Page 15 of A Bride for the Wicked Highlander (Daring a Highland Laird #2)

“ I didnae think I’d ever see this day,” Hunter said, pretending to brush a tear from his cheek while his lips lifted in a smirk.

Oscar adjusted the leather cuffs on his wrists, willing the church door to open so this could be over and done with.

He hadn’t slept well, despite his hopes, and after spending three hours in the training yard since dawn to try and rid himself of the ominous feeling in his chest, he wasn’t in the mood for a lengthy ceremony.

Or to be kept waiting. Or to have to endure his friend’s twisted enjoyment of the situation.

“I thought I’d be watchin’ Ellie get married long before ye tied yerself to anyone,” Hunter persisted.

His tone was teasing, but his expression carried a more somber weight, as if he was hoping that Oscar might change his mind at the last moment. At breakfast, Hunter had reiterated his conscientious disapproval, and once again, Oscar had told him not to worry.

But what if he’s right? What if I’m makin’ a terrible mistake here? Nae for me, but for her.

The church doors opened to seal his fate, the tiny congregation of Ryder, Betty-Ann, and half of the council rising in respect to the bride.

The old woman had tried to convince Oscar to do a hand-fasting after the church ceremony, to honor the ancient gods, but he’d made it clear what he thought of that.

He was under enough scrutiny without people finding out and calling him a heretic.

“Well... isnae that somethin’,” Hunter said in a softer tone, the sudden shift drawing his friend’s attention away from the reverend and the altar to the new arrival.

Oscar’s heart lurched into his throat, his jaw dropping in awe as he took in the vision that was his bride.

He’d never seen anything so beautiful in all his life.

All the majestic views from mountaintops, or the loch on a perfect summer’s day, or the magical sight of the world blanketed in pristine snow, paled in comparison to the heavenly creature gracing the church with her presence.

She wore a gown of gleaming silk, in a color he had no name for.

It reminded him of the faerie pools in autumn, when the hue of the water changed from dark green to almost blue.

It reminded him of the banded stripes on a teal duck’s head, the bluish-green feathers so vibrant and unusual that one had no choice but to believe in divine creation.

Against Maddie’s alabaster skin, it too made him believe in the divine.

It was as if the color had been created for her and her alone, complementing the wavy tendrils of bronzed hair that cascaded down to her waist. A braided crown held some of it back off her face, making her look like one of those almighty goddesses of old, who had emerged from the woodland to spend time among mere mortals.

The gown clung to her in all the most wondrous places, revealing what he hadn’t been able to truly admire in the shadows of last night.

Her narrow waist made his palms tingle with the urge to see if he could fit his hands around, her skirts gathered at her hips, forming a slender, perfect hourglass.

The neckline was low, hemmed with a band of golden, embroidered silk, accentuating the swell of small, ripe breasts. Tempting enough to bite.

What if I was wrong? His throat tightened. What if obsession is in me blood? It was roaring now, white-hot in his veins, rushing in his ears, thrumming with a kind of madness that would rob him of all discipline and reason if he didn’t restrain himself.

He clenched his hands into fists, swallowing hard as his bride began to approach, moving with the elegance of an angel, guided not by her father, but by Grace.

She was right to stop me last night. He schooled his expression into steely resolve. I cannae allow meself to slip again.

Less pleasant visions crept into the back of his mind, of his mother’s tears and gaunt face, her forced smile as she struggled to pretend to her sons that all was well.

Oscar heard the echo of his father’s jealous rages, the soft sobbing behind the locked door of his mother’s bedchamber on the night of a ceilidh, the hatred in his father’s voice when his mother had dared to hug her sons or hold them or tend to them.

The utter isolation. The loneliness that had killed her.

Oscar couldn’t allow himself to end up a jealous monster like his father. Or worse, for Maddie to end up like his mother: the sole object of one man’s relentless, insane obsession, bearing it until she simply couldn’t endure it anymore.

But the closer Maddie got, the quieter those darker thoughts became. By the time she was standing in front of him, a nervous smile upon her face, he couldn’t think of anything but her. Nothing else existed but the goddess he would soon possess, the bride that was about to be his wife.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Thank you for not changing your mind.”

Grace moved Maddie’s hand outward to give her away, performing the role of a father rather well.

But Oscar didn’t take her hand, remembering his vow the night before.

“Nay, lass. Thank ye for comin’ to me castle in the middle of the night and doin’ what me council have spent years tryin’, and failin’, to achieve.

I havenae seen ‘em so pleased in an age. Me clan, neither.” He put his arms behind his back and turned to face the reverend. “Priest, ye may begin.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Oscar noticed a confused look pass between Maddie and Grace.

Had Maddie forgotten already? Had she hoped that he had forgotten?

Either way, she gave a small shrug to her friend and stepped into place at Oscar’s side, ready to marry him, even if he wouldn’t take her hand.

“I don’t think you were listening last night when I said we ought to put on a united front,” Maddie whispered as the priest welcomed the sparse congregation to the proceedings.

“We’ll be united enough in matrimony,” he whispered back. “That’s plenty.”

She narrowed her eyes a touch, behind her spectacles. “It will look strange if you don’t take my hand.”

“Perhaps it will, but I willnae do it,” he replied quietly, half-listening to the priest. “I willnae touch ye at all.”

She peered up at him, her lips slightly parted in surprise.

