Page 50 of The Queen and the Half-blood
It pissed him off that it did.
They’d clashed on the walls too, especially after she told him about the peace envoy she’d sent north. When her anger spiked, he could have sworn the amber ring on her right hand flickered, as if a flame had ignited in its depths.
How strange.
He couldn’t dwell on that at present—not with his bride-to-be just a few yards away.
The High Queen’s druids and warriors were staring at him now. These people had never accepted him, but soon, they’d have a Half-blood prince consort.
Lara stepped up before him and halted.
The chief-counsellor cleared her throat. “Ready, My Queen?” There was a sharpness in the woman’s voice. Annis mac Gord was looking for a sign that the High Queen wished to call this whole thing off.
But she wouldn’t.
She couldn’t.
The blood oath would hold her to her promise.
Lara nodded, a nerve flickering in her cheek.
“Very well … face each other, and clasp hands.”
Alar and Lara swiveled so they were before each other, and then Alar took the initiative, reaching out and taking her hand. It was ice-cold, and as his thumb brushed over the soft skin of the underside of her wrist, he felt the flutter of her pulse.
The chief-counsellor began to wrap a length of pine-green ribbon around their clasped hands. “Alar mac Struana, Commander of the wulvers, I join you with Lara mac Talorc, High Queen of Albia.” She paused then, her gaze flicking between them. “May The Mother light your paths. May The Warrior protect you. May The Maiden grant you a bounteous family. May The Hag bless you both with long, healthy lives … and may The Reaper stay far from your door.”
Alar’s pulse quickened. He’d made his pact with Lara without giving any thought to the ceremony that would bind them. It was nothing but a means to an end. He’d planned to get through it as quickly as possible. But the words that the druid spoke, in her low, solemn voice, made him uneasy.
He was making a mockery of this ceremony, of the promises he’d made, and for an instant, he was sorry.
“Alar, repeat these vows after me,” the chief-counsellor instructed. “I, Alar mac Struana, Commander of the wulvers, pledge to protect you, Lara mac Talorc, High Queen of Albia, with my body and my life.”
Alar did as bidden, speaking the words slowly and deliberately, as if they meant something to him. And when it was Lara’s turn, she held his gaze, her voice husky yet steady. “I, Lara, mac Talorc, High Queen of Albia, pledge to honor you, Alar mac Struana, Commander of the wulvers … with my body and my life.”
They stared at each other then, as if seeing each other properly for the first time. The moment drew out until the druid’s voice intruded. “You are now wed.” She unwrapped the length of ribbon from around their hands before retreating a few steps. “You may kiss your bride.”
Lara’s face blanched at this, and something deep inside him clenched.
Did she dread his touch so much?
Sidestepping his reaction, he moved close to his bride, cupped her face with his hands, and lowered his mouth to hers.
Lara didn’t glance her husband’s way as they rode, side by side, up The Thoroughfare. A crowd had gathered by the roadside, curious gazes tracking the newlyweds. There was no cheering or fanfare though.
No one threw rose petals or called out well-wishes. Many brows were furrowed.
Although their reaction didn’t bode well, Lara was relieved that no one was making a fuss. She was also thankful the ceremony was over, for she’d been dreading the kiss. Fortunately, he’d kept it brief and chaste. Perfunctory.
That was good. Once today was done with, they could focus on what really mattered: taking back The Uplands.
The wedding party reached the top of the fort, riding into the yard before the broch and dismounting from their horses. Alar swung down from his horse first and helped her down from hers. His behavior was expected, a gesture she’d already seen from him in Doure. Nonetheless, his hand on her back made her mouth go dry and her pulse race.
It was a reminder of what was to come.
Within the broch, the hall had been decorated for their arrival, with boughs of fragrant pine and trailing streamers of ivy. Banks of candles flickered against the walls.
“It smells like a forest in here,” Alar noted as they crossed the floor, covered in fresh rushes and dried lavender and rosemary.
