Page 21 of Forge of the Highlander’s Destiny

T hey were betrothed. He asked, and she’d said yes.

Cohen said the words over and over in his mind, but he couldn’t believe it.

Besides, his mind was growing quite hazy since his fiancée’s mouth was on his, and he could only focus on the soft feel of her lovely lips.

And her taste. It continued to create a gnawing hunger in him that he knew no one else would ever be able to satisfy.

It was just as well that they were to marry, for he could never feel what he felt for Arya with anyone else. He kissed her chastely and then pulled away, putting his forehead on hers.

“Ye have made me happy, Lass,” he said with a smile. She had, and even though he didn’t reveal to her that he loved her so that she wasn’t scared off, he was happy. He had found the woman he wanted to marry, even though he hadn’t planned to marry for years yet, if ever.

“And ye have made me happy,” she replied, making him kiss her again.

After a few silent seconds where there was just lips and breath and a soft moan uttered, he said, “I will ask the priest here in the mornin’, and then we will be married properly. I will write to yer faither as soon as it is finished.”

“The mornin’?” she said, a bold glint in her eye. The wind was getting quite strong around them now, but he felt warm holding her in his arms. Her palms lay on his chest, and they moved under his coat. “Can ye nae call him sooner? So that we can be married by this eve?”

To his surprise and delight, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his throat. He hardened instantly despite the cold and despite the fact that they were standing on the battlements. He loved her innocent boldness.

Swallowing back the thick desire which welled up inside him, he said, “Aye, I will try to call him sooner. I am the Laird after all.”

“Exactly,” she said, giving him a teasing smile, moving her hands to wrap around his neck and then slide along his beard. His hands gripped the tartan at her waist, grasping fistfuls of it. She was driving him mad. “The priest will surely listen to ye and want to fulfill his duty.”

Her lips were a mere breath from his, but he had to keep strong or else her first time was going to be on a cold hard rock floor amid whipping winter winds with only a blanket underneath her.

“Aye,” he said again. “But ye had better let me go and do that now or else ye will find yerself on yer back with yer skirts pushed up to yer waist and me cock buried inside ye.” He turned and leaned against her neck, breathing in the scent of her soap and the scent that was so uniquely her.

His resolve to not do that was almost breaking, and he smiled at her lovely shiver at his closeness.

“But I want to make love to ye properly, Arya. In a bed. For the first time at least. After that, we can do it anywhere else ye’d like. ”

“Anywhere?” she asked, her breath tickling his ear.

“Aye. Anywhere.” With all the strength he had at his disposal, which was growing very thin, he pulled away and dropped the tartan from his hands.

He took a long draught of his wine, keeping his eyes on her.

“Let me go now and send for the priest,” he said, and she laughed as he gave her a wide berth to avoid being trapped by her sweet kisses and luscious body again.

He wanted to do this right. She deserved that much.

“And what should I dae in yer absence? Simply lounge here atop yer castle and drink wine to me heart’s content?” She was still standing, and her hands were on her hips with a wry smile on her face.

He grinned just before he left through the door. “That is up to ye, Arya. For ye may dae exactly as ye please from this day forward.”

Then he left, almost killing himself as he sprinted to find Malcolm. Malcolm was in the study, just as he’d left him, looking over a few documents.

“Me Laird,” Malcolm said with a frown, standing and touching his hand to the sword at his side. “What is it?”

“Relax, Malcolm. There is nay trouble. Only that I want ye to send for the priest. This moment. I want him to come as soon as possible.”

Cohen braced himself for Malcolm’s censure, but instead, a smirk prodded the corners of Malcom’s mouth. “She said yes, then?”

“Aye,” Cohen replied, his own smile widening at the thought. He felt fluttery all over, as if he’d just won a battle or jumped from the top of the cliffs into the sea below. “She said yes, so ye can understand me…urgency.”

“Aye,” Malcolm laughed. The man actually laughed. He clapped a hand to Cohen’s shoulder. “I can understand. I will ride for the priest meself, and I will give him nay choice but to come right now.”

Malcolm turned to go, and Cohen said, “Thank ye, Lad. I feared the men wouldnae understand. That they still thought she was the enemy.”

Shaking his head, Malcolm turned the knob. “Nay. We have all seen the change that’s come over ye since the lass arrived. Besides, we’ve been hopin’ ye would get married, so that we could have a little bit of a trainin’ break.” At Malcolm’s wink, Cohen burst into laughter.

When Malcolm was gone, he slumped into the chair behind his study, spreading his hands over the dark wood.

His castle and his Lairdship had been solely him for so long.

His life had been only his own. But now, Arya was going to join him, and he couldn’t think of a better partnership.

Maybe she didn’t love him, but she liked him well enough.

They got on well, and he wanted her around.

Their marriage would be no hardship. The only hardship would be perhaps the fact that he knew with each day, with each moment, he was only going to fall more in love with her. He would have to keep that from her, but he wasn’t sure how long he was going to be able to.

However, he could deal with that later. He would focus on tonight, when he was going to get the chance to bed his beautiful, fiery, intoxicating wife.

