Breathe,she reminded herself,breathe and just try to get through this. Then, ye can find a way to try to get out of it.
Her father prodded her in the back, urging her forward to begin her march toward the aisle.
The moment they stepped into the cathedral itself, Emilie’s breath stuttered.
The large, cavernous room filled with the sound of an organ and bagpipes was almost entirely empty.
Her mother was in one of the pews, sitting at the very front of the church and facing forward. There were two other people on the right side of the aisle.
A man and a woman.
Unlike her mother, they were standing, staring at her with barely concealed interest.
The rest of the pews were entirely empty. And not just of people.
There were no decorations.
Typically, the crest of the clan would be displayed. Flowers would be everywhere, as well as sparkling gems and benches wrapped in tartan.
But there was none of that.
Ye would think the weddin’ of a laird would be a wee bit more extravagant.
At the thought of the Laird, Emilie’s eyes flicked to the front of the church, directly in front of her. She was close to the end of the aisle, and her eyes landed immediately on the man who was standing there, waiting for her.
Oh. But he’s handsome.
The thought caught her off guard, an unfamiliar flutter in her chest causing her to feel a little more breathless. Her gown was tight enough.
The stiff, thick fabric hugged her waist, outlining every bit of her curves. The tartan skirts that billowed around her feet left little room for air to slip through.
Although, mayhaps passin’ out at Laird McGregor’s feet may work in me favor. Surely he wouldnae marry an unconscious lass.
Her father passed Emilie off to him swiftly, as if he couldn’t wait to get rid of her. Closer to her new husband now, Emilie couldn’t deny that he looked like the type of man who wouldn’t care if she was unconscious or not.
He was tall, much taller than Emilie’s father or any of the few men she had ever seen making deliveries at the abbey. His dark hair had been brushed back from his face, secured at the nape of his neck with a thin strip of leather.
His cheekbones were high, a thin white scar running along the left side under his eyes. A well-trimmed beard adorned the bottom half of his face, framing plump, wide-set lips.
Emilie had never understood when the other girls would titter behind their hands at the sight of a man. Had never experienced the butterflies the other girls had claimed to feel, and had never daydreamed about what it might be like to catch their fancy.
All Emilie had ever believed was that men were simply a distraction put in her path, begging to take her focus away from where it truly belonged. Which was on God.
Laird McGregor, however, made her think that she might not be as immune to the charms of men as she had previously thought.
The music stopped as she stared up into the Laird’s face, his cold, gray eyes regarding her skeptically as the priest beside them began to speak.
“We have gathered today to join this man and this woman, before the eyes of God and Clan, in holy matrimony.”
The priest’s voice was nasal, turning into nothing more than the droning of bees in the back of Emilie’s mind as she withdrew into herself.
She couldn’t listen. She didn’t want to.
She didn’t want to hear the priest promising the Laird that she would obey him in everything that she did. That she would honor him.
No. Emilie’s vows were not for this man, this stranger who would claim dominion over her.
Emilie’s vows were for God and God alone.