Chapter 8

8

Mary stood before the polished glass of the mirror and took herself in. The soft white gown she was wearing hung from her body, the straps brushing across her shoulders. Goosebumps had appeared along her arms, and she reached for the delicate white shawl that Amelia had bought for her when she had realized that Mary was serious about going through with this wedding.

Mary could scarcely believe that the day was finally upon her, the day when she would marry Kiernan Fraser. She had seen him only a handful of times since their encounter in the stables, and never alone. Arran always made sure that someone was lurking nearby to keep watch on them, as though he feared that Kiernan might try to make off with her into the night before she was his bride.

A few times, she had considered doing just that. It would have been all too easy to leave everything behind, to forget the weight and enormity of everything she was going through, that she was about to dedicate her life to a man who had such a dangerous reputation, who came from a family with such darkness rooted into its core.

Every time she laid eyes on Kiernan, though, she knew that she had to see it through. She had to. She craved him, more than she had ever craved anything in her life before. In those brief moments they were together before the wedding, she could feel the heat burning between them, a heat that drove a curiosity she couldn’t hide from. She longed for him, every part of him, and soon, she would have it.

As she stared at herself in the mirror, in her virginal-white dress, a handful of violets woven through her blonde hair to draw out the purplish flecks in her eyes, she could hardly recognize the girl looking back at her. No, not the girl—the woman. The wife-to-be. She had to keep reminding herself of that part, that she was soon to be a wife, a lover, maybe even a mother.

The wedding had been planned quickly. Kiernan had insisted on it, perhaps fearful that she might lose interest in going through with it if he did not make his move with haste. Of course, he did not know of the truth of what she was running from, the man her father had planned for her to wed.

Dispatches had been sent to her family, though she had not heard back from them in time for the ceremony itself. She had hoped her mother might be in attendance, but she supposed her father was still in a rage at knowing that he couldn’t use her to his own spurious ends any longer. Even if she had not agreed for the dispatches to be sent out, she supposed they would have found out about it anyway, given the gossip that was already swirling around the upcoming union. She’d had a few of the servants in the Keep ask her about her engagement to him, their eyes widening when she confirmed that the rumors were true.

Now, he waited at the altar for her, along with a priest who would marry the two of them. Amelia and Arran were to be the only witnesses in attendance—Arran’s choice, as he had feared that too many would come by and try to cast aspersions on the union.

Arran himself had struggled to come to terms with it. It had taken Amelia’s kind words to convince him that there was something to be said for allowing this to take place, a chance to mend the wounds that had long existed between their families. Much as Arran clearly despised Kiernan, he had agreed to allow the marriage to take place under the agreement that it would put their families’ history behind them. No longer would the weight of the war that had taken place between their fathers sit heavy on them.

A small knock sounded at the door, and Mary lifted her head, drawing herself from her reverie.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Amelia stood on the other side, dressed in a soft red dress, her hair loose around her shoulders. She smiled when she laid eyes on Mary, and made her way towards her slowly.

“You look beautiful, dear sister,” she murmured as she stroked her hair, fiddling with a few strands to make sure it was well and truly perfect. Mary smiled at her.

“Thank you.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

The question caught her off-guard; she had thought, by now, that her sister had come to terms with the choice she had made, that she would no longer put up the fight she had when she had first heard about his intentions. She stared at her for a moment, not sure what to say, and Amelia continued to speak, the words tumbling from her lips before she could stop them.

“I only ask because I would be happy to go to that man and tell him that you’ve changed your mind,” Amelia told her. “If you’ve decided this is a mistake, that you don’t want to marry him, then I’ll make certain that he understands and respects your choice.”

Mary shook her head.

“No,” she replied firmly. “I want to do this, Amelia. I have to do this.”

“Have to?” Amelia asked her, her eyes filling with sadness. “Mary, love, Arran only spoke of virtue lost because of…”

“No, it’s not… it’s not because of what Arran said,” she confessed, biting her lip. She had hoped she’d be able to avoid burdening her sister with this truth, but if this was what it took to make sure she was allowed to go through with the wedding, then she supposed she would have to share it.

“Then what is it?” Amelia prompted her. She looked genuinely confused, and Mary bit back a sigh. She loathed having to tell her sister the truth of what was going on with her father. She had barely escaped the same fate herself, after all, and Mary knew that hearing this would cast her back into the painful memory of everything that had happened.

“Our father, he… he had a match for me,” she replied, trying to couch the words in some sense of innocence so she would not read them for the harsh truths they were.

“A match?” she replied, confused, a crease appearing between her brows. “What do you mean by that?”

“He told me that there was a man he wanted me to marry,” she explained carefully. “A man he wanted to… to see me wed to. In much the same way that he had hoped you would marry, before you chose to be with Arran.”

Her face paled as the reality of what Mary was telling her began to sink in. Her eyes widened.

