Page 6 of Claimed by the Obsessed Laird (Highland Bride Hunt #1)
Chapter Five
Isla’s eyes fluttered open just in time to see a half-dozen maids spilling into the room, pulling away the covers she had tangled herself in over the course of the night and pulling her from sleep.
“Come, now, my lady!” one of them called to her, laughing at the bleary expression on her face. “Ye’re to be married in just a few hours. We’ve much work to do before then.”
Isla parted her parched lips, intent on protesting, but she knew it would have been a waste of her energy.
She slumped back on the pillow, a mess of emotion gripping her chest, as the staff bustled around her, laying out dresses and flowers and perfumes that would turn her into the most perfect bride for the day that lay ahead.
If only she actually wanted to get married…
Eventually, one of the maids guided her out of bed and pressed a warm cup of tea into her hand, which Isla sipped at distractedly as she was stripped from her travel-worn dress and laced into a more appropriate garb.
She watched, somewhat longingly, as the dress she had slipped into the day before with the plan of dancing the night away was discarded beside her.
Had she known that this was waiting for her on the other side, she would never have put it on in the first place, and she loathed herself for not seeing the possibility.
“Oh, this dress is so bonny on ye, m’lady,” one of the maids remarked, taking a step back and looking her up and down as the final laces were done up on the back of her gown.
Isla glanced at herself in the mirror, and she supposed, on some level, she agreed.
The dress was a traditional Scottish garb, a deep, earthy green with fitted sleeves and an arisaid around the waist; the bodice was modest enough, a sweetheart neckline, but she felt rather exposed in it.
But against her complexion, against her expression, it seemed like some twisted joke at her expense, nothing more than a nightmare she could not pull herself back from.
“Thank you,” she muttered, as the maids chattered away among themselves about what a beautiful day it was for such a ceremony.
She wished she could agree. Her family would not even be there to see her get married, for goodness sake.
On those brief occasions that she had imagined taking a man as her husband, she had pictured Catriona at her side, the two of them gossiping and giggling as they prepared for the momentous occasion.
But now, all she had for company were a half-dozen women she had never set eyes on before and the sunlight pouring through the window that almost felt rude in its insistence of such joy.
One of the maids wound flowers into her hair; heather, myrtle, and a handful of wildflowers, each one a perfect pop of color against her face.
Her fingers were delicate and careful, but every moment seemed to tug on her scalp and make her wince with irritation.
She knew that it would do little good to be rude to the maids now, when Camron wasn’t here to see it, but she kept it all in mind to complain to him about later, when she got him alone.
Alone.
She knew what that meant. It would not be long till her husband-to-be would expect her to retire with him to their marital chambers, where he would claim her as his, once and for all.
The thought made her stomach twist into a not-entirely-unpleasant knot, and she did her best to bite back the rush of excitement that threatened to rise up in response.
She could still recall his hands on her at the feast, the way he had looked at her across the crowded hall, as though he could see her and her alone.
At least there was some part of this that she would not have to fake, even if it was not nearly enough to make it worthwhile.
All too soon, her teacup lay empty, and she was ready for the wedding.
The girls steered her to the stairs, commenting on how long it had been since their Laird had shown interest in anyone—let alone a betrothal.
She fought the urge to tell them that she wished he had waited a little longer, that he had not insisted on making her his wife.
If he had been happy being alone for so long, what was it about her that had changed his mind?
The chapel stood attached to the Keep; a small, sloping building dotted with stained-glass windows in red and green.
The light they cast over the stony ground would have been beautiful, she supposed, if it had not been for the circumstances she currently found herself in.
The chapel was crowded with people, all of whom turned to look at her as the large wooden door creaked to announce her entrance.
A rush of whispers filled the room as everyone took in the sight of the woman who was to be their lady from this day forth, and she felt her eyes darken, fixing her gaze straight ahead and swallowing hard.
And there he was. Camron McLeod.
If anything, he looked even more handsome than he had the night before.
The same kilt, but this time, he wore a ceremonial sword along with it, the circular handle glinting in the light and bringing out the gold flecks in his hair.
He was fresh-shaven, strong jaw gleaming, and he looked to be a force of nature, as though he had sprung fully formed from the earth below to take his place there.
Drawing in a long breath, she started her way down the aisle towards him, unable to tear her gaze from his.
Could he sense it, everything that was going on in her mind?
Did he know how much she loathed him in that moment?
For dragging her away from everything she had ever known and forcing her into this without a choice.
What kind of man was he to take a bride against her will?
When she reached his side, she could almost feel the heat rolling from him, the warmth of his body reaching out to hers once more.
She did not quite meet his gaze, certain she would give away more than she intended to.
The minister cleared his throat, and she gratefully turned her gaze to him, glad for any distraction she could take.
“Now that yer bride has finally graced us with her presence,” he remarked, his voice laced with sarcasm. “We will begin the binding ceremony. Laird MacLeod, if ye would…”
She glanced over to Camron, who opened his palm to reveal a strip of his clan tartan.
The minister took it and then brought their hands together, pressing their wrists side by side.
Her heart skipped a beat. It was the first time she had really touched him since she had arrived here, and the dizzying warmth of his skin against hers was almost overwhelming.
Camron’s fingers grazed hers for a moment, and she was sure that the flush of heat she could feel up her neck was visible to the rest of the people in the room.
The minister tied their wrists together, a sacred symbol of their connection.
Isla could barely hear him as he began to speak, the ringing in her ears louder than anything she could make out.
It wasn’t until she heard her name spoken that something punctured through, and she lifted her head to try to keep up with it.
“… Lady Isla, do ye?”
She was not sure exactly what she was agreeing to, but she knew it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Camron got what he wanted, and he would clearly take it, one way or another. She nodded, forcing the words from between her lips.
“Aye,” she breathed. “Aye, I do.”
She could feel Camron looking at her, watching her as though he had doubted she might agree to it at all.
“And Laird MacLeod,” he continued, turning his attention to Camron. “Do ye take this woman?—”
Camron cut in before he could finish, his eyes shining with a sudden intensity that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
“As my bride?” he added, silencing the minister on the spot. He had clearly learned the vows himself and was not interested in waiting any longer.
“To love and care for her, to provide for her and protect her, and keep her in every comfort known to man till the day we both part?”
She pressed her lips together. The words held such a sincerity, it was hard to believe he did not mean them. Even if she knew, he couldn’t have. Even if she knew that he hardly knew her at all, let alone well enough to offer her something so enormous.
“Aye,” he replied, not even the barest hint of doubt in his voice. “Aye, I do.”
“Then I am pleased to announce you man and wife, Laird and Lady,” the minister finished up, dipping his head low in respect.
Her toes curled in her slightly too-tight shoes. There. It was done. No backing out of it now, no changing her mind. Yesterday, she had been a carefree woman, and now, she was nothing more than his wife.
He turned to her as the minister unwrapped the binding tartan from their hands. Her husband .
The words sounded strange, even in her mind, like they came from someone else, even though she knew them to be true. And, before she could say a word, he slipped his hands to either side of her face and kissed her, hard, on the mouth.
The kiss was less a romantic gesture and more a mark of his claim over her. His tongue grazed her lip, far more forward than a chaste kiss in a chapel needed to be, and she felt the sensation trickle from her mouth down her whole body to consume every part of her.
She found her back arching towards him, her body pressed to his, and, when he pulled back, she was trembling helplessly.
Swallowing hard, she caught her breath, almost forgetting for a moment that they were in a room surrounded by people, until the crowd exploded into applause that filled her ears—but did little to wipe the dark pulse of desire that had awakened inside her at his touch.