he's treatin' ye right, Erin. Magnus hasn't been too beastly, has he?" Flynn's brows furrowed with concern, his protective gaze scanning her face for any sign of distress.

"Och, ye know I can handle me own," Erin said, mustering a smile that didn't quite reach her blue eyes. "There's naught to fuss over."

"Yer maither's been worried sick, lass. Ye ken how she is," Flynn continued, his tone softening as he glanced toward Briar, who was approaching with anticipation and anxiety etched on her features.

"Maither," Erin greeted, feeling the knot in her throat tighten at the sight of Briar's fretful expression. "I've missed ye."

"Erin, me sweet girl," Briar said, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Are ye... are ye truly content here?"

"Maither, the castle is grand, and the lands are beautiful," Erin reassured her, swallowing the lump that formed as she spoke. She couldn't voice the truth—her heartfelt trapped within the cold stone walls, yearning for a freedom that seemed just out of reach.

"Ye have changed much, me dear. Still headstrong and feisty," Briar observed, a hint of pride flickering across her face despite her worries. "Just promise me ye'll seek happiness, even amidst this... arrangement."

"I promise," Erin whispered, though her conviction wavered like a candle in the wind. As the moment lingered, her gaze drifted across the grounds, searching for Magnus. She found him overseeing the final preparations, his tall figure casting a long shadow in the fading light.

Their eyes met briefly, and something akin to an electric charge coursed through her. The intensity of his gaze stirred a strange fluttering within her chest—a sensation she was reluctant to admit intrigued her. Yet, as swiftly as it came, he turned away, leaving her with a longing that only deepened the ache within her soul.

"Come now, let's get ye ready. A bride shouldnae be lingerin' where she might catch a chill," Briar said, guiding Erin back toward the keep.

As they walked, Erin's mind raced with thoughts of what lay ahead—the ceremony, the feast, and the dance. But above all, the night that would follow haunted her. She had never imagined her wedding day shrouded in such trepidation, nor had she envisioned a groom whose touch she both dreaded and desired.

"Ye'll be fine, Erin. Just remember who ye are," Flynn called after her, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken promises of protection.

Erin nodded, offering a brave smile over her shoulder. But as the grand hall doors closed behind her, she couldn't help but wonder if she was stepping into a new life or a gilded cage. And with each step closer to the altar, the question loomed ever larger: Would the man she married tonight be the beast she feared or the protector she secretly longed for?

Erin smoothed the rich fabric of her gown, the tartan of Clan McCormack woven into a pattern that spoke of history and blood. The grand hall swirled with activity as final preparations for the wedding ceremony were made. Heavy tapestries lined the walls, depicting tales of old—a testament to the clan's storied past. Garlands of heather and thistle adorned the room, their purple hues lending a regal air that mingled with the earthy scent of pine boughs and peat fire. Erin hurried to greet her sisters.

"Does Magnus truly have a heart beneath all that armor?" Ayda whispered, her voice tinged with concern. Erin smiled at her sister, but wished she could see the concern replaced by her usual mischievous nature.

"I believe he might, be it tiny or locked away under a wall of ice, I believe I have heard it beating still."

"Or is it as cold and unyielding as the highland stone?" Maeve added, her brow furrowed in sisterly concern. Erin owed so much to her eldest sister while they had been held captive, but this was one situation her sister could not save her from.

Erin offered them a reassuring smile, though her stomach twisted with unease. "He's... complicated," she admitted, her gaze drifting to where the laird stood, tall and imposing by the hearth. "But there's more to him than meets the eye."

"Ye've seen it then? A softer side to yer beast?" Maeve pressed, seeking confirmation.

"Perhaps." Erin nodded, though she could not explain why Magnus's recent distance gnawed at her fiercely. Was it fear of their union or something else?

The sound of pipes filled the air, signaling the moment had come. Erin's heart hammered against her chest as she took her place at the entrance to the aisle. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows upon the stone floor, leading the way to where Magnus awaited.

As she stepped forward, the guests rose from their wooden benches, their eyes fixed upon her. Erin's fingers tightened around the bouquet of wildflowers, each step resonating with the heavy beat of the drums that accompanied the skirl of the pipes.