“He… he was going to do to you what he did to me?”

Mary nodded. A lump leapt into her throat. She could see the pain written all over her sister’s face, the pain that she would have carried if she’d had to marry that man. She had to escape it, in any way she could.

“Why did you not tell me?” Amelia whispered. She sounded hurt, and Mary took her hand, squeezing it tight.

“You had the baby to think of,” she reminded her gently. “I didn’t want to burden you with that knowledge, not when I knew there was little you could do to change it, anyway.”

“Arran could have…”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Mary assured her. “I have a way out. I’m marrying Kiernan, and you know our father will respect that, just as he respected your union with Arran.”

She nodded slowly. She knew Mary was right, much as she wished there was some other way to go about it. She swiped a tear away from her eye, and ran a hand through her hair.

“There’s nothing I can do to change your mind, is there?” she asked, and Mary shook her head.

“I have my heart set on him,” she replied. Though, in truth, she knew it was far from her heart that had chosen this man for her.

“Then I suppose you should go to him,” Amelia suggested, managing a small smile, though it looked as though it pained her.

“I suppose I should,” Mary agreed, her heart skipping several beats inside her chest as she realized what she was about to do. With one last look in the mirror, she tugged the shawl a little tighter around her shoulders, and made her way to the door, ready, at last, to become his wife.

Downstairs, in the chapel, the place was cold and nearly empty. Mary did not mind the lack of witnesses, though she wished Lily had been there to see it; she supposed her younger sister would have had a few choice words for her, given the suddenness of what she was doing, but she did not know how often she would be able to see them again when all of this was said and done.

Kiernan stood at the altar, next to the priest. His eyes were fixed on her when she stepped into the room, as cool and blue as the river that ran through Stonehaven just a few miles away, and she offered him a small smile. Slowly, she made her way towards him, counting each footstep and each heartbeat, the last she’d have as a maiden.

When she reached him, his hand slipped to hers, just as it had on the night that he had stolen her away from the kitchen. If she had not gone with him then, would this have happened at all? If she was able, would she have turned back the clock and undone it all?

As his thumb skimmed over her knuckles, she knew the answer. No. She knew she would have ended up here no matter what she had done, and she wouldn’t have changed a thing.

“We are gathered here today…” droned the priest, in an almost bored tone, as though he could hardly wait to get this ceremony over with. Despite his attitude, Mary could feel excitement and nervousness prickling along her spine, twisting into a mess she did not know how to make sense of.

As the priest spoke, she could feel his eyes on her, studying her like he was taking her in for the first time. She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye, as though looking at him too hard might draw her mind in the direction of something unholy, in a place of such sanctity.

The light filtered in through the small windows that surrounded them, and landed on his face in such a way as to cause shadows on his jaw and his cheekbones. He looked sharp, like a wolf emerging from the kill. His grip tightened on her slightly, as though he could sense her nervousness, and refused to let his prey rush away from him before he’d had his fill.

“Lay your hands on the binding stone,” The priest ordered, and Mary tentatively pressed her hand onto the large rock that rose from the center of the altar. Along the base, tangled knots had been carved, rising up into a large cross that reached almost to the top. A tradition in this part of the world, she had been told, though one that felt entirely foreign to her. He planted his hand on top of hers, the pressure of it, the warmth, comforting in its firmness.

“Repeat after me,” The priest continued, and, as he began to read the vows, Kiernan repeated them back to her. He did not break her gaze for a moment as those sacred words passed his lips for the first time.

“You are blood of my blood from this day forward. Bone of my bone. Flesh of my flesh…”

The words hung there between them, as he gazed down at her. Her heart twisted in her chest. Could a man like that ever really agree to such a promise, and mean it?

She stared at him, trying to read his expression. She was only standing there, after all, to escape the fate her father had chosen for her. Who was to say that he didn’t have similar motivations, something darker and less honest than she could read? If his past was anything to go by, she struggled to trust that he could even begin to mean-

"I give you my body, in this life, and my spirit in the next. Forever, I am yours…"

He flicked his tongue out over his lips before he finished, as though savoring the words.

“And you are mine.”

His? She was his? Her heart thudded in her chest at the thought. Perhaps he was not a pious man, perhaps he only saw this as a way to get her into his bed…

Though she supposed she was not much better than him, given the way she was using him to avoid the fate her father had chosen for her.

She stuttered out her vows, tripping over the words a few times before she managed them in their entirety, but he slipped the ring onto her finger, a binding in gold, she could see the satisfaction in his eyes. He had her right where he had wanted her from the day they had danced together at that ceilidh.

And now, she was his to do with as he pleased. Though what exactly that meant remained to be seen.

A carriage was waiting for them outside, to take them back to the Fraser estate, half a day’s ride away. Amelia and Arran came out with them to their transport, and Amelia pulled her sister into a tight hug before she went.

