Page 14 of Married to the Icy Highlander
“It isnae about gifts, lass. I willnae make ye me bride in a dress that was meant for another man.”
She was close enough that he could kiss her if he had a mind to do it. The scent of almonds tickled his senses once again.
She didn’t have the slightest idea how tempting she was, did she? His grip on her arm loosened, his thumb brushing over the fabric of her sleeve, his gaze dropping to drink in every detail of her pretty face, the curve of her neck, and the swell of her heaving breasts.
Catching himself, he moved back a pace and dropped her arm. What had come over him? If he lingered any longer, he wasn’t sure he would be able to stop himself from ravishing her.
Neil turned on his heel and hurried out of the distillery.
6
It never failed to impress Ceana how the power of a laird could move things so quickly. Her first wedding had not been half as fancy as this one, but it had been difficult enough to plan. Granted, she ended up at the altar alone, but that was not going to happen to her for a second time.
How silly that it was even a fear.
Nerves coiled in her gut. She couldn’t stop worrying about the day and the ceremony itself. She wanted to get it over with, to know that it was handled and that she had done her duty. But her mother’s fussing wasn’t helping either.
Ida had moved the pins in Ceana’s hair over a dozen times now, and she pinched her cheeks to make them more pink.
It was more than what was necessary, but her mother would hear none of it. The dress that the Laird had chosen for her wasstunning—a pretty emerald-green piece with silver embroidery on the bottom of the skirt and all over the bodice. The cream-colored sleeves and inserts matched the stockings that had been gifted to her as well.
It was the finest dress she had ever worn. She supposed that if their arrangement didn’t work out in the way she wished it to, she would have gained a wonderful dress out of it.
Peter had left his cat, Myrtle, at home for the occasion, but Ceana had a sneaking suspicion that the creature would show up sooner or later at the least opportune moment. Her mother had insisted on accompanying her—not that Ceana would have fought her on it—and Peter was nearly beside himself with excitement. He wouldn’t stop bouncing up and down on his feet for anything. Ceana knew that it was the wedding feast that he was actually looking forward to.
“It’s almost time,” her mother said, tugging at the waist of her dress one last time to make sure that everything was exactly where it needed to be.
“Aye,” Ceana answered absently.
“The Laird seems like a good man.”
They already had this conversation over a dozen times. Ida was pushing and pushing to know what Ceana truly thought of her soon-to-be husband or her plans for the future, even though Ceana was not answering any of her questions or comments.
“I think ye are doin’ a brave thing, Ceana,” Ida continued. “I dinnae ken how this arrangement came about, or how yer strong personalities will work together, but I think it could be a very good match. And if it’s nae, ye come right back home. Ye hear me?”
Ceana smiled softly, pushing her nerves aside as best as she could. This was the only option she had left. With the Laird’s help, she would have protection, power, and sufficient income to keep on the whole staff at the distillery and then some.
“I hear ye, Maither. Ye dinnae need to worry about me. I promise.”
“I’ll worry anyway,” Ida insisted, squeezing her shoulders softly before turning to walk her down the aisle.
The Great Hall of the castle had been transformed for the occasion. The long dining tables had been pushed to the sides, but they were covered with flower displays. Clansmen and women stood on either side in their best clothes, their attention fixed on Ceana. But hers was fixed on the large Scotsman waiting for her at the end of the aisle.
The knot of uncertainty in her gut started to unfurl when she saw him standing there. She could hardly believe how worked up she had gotten over such a silly thing as him not being at the other end of the aisle in his very own castle.
The intensity in his eyes was hard to look away from, even when his daughter tugged at the hem of his kilt and then whisperedsomething to him that Ceana couldn’t hear. The Laird nodded to his daughter, who then scurried off to her waiting nurse.
When Ceana stopped before him, she could hardly breathe. Her mother pulled her in for a kiss on the cheek and then moved to stand beside Peter to watch the ceremony.
“I chose a good dress,” the Laird commented.
“Are ye unable to pay women proper compliments?” Ceana returned without the usual bite in her voice.
She simply couldn’t get the poison to come out. She was spending all of her energy onnotshaking. It was not marriage that she was nervous about… it was this strange tension that filled her every time the Laird stood this close to her. She couldn’t predict his actions.
Growing up in the village, encountering Ferguson as often as she had, Ceana liked to think that she had a fairly good understanding of men and how they acted. But the Laird? He was like no one she had met before.
Sparks traveled up her arm as he took her hand in his. The handfasting, the wedding ceremony itself—even the vows she repeated—seemed to pass in a blur, and she couldn’t get her heart to settle for anything. The words blended together as time seemed to both speed up and slow down, all coming to a head only when she heard the priest declare that the Laird could now kiss his bride.