Magnus met her gaze, his expression unreadable. Yet, she felt the silent current that flowed between them, charged with an intensity that belied the space separating them. As they stood before the priest, Erin was acutely aware of every breath Magnus took, each subtle shift of his broad shoulders beneath the ceremonial plaid draped across them.

"Ye ken, what does this mean?" his deep voice rumbled during a rare quiet moment.

"An alliance," she replied, her voice steadier than she felt.

"More than that," he countered, eyes locking onto hers. "Ye belong to me now, and I vow to do whatever it takes to make ye content."

Content? His pledge to do whatever it takes was heartfelt and sincere, giving her the protective warmth of sanctuary, but did she want him to make her content?

The words hung between them, a promise or a threat; Erin couldn't be sure. She wanted more than a life of contentment. She wanted to be happy.

As they exchanged vows, her world narrowed to the sound of his voice, the warmth radiating from his body, and the undeniable pull that drew her to him despite her reservations.

With the pronouncement of husband and wife, the hall erupted into cheers. Erin glanced at the faces of her new clan—some warm, others calculating. But the look in Magnus's eyes held her captive, a storm brewing within their depths that both excited and terrified her.

With the final blessing spoken, Erin followed Magnus into the cool air of the Scottish afternoon, her senses immediately assailed by the feast's rich aromas. The castle grounds were transformed; tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, their surfaces glistening with succulent juices. Freshly baked bread piled high beside bottles of ale and whisky beckoned the guests, promising warmth and merriment.

"Looks as though they've brought the whole larder out," Magnus remarked, his voice low and gruff beside her.

Erin's gaze caught on the sight of a wild boar, its skin crisped to perfection, an apple stuffed in its mouth—a symbol of abundance and hospitality. "Aye, 'tis enough to feed an army," she replied, her voice betraying a hint of admiration.

Magnus's eyes flickered to meet hers, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "We have enough warriors here that it may well be needed."

His words carried an edge of challenge, inviting her to retort, but Erin held her tongue. She was acutely aware of the space between them—close enough to feel the heat of his body, yet far enough to remind her of the chasm that had formed since their awkward courtship began.

The sudden swell of music broke their silent exchange, drawing Erin's attention to the small ensemble of musicians who had begun to play. Fiddles cried out with lively notes, pipes trilled like the song of the wind through the heather, and drums beat a rhythm that seemed to pulse with the very heartbeat of the glen. It was the sound of her homeland, celebration and life—a stark contrast to the turmoil twisting within her.

"Ye look like ye could use a dram," Magnus observed, motioning toward the whisky with a barely perceptible head tilt.

"Perhaps later," Erin said, though her throat was parched. Her heart thrummed erratically to the beat of the drums, her thoughts a tangle of anxiety and anticipation. Would he taste of ale and whisky when he kissed her? Or would he be cold and unyielding like the stone of his castle walls?

As the celebration began and Erin watched her siblings join the dance, the reality of her situation settled like a cloak around her shoulders. She was married to a man whose life was a battlefield, whose soul bore scars more profound than the ones marking his skin.

And tonight, she would share his bed. She knew it would happen, and the idea excited her, but fear coiled in her belly at the thought, her mind teetering on the edge of a precipice. Would she find solace in his arms or confirm the beast others whispered he was? The more she thought about sharing his bed, the more her mind sabotaged her thoughts. She didn't want his shifting feelings towards her to ruin her first night as a married woman.

"Ye dance like the others?" he asked, almost too casually, his gaze scanning the revelers as couples began to pair off, joining the dance.

"Only if I must," Erin retorted, her chin lifting defiantly. This was no love match, and she would not pretend it was, even if every note of music called to her feet to join in.

"Then we shall see if ye must," Magnus said, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. "Will ye dance with me, wife?" Magnus's voice cut through her reverie.

Erin's breath hitched, her decision hanging in the balance as she placed her hand in his.

As they joined the dance, Erin couldn't escape the feeling that no matter how the night ended, nothing would ever be the same again. There was no ease about the way Magnus took hold of her. He was still and awkward, but she didn't feel any resistance. It wasn't reluctance that stiffened him. He knew the dance but was clearly unpracticed in the moves. The whole thing went a lot easier once Erin learnt to go with his movements instead of the ones drummed into her from childhood. After the first dance, he relaxed, and his hand felt ore natural on her waist. They even dared to smile at each other as the joy of the music took over. Eventually, Erin was too breathless to go on, but her cheeks shone, and her smile filled her features. She had enjoyed dancing with Magnus more than she had ever imagined.

