As he started to turn away, Bridgette grasped his leg. He glanced back, a cruel, amused look upon his face. “Aye?”
“Is Marion in the chapel? Is she well? If ye’ve harmed her—”
“Ye would do what?” he snarled. “Refuse to marry me? I want ye to think upon this, Bridgette. Think hard. I dunnae wish to kill Marion, truly I dunnae. When Iain is killed, she would make a bonny bride—as she’s the MacDonald’s niece—for my youngest brother. But I will kill her if ye dunnae marry me with haste and without protest. Do ye ken me?” he demanded, not waiting for a reply but turning to leave.
Unless Lachlan arrived very shortly, she was going to have to marry Colin to save Marion. Her sense of loss was beyond tears. When an image of Lachlan rose in her head, she shoved it away, fearing that if she did not, she would not be able to make the sacrifice she needed to make.
She delayed as long as she could, but soon Colin was pounding on the door, ordering they finish. The servants hurried to dress her and fix her hair, and as they started to brush it to flow over her shoulders, she instructed them to yank it back into a severe knot, recalling Lachlan telling her that her hair was a thing that made men lustful. At the time, she had reveled in his compliment, but now she’d rather have no hair than have it be something that made her pleasing to Colin.
Much quicker than she’d hoped, she was ushered out the door and into Colin’s clutches. Her stomach was in knots, and she felt sure she would be ill. Her legs shook, but she forced herself to move forward, determined not to show weakness. As they entered the small chapel, Marion stood stonily at the front, but when she saw Bridgette, regret twisted her features. She moved to step toward Bridgette, but the man beside her restrained her. As Colin tugged Bridgette toward the altar, tears started to stream down Marion’s face.
When Colin stopped Bridgette in front of Marion, Marion cried out, “I’m so sorry.”
“How touching,” Colin snarled. He squeezed Bridgette’s arm. “As ye may have surmised, Marion is yer witness, and”—Colin waved a hand at the tall, dark-haired man gripping Marion’s arm—“Jamie MacLeod is mine.”
Bridgette gasped as her gaze flew to Lachlan’s uncle. His lips were thin, as if always on the edge of anger, and the set of his chin suggested a stubborn streak. He had eyes of a hawk, dark and predatory.
She shuddered but tilted her chin up and looked him in the eye. “Ye’re a traitor to yer own family,” she growled.
His mouth twisted unpleasantly. “They betrayed me first.”
“Enough,” came a powerfully deep voice from the back of the church. She turned to see a tall man with white hair and a rugged, somber face stride into the room. Behind him came a beautiful woman with pale skin and russet hair that reminded Bridgette of Lachlan. The woman started toward the bench with her head down, her face hidden, but just as she lowered herself and was almost sitting, Jamie spoke. “Nay, daughter, I’ll have ye stand by my side.”
The woman flinched, yet she dutifully rose and made her way quickly to stand next to Jamie.
“Quit staring at the floor like a dog,” Jamie growled.
Slowly, the woman lifted her head until her eyes met Bridgette’s.
Bridgette gasped. “Ye’ve yer cousin Iain’s eyes,” she blurted as she gawked at the woman’s ice-blue eyes, which were framed with thick, long, black lashes.
The woman frowned as she touched a fingertip near her right eye. “MycousinIain? Did ye ken—”
“Cease the chatter,” Jamie roared and raised a hand as if he was going to strike the woman. She immediately cowered and clamped her mouth shut.
The older man had crossed the room and now stood near Colin. “Ye sent word that the marriage was about to occur, so here I am, son, but let us nae tarry. Once the deed is done, Jamie and I will be away to meet our men.” The Campbell laird regarded Bridgette. “Join with the lass and then follow to reunite with us. I want ye at the gathering.”
Colin nodded and pushed Bridgette toward the priest on the altar. The tremors moved from Bridgette’s legs to course through her whole body. The priest looked at Bridgette with such dispassion that she swore vengeance upon him as well as Colin, Jamie MacLeod, and Colin’s father.
The priest motioned for Bridgette to step forward with Colin, but her feet would not offer aid. Finally, Colin jerked her to him, and as the priest rushed through the ceremony, Marion’s soft crying rang like macabre music in the dark chapel. The priest addressed Colin first, and Colin quickly said his vows, but when it was Bridgette’s turn to speak, her lips would not form words. Numbness had settled within her. The priest cleared his throat, and Colin jabbed her hard in the ribs. Beside her, she heard a gasp, and her first thought was that it was Marion. She turned to her friend, but Marion had her face buried in her hands and was still crying.
As she moved to face the priest once more, her gaze met Jamie’s daughter’s. The woman gave her a pitying look that was also filled with understanding, and Bridgette had a terrible notion that the woman had not had a happy life.
“Bridgette!” Colin snapped. “Shall I kill Marion now?”
Bridgette raised her chin to the priest as hot waves of loathing rolled off her for Colin. “I, Bridgette MacLean, take the swine devil standing—” She never saw the smack from Colin coming. It jerked her head to the left, and her cheek instantly throbbed with pain. Slowly, with rage burning through her she turned back toward the priest who gaped at her. Perspiration ran down his fat cheeks. His tiny, dark eyes darted from her to Colin.
Colin took hold of her hand and squeezed until she could not stop the hiss of pain that escaped between her teeth. “That was yer last chance,” he said, his menacing tone leaving no doubt. “I’ll nae give ye another. Watch yer tongue.”
She nodded, fear for Marion replacing the need to fight the marriage. Memories of Lachlan from the moment he first kissed her in the woods until the last time he kissed her in the great hall flashed in her mind. A sob welled within her, but she somehow managed to hold it back. Bleakness threatened to envelop her and drag her under. She’d had one moment to marry Lachlan and she had convinced him to wait because of the seer’s prediction, but look at her now? Any hope of a future with him was gone.
From somewhere within, she found the strength to force herself to say the vows, each word leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She finished, and a sense of hollowness and lifelessness filled her.
When the priest announced them married, Marion cried louder and Bridgette’s throat tightened with the need to join Marion, but she would not give Colin the pleasure of knowing he had broken her. Distraught laughter escaped her, and when he jerked his head to look at her and eyed her as if she had lost her mind, a feeling of triumph consumed her. Let him think her mind cracked by all she had endured!
Throwing her head back, she let the laughter roll out of her in high-pitched, ear-grating peals. Without a word, Colin dragged her toward the door, and she happily noted the shocked faces of Jamie and the Campbell. Jamie’s daughter’s face, though, was etched with lines of concern and pity. She did not move toward Bridgette and Colin to offer a congratulation, and Bridgette suspected it was because the woman did not think there was much to offer congratulations about.
Once inside Colin’s bedchamber, he shook her and brought his face inches from hers. “Cease yer laughter,” he roared.
