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Suddenly, the lightness in her eyes disappeared and they filled with pain. “My father would have loved to know, if he were alive.” She shook her head and met his eyes. “Shall we do this thing, or what? You need the estate, right?”
Did it really matter who he was marrying? He didn’t know this woman, but neither did he know Èibhlin. And he wanted more of that warmth, more of that joy and that sense of freedom she radiated.
But… He really didn’t know anything about her. What if she was lying? What if she was a charlatan? Who agreed to marry a man they just met?
What if she was sent by Euphemia?
But he needed a woman. Seoc would soon be on his way.
“Look, lass,” he said, scraping the ground with the edge of his shoe, “I think I was in a hurry, after all. Perhaps ’tis best we get to ken each other a wee bit and set the wedding day in a few days…a sennight or so? To meet yer family?”
“I’ll be gone by then,” she said with a sad smile. “But if you don’t need my help, it’s fine. I’m okay either way.”
“But how can ye say yes to marrying a perfect stranger? Usually marriages are arranged years before, and ye—”
She shrugged. “Everything is an adventure, Raghnall Mackenzie, isn’t it?” Then her face fell and she went silent, staring at him like he was the worst news she’d ever gotten.
“Lass?” he said.
She shook her head and the dreadful expression was gone. “I heard about you,” she said.
He sighed. Based on her expression, this was bad. “Aye, I see that ye did.”
“No.” She smiled. “What I heard was good, it just means…” She shook her head again. “Never mind. Everything’s fine. Look, I’m on an adventure and I want to enjoy my time. And if it means marrying a jaw-droppingly gorgeous Highlander, then so be it.”
He eyed her, his lips spreading in a grin again. She was odd, and different, and…like a gulp of fresh air. “No one ever called me that before.”
She arched her eyebrow. “Well, their loss. Look, I’m not sure how long this adventure will last, so I don’t have tomorrow or a week from now. It has to be today. It has to be now.”
She was right. It had to be now. And if she was a spy, or a madwoman, or the Queen of England in disguise, he’d deal with that later.
“Aye, lass,” he said. “Adventure, ye say? I ken what an adventure is. Only, with me, ye may be in for more than ye’ve bargained for. Come.” He took her hand in his, and the touch sent a burst of warm tingling through his veins, like he’d just plunged his hand into a bucket of starlight. “I have a dress for ye.”
He leaned down and picked up the chest he’d been sitting on, then tugged her into the church and found Father Nicholas. While the lass was changing in Father Nicholas’s quarters, Raghnall explained that he’d found his bride. He also sent a village boy to the castle to fetch Angus and the rest of the family for the wedding, and to tell them to continue preparing the wedding feast.
Then he waited outside for what felt like another eternity. But surprisingly quickly, his family appeared at the square before the church, looking around.
“Where is she?” Angus barked. “What kind of bride is almost a day late?”
The kind of bride that Raghnall had just met. But before Raghnall could say that, the church door opened, and she walked out, and everything around Raghnall stopped existing. Angus, Rogene, Laomann…all of them.
Because seeing her in this dress made all the trouble of making the dress, and waiting for a bride who’d disappeared, worth it.
From an odd woman in a man’s clothing, she’d turned into the most beautiful lady he’d ever seen. The rich blue silk of the dress streamed like water down to Lady Bryanna’s thin waist and feminine hips. The silver and gold patterns of flowers and leaves on her bodice sparkled like morning dew on a spiderweb. The long sleeves covered her arms and fell almost to the ground, their insides lined with golden silk. The skirt of the dress fell from her round hips to the earth, and as she walked towards him, it moved around her long legs. He’d seen them earlier, being hugged by her breeches, and yet this movement of the silky fabric made his imagination run wild.
Made him want to put his hand under her skirt, run his palm up her leg, and feel how smooth her skin was.
She stood before him, her eyes locked with his as though she didn’t see anyone else, either. Raghnall itched to take her hands in his.
This wasn’t real, he told himself. Well, the marriage would be legal.
As he took her hands in his, he told himself he wouldn’t fall for her. He wouldn’t truly consider her his wife in his heart. That was the only condition upon which he’d marry her. He wouldn’t tell it to her, but he couldn’t love her. No matter how bright her green eyes were, sparkling like the surface of the loch in the sun.
No matter how soft and warm and right her hands felt in his.
No matter that no one had made his blood boil like she had just now—not since Mòrag.
Maybe not ever.
