Page 81 of The Scot Beds His Wife

Right now Gavin St. Jameswasthe thunder, and it would take nothing to make him bring this castle down around their ears.

Impulsively, Samantha reached out, and pressed her palm to his.

His hand was rougher than hers, engulfing hers in a masculine grip so absolute, his fingers could have been shackles.

She’d never been clung to like that, and without thinking, she squeezed in a gesture of encouragement.

Their eyes locked and held, and suddenly Samantha breathed a little easier. She had the sense she pleased him, and that was never not a good feeling.

The Laird Mackenzie’s expression revealed that he’d rather officiate over his own funeral than this wedding, but he took up an old book and began to read. “Alison Ross, have ye come here to enter into marriagewithout coercionfreely and wholeheartedly?”

“Asked and answered,” Gavin spat. “Inappropriately, might I add?”

“Ye have to say it as part of the ceremony, it’s in the book.” Liam pointed to the passage.

“I have,” she said clearly.

“And ye?” the Laird asked his brother with obvious lack of aforementioned ceremony.

“I have.” Gavin’s lips didn’t move, but the words escaped him all the same.

“Are ye prepared to accept children lovingly from God and bring them up according to his law?”

“Of course I am,” Gavin stated with abject resolution.

Samantha glanced sharply up at him once more, if only to check for a mocking sneer or some evidence of a joke. So vehement was his reply, she thought he surely must be in jest. She could hardly believe it, but she’d never seen a look so serious before in her life.

“Ye have to answer, too,” Liam prompted her.

A hand flew to her belted waist, her resolve renewed. “I—I am, yes.”

“All right now.” Liam turned to his brother and speared him with a disdainful glare. “Gavin St. James, do ye take this woman to be yer lawful wife? Do ye—”

“I do,” Gavin cut in.

“Oh, lad… let me finish before ye sayaye,there’s a lot to carefully consider here, especially for ye.” The Laird held the book up, advertising a certain kind of relish for the upcoming passage.

“There’s really no need to—”

Liam raised his booming voice above Gavin’s protests. “Do ye promise to befaithfulto her in good times, and in bad, in sickness and in health, tolove herandhonor herandcherish heruntil yer inevitable untimelydeath?” His every emphasis was like a dagger that hit a bull’s-eye, and by the time Liam had finished, Gavin was gripping her hand so hard she flinched.

To his credit, he relaxed.

Christ, Samantha thought. Her husband-to-be had beenthe infamous lover of the officiator’s—his own brother’s—late wife. Samantha would have found the melodrama a bit funny if both men weren’t glaring at each other like leviathans about to meet in battle, which made her the likely collateral damage.

“I do,” Gavin growled.

“What about ye, lass? Knowing what ye do about the Lord Thorne’s infamous value—or lack thereof—for wedding vows, do ye, Alison Ross, take this…man… to be yer lawful husband? To have and to hold from this day until his interest wanes, for better, or likely worse, for richer or until he squanders yer fortune, in syphilis—pardon me—sickness and in health, until his death blessedly parts ye?”

Gavin stepped forward. “You son of a—”

“I do.” Samantha had to raise her voice above Gavin’s enraged curses, Locryn and Calybrid’s ill-concealed chortles, and Mena’s sound of distress.

Only the Monahans remained silent, their identical golden eyes round with astonishment and not a little foreboding consternation.

“Think on this carefully, lass,” the Laird admonished dramatically. “Are ye certain?”

“She saidaye,” Gavin hissed, his bronze skin becoming mottled with barely leashed fury.