Page 64 of Winter Longing
“Ye dinna get to fail her, nae even once,” he said, nearly eye to eye with Cole, “Nae Torr Cinnteag. I’ll be watching for any opportunity to cast ye out—either walking or being carried in a pine box, makes nae difference to me.”
Cole didn’t blink as he nodded solemnly.Good talk.
Father Gilbert arrived then as Tavis stepped aside, entering from the door at the side of the altar. He positioned himself in front of the altar and signaled Cole to approach. He looked...on edge, which was not particularly reassuring. The priest's gaze darted between Cole and Tavis as though he expected he’d have to break up a fight at any moment.
And then came Ailsa...
Cole’s breath caught as she entered the chapel. She moved toward him with a quiet grace, her steps judged as just slightly less than hesitant, her hands clasped tightly in front of herthough she carried no bouquet. Her gown, though simple, was undeniably beautiful—a light blue wool embroidered with delicate vines of white and gold along the hem and neckline. The threads caught the faint light of the candles, glistening, giving her an almost ethereal glow. Her dark auburn hair, loose and cascading over her shoulders, framed her face, accentuating the gentle angle of her cheeks and the delicate curve of her jaw. Her face was pale, her expression tense, and her eyes—those striking blue eyes—flicked toward him only briefly before darting away. She was nervous, he could plainly see, but she was also radiant.
As she arrived at his side, he caught the faint scent of lavender, subtle but enough to momentarily cut through the incense. The combination of the two scents—earthy and floral—etched themselves into his memory.
If she had looked at him then, or at any point during her short procession, he knew he would have smiled at her. He wanted to offer her something—a silent assurance that everything would be all right. Whether or not it would prove true, he couldn’t say. But in that moment, it felt like a small and meaningful gift he could give her, a sliver of peace amidst the uncertainty.
The ceremony began, Father Gilbert’s voice low and steady as he spoke the necessary words. Cole barely heard them, his attention fixed on Ailsa. She didn’t look at him directly, her gaze flickering between the priest and some point beyond him, but every now and then, her eyes darted his way.
Cole was pretty sure that Tank and Anwen were the only people smiling.
When Ailsa finally met his gaze, prompted by Father Gilbert’s instruction to face each other and recite their vows, Cole seized the moment to look directly into her eyes. He didn’t blink, his stare steady and intentional, trying to convey his resolve. This was his way of showing her that he’d madehis peace with their union, as much as one could under such circumstances, and that he was stepping into it willingly.
As he repeated his vows, which the priest kindly recited in English, and while Cole had no illusions about this marriage, being born of necessity, not choice, he couldn’t help but feel an odd, tiny surge of joy.
***
With little fanfare, they emerged from the chapel into the biting air of the courtyard. Ailsa flinched as icy rain began to fall, the cold droplets stinging her skin. To her surprise, Cole reached for her hand, taking it firmly in his own as they crossed the bailey. The strength of his grip and the warmth of his palm against hers, warding off the chill, offered a quiet reassurance she hadn’t known she needed.
Inside the keep, Ailsa and Cole, Tavis and Tank took their seats at the family’s table. The supper hour had arrived and the hall filled quickly, the chatter of the Sinclair folks carrying an air of normalcy that felt at odds with the monumental shift in Ailsa’s life. Most of the attendees arrived blissfully unaware of the marriage that had just taken place, greeting one another with laughter and the occasional complaint about the cold or the day’s work.
Once everyone was seated, Tavis rose, his expression composed but his jaw tight—a telltale sign to Ailsa of his frustration, though no one else would likely notice. He raised a hand for silence, and the room quieted. His tone was firm, yet laced with an unmistakable edge of forced goodwill as he announced, “Before we begin, I bring news. My sister, Ailsa, is now wed to Cole Carter, who has already proven himself a loyal and willing ally to Torr Cinnteag.”
Ailsa felt the weight of every gaze turn to her and Cole, some only mildly curious while others appeared utterly stunned. Her heart quickened as murmurs spread through the hall, but she lifted her chin defiantly.
Tavis continued, his voice steady. “This marriage was conducted with my blessing, as is proper. We welcome Cole as one of us, as... our kin now.”
Though his words were smooth, Ailsa detected the subtle undertone of tension, a barely veiled warning to anyone who might question the union. It was, she realized, an act for the sake of the clan, a show of unity and control. Though she believed her brother’s amiability was feigned, it was clear he meant to leave no room for dissent.
Ailsa’s gaze shifted to Cole, who sat quietly beside her, his posture relaxed but his eyes scanning the room, clearly aware of the scrutiny. For all the awkwardness of the day, he looked remarkably composed. She wondered what he was thinking, whether he felt as out of place as she suddenly did.
As the meal began and the hall returned to its usual hum of conversation, Ailsa tried to act as though this evening was no different from any other. Yet, a quiet ache gnawed at her—a nervous little voice whispering that Cole Carter didn’t appear even remotely pleased about their marriage.
She wasn’t blind to the circumstances. She knew he had married her to escape the dungeon and whatever grim fate awaited him, but still, she had allowed herself to hope. Surely, after that kiss—the one that had upended both their lives—and the one before it, there must have been some spark of feeling on his part.
Now, she wasn’t so certain. Throughout the meal, his jaw remained clenched, his expression tight, as though the entire affair was an ordeal
Though this wasn’t a proper wedding feast—there were no toasts, no speeches, no honored guests, and no music played in celebration of their union—Ailsa had tried to treat the supper as a normal evening, but in her heart, it felt monumental. Yet, seeing Cole’s unchanged—or perhaps slightly darker—demeanor left her feeling small and disheartened by the end of the meal.
Finally, as courage and desperation warred within her, she summoned the nerve to speak. “Ye are nae pleased,” she ventured softly, her voice careful, hesitant. “Despite having your freedom.”
The words seemed to shift something in him. His gaze slid to hers, and though his expression softened slightly, his tone remained clipped.
“Ailsa, I’m not upset—certainly not with you,” he said, though the frustration laced in his voice suggested otherwise. “I understand you’re bound by the rules and conventions of this time. But I’m not, or at least I wasn’t meant to be. Where I come from, something as...harmless as a kiss would’ve done little more than raise a few eyebrows. To end up imprisoned for it, forced into marriage...” He exhaled sharply. “It’s a lot to accept.”
Her heart sank, though she kept her voice steady. “Ye dinna want to be wed to me,” she concluded quietly.
He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to beforcedto marry—you or anyone,” he admitted, his voice strained. “Christ, Ailsa, don’t you find it odd that your brother doesn’t trust me, yet he allowed this to happen?”
“He is trying to protect me,” she replied, though the words felt hollow as she said them.
Cole scoffed, his disbelief evident. “He’s got a funny way of showing it.”