As Erin watched the dancers whirl and sway around her own movements, her mind raced. The night ahead loomed large, and with each passing moment, her resolve wavered. She could feel Magnus's presence beside her, solid and undeniable. His nearness sent unfamiliar shivers down her spine, a mix of fear and something else she dared not name.

"Erin," he began, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through her, "about tonight..."

Her breath caught. Was this it? Would he speak of their duty, of heirs and the continuation of his line? Yet, before he could finish, a raucous laugh from one of the guests sliced through the tension, and Magnus's attention shifted, his jaw setting in a hard line.

"Later," he muttered and strode away toward the disturbance, leaving Erin alone with her whirling thoughts and the haunting melody of the pipes.

As the last note echoed across the glen, Erin's resolve crystallized. Tonight, she would face the beast that was her husband—and she would not go willingly into his bed until she understood the man behind the scars. But how can we unveil Magnus Black's truth without exposing her vulnerable heart?

With the fire of defiance burning in her belly, Erin braced herself for what was to come, unaware that the test of her strength lay just beyond the horizon.

Erin watched as the shadow of a falcon drifted across the sun-dappled grass, its silent flight a stark contrast to the revelry surrounding her. She shifted her gaze back to the multitude of guests, noting how the men clapped each other on the backs, and the women gossiped behind delicate hands. The feast was in full swing, with laughter rising above the skirl of bagpipes and the hearty drums thump.

"Congratulations, me lady," came an oily and unsettling voice like a snake slithering through the heather. Erin turned to find one of Magnus' council members approaching, his smile more a baring of teeth than an expression of joy. "Ye've married well today. Laird McCormack is a man of great… standing."

"Thank ye, Sir Hogg," Erin replied, her words measured. However, her eyes narrowed at the man's fidgeting hands and the way his gaze darted about. It was clear to her that genuine goodwill was absent from his demeanor.

"May yer union be fruitful," he added, though it seemed more a command than a blessing. With a curt nod, he departed just as quickly, leaving Erin to ponder the underlying tensions that ran like unseen currents beneath the surface of festivity.

A lively tune struck up, rousing the guests into motion. Erin's siblings, Ayda and Maeve, quickly joined the dance, their skirts twirling as they laughed and stepped to the rhythm. Their joy was infectious, yet Erin felt a pang of isolation watching them. She was an outsider at her wedding for a moment, longing for a connection she feared would never come.

"Should ye nae be dancin', sister?" Flynn's voice broke through her reverie. His brow creased with concern as he offered her a half-hearted smile.

"Perhaps more later," Erin murmured, her heart not quite in her words. Her thoughts strayed to Magnus, the enigmatic man now her husband. He was a cypher she yearned to solve, yet every attempt drew her deeper into a maze of unanswered questions and unspoken desires.

Flynn followed her gaze across the hall, understanding dawning in his eyes. "He's not easy to read, that one. But remember, strength lies not just in knowing others but oneself."

"Is that so?" Erin quipped, grateful for the distraction. "I reckon I have much to learn on both accounts then."

"Ye'll do fine, Erin. Yer stronger than ye think," her brother assured her before being whisked away by Maeve, who beckoned him to join the dance.

As Erin watched her family meld into the crowd, the music's tempo increasing, the dancers' steps growing more frenetic, she felt a resolve building within her. Tonight, she would confront her fears, challenge the beast, and perhaps, in doing so, find a path to her liberation.

But as the twilight deepened and shadows stretched long across the castle grounds, Erin couldn't shake the sensation that something pivotal was poised to unfold. And there, amid merriment and tradition, she stood on the cusp of the unknown, her future with Magnus Black an unwritten saga that could either unite their hearts or rend them asunder.

With the fiddles crying out their spirited songs and the drums echoing like distant thunder, Erin's feet itched to join in the dance. She deserved more than a mere first dance to then be forgotten by her husband. She watched as her siblings spun and laughed, their kilts and dresses blurring into a tapestry of joy that seemed just out of reach for her. The great hall buzzed with celebration, yet beside Scarlett, Erin couldn't help but feel isolated amidst the revelry.

