CHAPTER THREE
H er father’s face went mottled red, “Girl, ye are going to damn yer own self and this house!”
“Angus, please,” her mother pleaded with him, pressing a hand to the Laird’s chest. “Let her be.”
Ruben’s cold stare made her all but wither in her slippers.
“Ahem,” the cleric coughed. “Do ye Paige Bradley take this man to be yer wedded husband?”
Paige knew she could not say no a second time; she was already sure the Beast— Ruben, she corrected herself —understood that she wanted no part of this marriage.
“I do,” she said, resistance still brimming in every drop her blood.
“Ye are now wed.” the cleric’s voice intoned. “Ye can kiss yer bride now.”
The Beast—Ruben— fixed her with a cool stare. He fixed her chin with firm fingertips, lifted her face to his. She was a foot and a half shorter than him and his domineering presence looming over her irritated her—but that feeling was lost at the sensation of his skin on hers.
His touch seared her skin.
She did not know how to interpret the burn. A part of her wanted to lean into the touch and another part pushed her to leap away.
His eyes were dark and emotionless as he wordlessly leaned down and brushed his lips on her cheeks. Her breath stumbled in her chest. He smelled of fresh woodsmoke, leather and clean water— a scent that made her pulse suddenly quicken.
When he pulled away, she saw no emotion coming from him and that made her stomach tie itself in knots. She felt as if the floor under her feet had been ripped away from her.
This was not how she had expected her first kiss—as chaste as it was—to be. She did not move; she did not respond.
As she turned, she realized there was another woman in the room, one she had not seen before. From her dark hair color and ruddy skin, she saw a resemblance to Ruben.
What she did not like—and what confused her— was the blistering animosity coming from the girl. It almost made her want to leap away. If that glare were daggers, she’d be pierced through by now.
Her father came to them, his arms crossed and a tight scowl on his face, looking anything but pleased. “The weddin’ feast is waitin’ for ye.”
With her arm linked with Ruben, Paige mentally distanced herself from the man. If she had her way, she would rather be across the manor house than heading to the dining hall.
As they stepped in, the gathered crowd inside the room roared with their approval, the noise shaking the timbered halls to its foundations.
Paige’s eyes misted with tears, but she blinked them away. None of them knew what this was like; none of them knew the bleak future she was about to suffer through.
There were about fifty people in the hall, she guessed, a few lords and ladies from allied clans, men of her father’s councilmen, and a few servants, including her father’s head guard and housekeeper.
The head table was laden with roast fowl, duck, and fish stuffed with braised onions and carrots, breads, cheeses and pies. Paige had no appetite in sight.
As she sat and the feasting began, Paige simply wanted to leave to her room and cry.
Sipping his wine, Ruben noticed that his new wife had not once glanced his way.
She is a headstrong one, that is for sure. What do I do with her now? I need someone meek and submissive, nae a termagant.
Objectively, the lass was beautiful. Her lips were rosy and plump, her face had a delicate bone structure, and if her neck and shoulders were any indication, her skin was as smooth and flawless as porcelain.
Her generous bosom was gently rising and falling and despite her plump curves, she was quite petite, with her eye level reaching in the low vicinity of his chest.
“She’s nae the wife ye thought her to be, eh?” Galan murmured under Ruben’s left ear.
As the lass, Paige, was on his right, he doubted she heard his man-at-arms, and even if she did, he doubted she would care.
“Nay,” he said while his eyes searched for Norah in the crowd.
His sister had been silent about the union, and he still did not know what she thought about it—and it worried him. She had two guards near her and even though she was eating he could feel her reluctance.
“Keep an eye on Norah for me, please,” he nodded to Galan. “I daenae want her to get overcome with these proceedings.”
“Aye,” Galan nodded. Knowing about the troubles Norah had fallen into and the moments she did get fretful, he sat back and drank his water. “I will.”
Returning his gaze to Paige, Ruben assessed the mass of flaxen hair coiled on her head. Being partial to those with fair hair, he wondered what that mass would look down over her back.
“Ye should eat,” he told her, filling her empty trench with meat and fish.
“I am nae hungry,” she said, chin up and gaze stubbornly averted.
“At dawn, we’ll be journeyin’ to me home and I will nae have ye faintin’ on me.” The lass’s stubbornness was absurd ... and perversely intriguing.
Beneath his tunic, his belly warmed with arousal. His lips ticked down with self-mockery as he sipped his wine. Wasn’t it just like him to get aroused by defiance?
He already knew he was going to have his hands full with this one. When she’d refused the vows at the altar, his fingers had flexed. He wanted to shake her for being so stubborn.
“Ye cannae force me to eat,” she said. “Ye have to pardon me, me stomach is uneasy at the moment.”
One of Ruben’s men stood, lifted his goblet and shouted, “To his lairdship and his wife. I drink to ye and all the health in the world!"
Ruben picked up the bronze goblet filled with spiced wine, took a mouthful then handed it to Paige, his gaze a dare. She hesitated but he knew she would not— could not refuse to sip from her husband’s cup and call shame upon them.
Her fingers brushed his as she took it from him, and he could see the pulse in her neck started to race. It was clear that the merest touch from this stranger excited her beyond reason. It showed him how much of an innocent she was and while it tempted him to smile—he did not.
God almighty—what was he to do with a pious virgin?