Page 37 of The Beast's Bride
Clenching his jaw, Taran shifted his attention back to Rhona. He didn’t care what they said about him—he’d developed a tough hide over the years—but he did care that Rhona was now the subject of ridicule. By winning the games, he’d humiliated her.
But it was too late to be sorry for it now.
The priest stood behind him, and MacLeod and his wife watched from the side of the dais that Rhona now approached.
Even if he’d wanted to, Taran couldn’t stop this.
Rhona forced herself to stop staring at the great shield, which had once belonged to her grandfather, upon the wall. With great reluctance, she lowered her gaze and let it rest upon Taran.
She’d never seen him dressed this way.
Taran wore braies of plaid, bearing the green and red cross-hatching of his clan, the MacKinnons. Supple boots of dark leather covered his lower legs. Across his broad shoulders and muscular torso, he wore a crisp white léine. His rugged jaw was freshly shaven, his short dark-blond hair still slightly damp from bathing.
Rhona stiffened as she studied him. His ice-blue eyes were steady as he watched her approach; nothing on his scarred, forbidding face gave his thoughts away.
Why are ye doing this?
She wanted to rage at him, yet her anger would have to wait till later.
The priest, a slight young man with thinning dark hair and sharp blue eyes, stepped forward. Rhona stopped next to Taran before the dais, and both of them faced the priest. “Please join hands.”
Rhona swallowed before reaching out with her left hand. A heartbeat later Taran took it, his big hand enveloping hers. His touch though was gentle, his skin warm and dry. He didn’t seem to be nervous, not like her.
The priest stepped down to meet them. In his hands he held a length of MacLeod plaid: yellow, black, and grey, threaded with red.
Slowly, he bound it around their joined hands, and then he began to speak. The man had a quiet, yet powerful voice that carried over the hushed crowd. “Behold the bride and groom … who will be joined today in the sight of God in holy matrimony.”
The priest continued, reciting the words Rhona had heard many times, for she’d attended a number of handfastings over the years. But Rhona barely listened today.
She could hear little over the thundering of her own heart.
Chapter Seventeen
The Bedding Ceremony
“TO THE BRIDE and groom!”
Malcolm MacLeod stood at the head of the chieftain’s table, drinking horn aloft. His gaze scanned the room, as if he dared anyone to contradict him.
None would.
Seated next to her new husband, Rhona watched her father. Handfastings were supposed to be joyous occasions, yet there was no happiness on MacLeod’s face this evening. His eyes gleamed, and his bearded jaw was tight.
“To the bride and groom.” Voices echoed high into the rafters of the Great Hall, and although Rhona dared not look at the faces of those surrounding her, she could hear mockery there. All of them had expected her to wed the son of another clan-chief, not MacLeod’s Hound.
Rhona kept her gaze fastened upon the large, empty wooden platter before her. She would share the coming feast with Taran off it. The aroma of roast venison and mutton wafted through the hall. She wasn’t sure how she was going to manage a mouthful without gagging.
Her father sank his bulk back down into the carven chair at the head of the table, and the rest of the hall followed suit. Conversation erupted as guests fell upon the feast.
Rhona swallowed as she watched Taran carve slices of venison and mutton, help himself to turnips mashed with butter and milk, and spoon a good helping of braised onions onto their platter. He then reached for a basket of bread studded with walnuts and held it out to her.
For the first time since the ceremony, Rhona raised her gaze to look at him. And in the midst of the feasters, the pair stared at each other for a heartbeat. It was a silent, guarded look. Taran’s face was serious, although his eyes were shadowed. As she watched him, her husband’s throat bobbed, before he wet his lips.
Hewasnervous.The realization came as a surprise. The man had appeared hewn from stone until now.
“Bread?” he asked, when the silence between them drew taut.
Rhona nodded. She had not smiled once since entering this hall. The way she felt right now, she wondered if she’d ever feel light of heart again. Unspeaking, she took a bread roll and turned her gaze from him.