"Scarlett," she murmured, her voice barely rising above the music, "have ye seen Magnus?"

Her fiery-haired companion scanned the crowd of dancers before shaking her head, a frown creasing her fair brow. "Nae since the ceremony."

"Then let's find him," Erin said, determination steeling her voice. "I'll nae be the bride who sits forgotten."

They navigated through the crowd, past tables groaning under the weight of roasted meats and freshly baked bread, their scents mingling with the peaty tang of whisky. Erin found herself drawn to the shadows at the edge of the hall, where torches cast an amber glow over the stones. And there, standing as if carved from the very rock of the Highlands, was Magnus Black.

"Brother," Scarlett called out, her tone uncharacteristically gentle.

Magnus turned, his dark eyes finding Erin's blue ones, cool and mysterious. He dipped his head, silently acknowledging their presence.

"Would ye honor yer wife with a dance, Laird McCormack?" Erin ventured, her heart thrumming against her ribs.

A muscle worked in his jaw, betraying a hint of reluctance, before he extended a broad hand. "Aye."

The warmth of his touch seeped into her skin, sparking something wild within her as they stepped onto the floor. The musicians took notice, shifting their tune to a slower, lilting melody befitting the couple's station.

"Ye look... bonnie," he said gruffly, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her.

"Thank ye, me Laird," Erin replied, a blush staining her cheeks at the unexpected compliment.

As they moved together, Erin was entranced by the strength in his arms and the surety of his steps. Magnus led with a quiet confidence that belied the stormy depths she glimpsed in his eyes. She should have been cautious, mindful of their precarious bond, but instead, she allowed herself to lean closer, to breathe in the scent of heather and pine clinging to his clothing.

"Ye daenae make this easy," Erin confessed softly, unsure why she broke the silence between them.

"Nor do ye," Magnus countered, his gaze never leaving hers.

They danced through another measure, the world narrowing until there was naught but the two of them. Erin's pulse raced, and she realized that, for all his brooding detachment, Magnus held her with a gentleness that contradicted the harsh lines of his warrior's physique. It was a paradox that both confounded and intrigued her.

"Perhaps we're both mysteries to one another," she suggested, her voice laden with a courage she hadn't known she possessed.

"Perhaps," he agreed, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features.

But the music swelled to a crescendo before Erin could decipher it, pulling them along in its wake. For a fleeting moment, amid the swirl of tartan and the echo of bagpipes, Erin forgot why she had resisted this union. She saw not the beast but the man—wounded, guarded, but holding her as though she were something precious.

And as the last note hung in the air, marking the end of the song, Erin stood breathless, wondering if the touch of Magnus Black's hand might not be a curse but a balm for two souls scarred by the cruelties of fate.

The revelry of the feast around her became a distant hum as Erin's thoughts drifted to the inevitable—the wedding night. A shiver coursed through her despite the warmth from the roaring bonfires that illuminated the castle grounds with an orange glow. Magnus had sworn an oath, his voice gruff yet sincere, that he would not lay hands upon her—yet their duty to produce an heir loomed over them like a shadow at high noon.

Erin twisted the heavy gold band on her finger, a symbol of her new station as Magnus' wife, the weight of its significance pressing into her flesh. She glanced at his broad back where he stood conversing with one of his council members, and she remembered the scars that marred his skin—a reminder of the battles he'd endured, the life he had led.

"Ye look as if ye're about the bolt for the hills, lass," Maeve teased, breaking through Erin's reverie with a nudge.

"Perhaps I am considering it," Erin murmured, only half in jest.

"Ye cannae outrun yer fate, sister," Maeve replied with a knowing smile.

"Nor do I intend to," Erin said, more to herself than to her sister. But the truth was, she wasn't ready for what awaited her within the castle walls. The thought of fleeing crossed her mind; she could disappear into the night and vanish like mist over the moors. Yet, where would she go? Over the past weeks, she had learned to wield a sword and defend herself, but survival required more than skill—it required a destination, a refuge.

Turning her gaze back to Magnus, Erin caught him watching her, his brown eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that halted her breath. It felt as though he could see her fears and hesitations straight through. There was a silent question in his stare, a challenge: Would she flee, or would she fulfil her role?