Arya was right about the priest and his desire to do his duty. He came a mere hour after she and Cohen had settled in their engagement, and she was not quite finished dressing when a servant came to let her know the priest had arrived.

“Almost ready,” she told the man, and he scurried off, leaving Sara and Arya on their own.

“Yer perfect, Miss,” she said with a smile, tying another silk ribbon around her neck. “Blue. It is the perfect color for ye.”

“It is nae quite a weddin’ dress. Dae ye think he’ll mind?” Arya bit her lip as she stared in the looking glass, uncertain.

Sara chuckled. “Nae at all.” She smoothed the front of the gown and then she took a clean Sinclair tartan sash and wrapped it diagonally on her shoulders, clasping it with a pin at the top. “Yer ready.”

“Really? Is there really nothin’ else to be done?

” She moved her hands to her curls then to her bodice, searching for some minor task that would keep her from having to leave.

It was not that she didn’t want to marry Cohen.

In fact, she wanted to leap into marriage with him, but she was still afraid.

Sara smiled. “Me maither told me it was like this on the weddin’ day. Women can be a bundle of nerves. It is a big day, and there are many mysteries…later.”

Arya blushed. “Aye,” she said. She had already discovered some of those mysteries herself, but there were so many more that she didn’t know about.

And that she hoped to find out that very evening.

“Well, I cannae stand here all day thinkin’ about them,” she added with another blush. “Time to go downstairs.”

“Aye, time to go, Miss.” Sara chuckled and gave her a gentle push as Arya hesitated.

Out the door and down the steps. It seemed simple enough, but the journey took what felt like years.

One slippered foot in front of the other.

Her hands fingered the sash around her. She was leaving her father’s family at last.

Olivia was still not with her and was not there to see her sister be wed, but she would be there soon.

Arya vowed it. In marriage, she was stronger than ever, and she could quickly save Olivia from her fate.

As she made it to the last stair, she saw that the doors to the great hall were open, and inside, Cohen stood at one of the mantles, his back to her as he faced the priest.

“Och, here she is. The lady,” the old priest said, and Cohen turned around.

Arya’s breath caught in her chest. He was, without any other words, magnificent.

He was wearing his full Scottish garb with the tartan around his chest, clasped at the top.

He wore the sporran around his kilt, and his sword was at his side.

His boots were shined, and his hands were folded in front of him as he watched her enter.

To his side, Malcolm stood, and the priest asked. “Is there another witness?”

“Me maid. Sara?” Arya suggested, and Malcolm hurried out of the room to find her. Arya settled herself in front of Cohen and gave him a nervous smile. He took up her hands and kissed them.

“Ye look bonnie, Lass. Perfect.”

“So do ye,” she said in a soft voice, her eyes drifting to his mouth.

She had noticed earlier that he’d trimmed his beard, and she could see it even more clearly now that she was staring at him and not kissing him.

It was trimmed close to his face, so that it outlined his strong jaw, reminding her that her soon-to-be husband was very much a man.

And his tall frame, broad shoulders tapering into a thin waist only added to that assessment.

Malcolm returned with Sara both a little breathless. “Ready now, Father,” Malcom said, and it didn’t escape Arya’s notice that Malcolm had been holding Sara’s hand.

Cohen nodded to the priest who began to speak. “We are gathered here today in the sight of this company to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.” His voice droned on while Arya busied herself with getting lost in Cohen’s eyes.

It all felt so warm and wonderful and right. When it was her turn to speak, she said the words with conviction and confidence. Cohen did the same, never taking his eyes from her. And then it was over. “I now pronounce ye husband and wife. Ye may kiss the bride, Laird Sinclair.”

A tiny grin crossed Cohen’s face before he leaned down to kiss her softly and chastely. When he pulled away, he left Arya wanting more. But she refrained from pulling on the lapels of his coat to bring him closer.

“Sign this, and the marriage is complete,” the priest added, pointing to a document on a side table. Arya signed first, then Cohen, and then the two witnesses. Cohen shook the priest’s hand.

“Thank ye, Father. Ye have done me a great favor.”

“Of course, Me Laird. Me pleasure.” The priest took her hand and smiled. “Lovely to meet ye, Lady Sinclair. I am Father McNally.”

“And ye, Father McNally. Thank ye for comin’ at such short notice.”

He winked, and then Malcolm took him out of the room. “I will tell the cook to prepare a feast,” Sara said.

“Have it brought to me chamber, Lass,” Cohen said in a low voice, and Arya felt his arm snake about her waist. “The large celebration will be tomorrow for Yule. The whole village will be invited.”

Sara beamed and curtsied. “Of course, Me Laird,” she said before hurrying out the great hall down a side passage to the kitchens.

“Yer chamber?” Arya asked, turning to him, happy that he hadn’t yet let go of her waist.

“Aye,” he said, leaning in to nuzzle her neck before lifting her up into his arms. She shrieked, grasping at his neck. “I daenae mean to leave that chamber all night.”

With a quick kiss on the mouth, making Arya’s insides feel like butter, he left the great hall and headed up the stairs.