It was bad enough that she was standing so close to him in that gown; he couldn’t trust himself to look back down at her, to see that mouth that he’d kissed, to torment himself with the knowledge that if she didn’t break her promise, he’d never kiss her again.

It took all the restraint he possessed to keep his attention fixed on the priest, reciting his vows when his turn came, listening to Maddie repeat hers. Knowing he would soon be released from the torture of proximity was the one thing that held him steady.

“It is me honor to pronounce ye man and wife,” the priest said to the hesitant smiles and reserved applause of the congregation. “Ye can kiss yer wife if ye so choose, to seal this bond between ye.”

Oscar smiled thinly at the priest. “I wouldnae embarrass me bride. They dinnae ken of our Scottish customs, so I’ll spare her that.”

A soft gasp slipped from Maddie’s throat, as she hissed out of the corner of her mouth, “You don’t know what I know of Scottish customs. I have been here for four years; I am not ignorant.”

“Nevertheless, I wouldnae want ye to do anythin’ ye’re nae comfortable with,” he replied with a sly smile, leaning in as he added in a whisper, “Unless, ye’ve decided that ye want to ken me touch after all? All ye need do is beg, lass, and I’ll kiss ye right now, in front of this congregation.”

She blinked, smoothing her hands down the stomach of her dress, clearly flustered. Either that, or she was torn between wanting to win their wager and not wanting his council and clan to think that this was a sham of a marriage.

“He is right, Father,” Maddie said sweetly, bowing her head in reverence to the priest. “I couldn’t possibly be so bold in front of company.

Where I hail from, even sitting beside a gentleman is an intimacy too far.

As such, you’ll forgive us if I don’t take his arm or have him hold my hand as we make our exit. ”

Flashing Oscar a sardonic smile, her hazel eyes ablaze with irritation and perhaps a touch of triumph, she turned on her heel and began to make her way back up the aisle.

On her journey, she thanked the guests, putting on quite the performance of a newly minted Lady Muir. All smiles and laughter, all gratitude and humility, no doubt believing that it would force Oscar to catch up to her.

Instead, he stood back and observed her theatrics, smirking to himself.

I should’ve kenned she wouldnae relent so easily. He cast a glance at the priest, who raised an eyebrow. Aye, she’s nae goin’ to be an easy one to tame.

Not that he cared about taming her. He didn’t care in the slightest. He couldn’t permit it. To be near her, to be entranced by her, to be drawn into the bewitching power of her, wasn’t a safe place for either of them to be.

And she still didn’t seem to realize it, with her taunts and her triumphant smiles. Indeed, as his own smirk faded, he wondered if allowing her to be wild and free, far from his castle, might be the best solution for both of them.

He thought of the universities that had already thrown her out, his pleasure from annoying her transforming into frustration.

Now that they were married, he had a promise to keep.

But how on earth was he supposed to get rid of her, under the guise of keeping that promise, when no institutions of education would have her?

How much would it cost, so that she doesnae suffer with me? What is the price of her freedom, so that she’ll never be caged?

His was not a poor clan, their prosperity and wealth increasing year on year, but he doubted there was enough to convince a university to educate a woman. There likely wasn’t enough money in the world.

Disgruntled, he walked after his bride, nodding to his council and the few guests, putting on a performance of his own. He’d thought that his end of the bargain was the easier one, but now he wasn’t so sure.

The wedding celebrations were a much larger affair than Oscar had expected, the Great Hall transformed with hanging lanterns, sprays of colorful dried flowers, clan tapestries that he hadn’t seen in years, and lively musicians who shouted to encourage the guests to dance.

As for the guests themselves, more had flooded in from out of nowhere: villagers, castle residents, the entire council and their extended families, as well as perfect strangers who seemed to have been invited in off the road.

The noise of merriment swelled to a deafening peak, everyone devouring the delicious, vast feast that had been prepared, everyone imbibing to their heart’s content, as if they’d needed this.

“Ye did this. Ye did this, though I asked for a quiet dinner,” Oscar muttered, passing Betty-Ann who seemed to be in her element, carrying a tray of spiced wine in little pewter cups. “Although, I suppose I should ask how ye did this.”

The gray-haired maid winked. “I couldnae let such a rare moment pass by without due festivities, m’laird. It’s bad luck to let a weddin’ go uncelebrated.”

“Aye, and if ye expect me to believe that, ye must think me a fool,” he replied with a smile.

In truth, he was rather glad that there were so many people taking up space in the Great Hall.

If the celebrations had been as small and intimate as he’d expected, he’d have had no choice but to sit beside his wife, talking to her, filling her cup, imagining a wedding night that could not, under any circumstances, take place.

If he got his wife alone in his bedchamber, he’d come undone.

But with so many guests milling about, dancing, laughing, conversing, making merry, he didn’t have to be anywhere near his wife.

At that very moment, she was on the opposite side of the room, in deep discussion with Grace.

Indeed, if he managed this well, he might be able to survive the entire evening without ever crossing paths with Maddie.

Taking a cup of spiced wine from the tray and bringing it to his lips, he dared a glance in his wife’s direction, just to make certain she was still where he thought she was.

No longer in conversation with Grace, Maddie was staring right at him. No, not staring— glowering at him, with such vehemence in her eyes that if looks could kill, he would have dropped dead that very instant, his spiced wine spilling out across the floor.