“You’ll write as soon as you get the chance, won’t you?” she fussed over her, picking a strand of hair from her dress where it had slipped from between the violets. Mary nodded.

“Of course I will…”

“Aye, if she finds the time,” Kiernan cut in, a devilish smile on his face. Mary’s lips parted in shock, and Arran bristled with anger, but Amelia took his hand and squeezed it tight, silently warning him that now Kiernan was part of the family, any quarrel he had with him would have to wait.

Kiernan offered Mary a hand to help her into the carriage, and, soon, the two of them were off. Mary peered through the window, towards the Aitken Keep, which had been her home for so long now. She was leaving behind her sister, her nephew, her family, everything that she had known, for a man she scarcely knew. Had she made the right choice?

To her surprise, she felt his hand cover hers where it sat on the seat between them. She glanced over at him, and she could sense from the way he was looking at her that he could feel her doubts.

“Have ye traveled much around the Highlands? Away from the Keep?”

She shook her head.

“There’s much of this fine country to see, lass. And ye’ll find plenty to like in it, I’m sure.”

His words were almost tender, catching her off-guard for a moment. In all the time she had known him, as little as that was, she had not known him to be a man who offered comfort when he sensed it was needed. He tightened his grip on her hand slightly, giving it a comforting squeeze, and she managed to offer a small smile back to him. It might not have been much, but she would cling to any vestige of kindness she could from her new husband.

As the carriage carried them over one of the large hills that surrounded the Aitken estate, she peppered him with a few questions to pass the time; about where he had grown up, what it had been like here for him, how the people were. She avoided conversation about his father, knowing it might have edged too close to a sensitive subject, but he answered her queries with an ease and openness that surprised her.

“You’ve never been to England?” she asked him, slightly surprised when he confessed that he had never left Scotland. He shook his head.

“I cannae say I have.”

“Perhaps we’ll travel there together one day,” she suggested. “And I can be your guide.”

He eyed her for a moment, amusement flashing across his face.

“Aye, maybe you will.”

Soon enough, they arrived at the Fraser Keep, an imposing building, slightly larger than Arran’s estate that sprawled across the top of one of the largest hills and looked down upon a scattering of villages and farms below. A river looped around the bottom of it, the water dark under the dimming sky above them. It looked as though it could have gone on forever, there, under the starry sky, as though there was no end to the depths it reached to.

The carriage drew to a halt outside the large wooden door that led into the Keep, and Kiernan climbed out first, once again offering her his hand to help her down. She glanced around, drawing in a deep breath, trying to remind herself that this place was to be her home.

Two men stood at the doors, and they opened them for their arriving master. She noticed that one of them was staring at her with distinct confusion in his eyes. Had they heard about the wedding at all? Did they know it was due to take place? Kiernan seemed a man of such confusing notions, she could hardly tell the answer to it.

Inside, a large main hall was flanked by more guards, both of them carrying heavy swords that were slung around their waists. The sight of them sent a shiver down her spine. She knew they were only there to keep enemies at bay, but she couldn’t help but feel as though they might have been there to keep her trapped.

She jumped when she felt his hand resting gently on the small of her back. He seemed to sense her doubt, and she glanced up at him, hoping that her emotions were not written too obviously over her face.

“Ye’ll be safe here, lass,” he promised her, his voice dropping slightly. “I’ll make sure o’ that.”

But the way he said it, it was almost as though he intended it as some kind of threat. Like he was making sure she understood that this was where she belonged, and this was where she would stay. She managed a smile, but, at the back of her mind, doubts began to nag with a discomforting force.

She yawned, trying her best to stifle it. Truth be told, she couldn’t stop thinking about what they might be expected to do together, now that they were here. It was, after all, their wedding night, and she supposed that consummation was on the cards.

But then, he moved his hand from her back, breaking the connection between them. He turned to one of the guards, speaking sharply.

“Call down the lady’s maids, have them attend to my new bride here.”

A wave of shock ran through the room. Of everything they’d expected him to say, she suspected, that had been the very last. Had he not sent word back to his people that he would be returning with a woman at his side? Or perhaps they had not believed him, thinking it would be far too soon for something so enormous to have actually taken place.

But she barely had time to take it in before the guard had left, and returned with two younger women, both of whom curtsied to her as though she were some kind of royalty. She bit down hard on her lip, fighting the urge to assure them that they had to take no such niceties around her, but, she supposed, she had married the Laird of this place. She needed to get used to people treating her as their Lady.

“This way, my lady,” one of the girls told her, gesturing for the door, and the other took her arm to steer her out of the room and towards what would soon be her bedchamber. She cast one last look over her shoulder, at her newfound husband, but he was already stalking off down an opposing corridor, to what end, she didn’t know.

But she got the feeling she would soon find out, one way or another, the truth of what lay beneath the surface of her husband’s veneer.