Five
It had been too many years to count since Brodee had thought to wed and bind himself to a woman, heart and soul. He stole a glance at Patience, who stood trembling beside him. In moments, they would be wed and bound. Not heart and soul, but bound just the same.
Oh, the irony. There had been a time he’d wanted nothing more than to wed and it had been denied him, and now he wanted no part of a marriage, did not want his life being complicated by her. Yet here he was, unable to obtain his dream of a castle and lands to call his own without gaining a bride. Damn the king.
Brodee shifted impatiently, glaring at Father Murdock’s back. What the devil was taking the priest so long to prepare to say a few words? Brodee didn’t like standing still. Doing so allowed memories to stir, just as they were doing now. He’d given his heart once, and Arabel had given hers in return. His mind tried to conjure a picture of her face. He could still see her, yet he could no longer capture the essence, and it infuriated him. She’d died because she’d loved him, and he could no longer even remember the exact shape of her eyes, the richness of their color. His chest twisted in pain for her loss, for his failure to protect her. He’d not seen the enemy. He’d not even known who had killed Arabel until years later.
That’s what giving one’s heart did. It made one blind and vulnerable, and invited in pain. He wanted no part in it ever again. He would be a loyal husband and a good protector to Patience, but beyond that, he could offer nothing.
Father Murdock turned to them, holding the strip of Blackswell plaid Brodee had given him and the strip of cloth Patience had ripped from her cape so the priest could bind their hands during the ceremony. Beside Brodee, Patience inhaled a sharp breath. Was her apprehension because of his reputation or because she truly had loved Kincaide? Based on the way she flinched and that haunted look in her eye, he would have wagered that Kincaide had been cruel to Patience. The man had allowed her to be punished by the priest, after all, when she was clearly not a witch. She wasn’t touched in the head, either, but she was wholeheartedly, rather comically, pretending to be. She’d clearly not spoken with Kincaide’s ghost. It had been blatantly apparent on her face, and even more apparent in the way he’d easily led her to say what Kincaide’s ghost had been wearing.
Deerskin shoes to keep the ghost’s feet warm! Och!
The question was, why? If she’d loved Kincaide and did not want to be wed to or touched by Brodee, her wariness would make sense. Perhaps that was it. His gut told him otherwise, but he refused to delve any deeper to ascertain the reason. He did not need the reason. They would join eventually to consummate the marriage, but he could wait until she was more at ease with him. The ice-cold water of the loch would help alleviate any lust she might stir in him.
“Face each other please and hold out a hand,” Father Murdock instructed, interrupting Brodee’s thoughts.
Brodeee turned toward Patience and frowned. She was facing forward still, looking very much like a hunted deer. He was glad in this moment that he’d decided to wed in the chapel in privacy, with only William to bear witness, instead of standing in front of the kirk for all the gathered clan to watch. He’d learned to live with people thinking him brutal, but he didn’t particularly care for people seeing how scared his betrothed was to wed him.
“Patience,” he said and waited a beat.
When she didn’t appear to have heard him, he reached out and gripped her shoulders. Her reaction was immediate. Her body tensed and her head whipped toward him, but her lowered lashes prevented him from reading her emotions.
That same gut instinct that told him Patience’s actions were driven by much more than mourning the loss of a great love stirred within Brodee.
Dunnae delve. State facts,he reminded himself.
She could keep her secrets just as he would keep his. He did not drop his hands from her shoulders. “Ye need nae fear me, Patience. Nae ever.”
“Words,” she said, looking down at her slippers. “Just words.”
He hooked a finger under her chin and gently raised her face to his. Her beauty struck him speechless for a moment. Everything about her was dark, from her black, glossy hair and lowered lashes, to her olive skin, to her eyes with their obsidian color that was only broken by flecks of gold. She reminded him of shadows where treasure lay, shadows that beckoned for a man to partake, to come closer, to chance the danger ahead. “I will nae ever fail to keep my word to ye.”
She looked up then, disbelief etched upon her face, making her look like a goddess who’d been turned to stone. A long ,slow breath broke the spell. “I dunnae ken ye,” she said. “I dunnae ken if I can believe ye.”
“Ye will ken me eventually, and ye will believe.”
She glanced away.
“As if it matters,” he heard. “As if my father gave me a choice in wedding ye. As if he has ever given me a choice or even cared.”
Her words made him hurt for her, but they stung him as well, even though they shouldn’t. Even though it was best she did not want to wed him. She’d want less from him that way. Yet they nicked his pride, which had been perforated a million times before by harsh comments from his father. “And ye think I’ve a choice?” he asked, wincing at how harsh his voiced sounded.
She turned her head slowly toward him again, those dark, unfathomable eyes locking with his. Lines appeared between her brows. “But ye’re the Savage Slayer.”
A bitter laugh he’d not expected escaped him, and her gaze widened. “Aye.” He nodded, not uttering his unspoken truths. He’d been a man with no home to own, no lands to rule, and to get it, he had to sacrifice. Did he have a choice? He frowned. He wasn’t certain he had. If he wanted anything truly his own, to feel any worth, he could not go back to the home in which he was raised, which meant he did what he must to lay claim to his own home.
“And still,” he finally said, “I stand here. Hold out yer hand.” It was a command, yet when her chin notched up, he recognized he was the one puncturing her now. Little nicks at her worth that might eventually kill her soul. “Please,” he added. William began to cough behind him, no doubt in disbelief at Brodee’s words. He felt shock himself, but he’d have made the same choice again.
Hesitantly, she held out her slender arm, and he reached out and clasped her tiny hand, setting his rough, battle-scarred hands upon her silky skin. The desire the touch unleashed was almost unbearable. God’s teeth, he’d need to take a swim in the loch directly after this.
He looked to Father Murdock, who was gaping at him, and nodded. “Begin.”
Patience trembled so bad she was certain Brodee must feel it, but he did not look at her, and when the priest bowed his head and Brodee did as well, she did the same.
“Lord,” Father Murdock began, “help Lady Patience and Blackswell to remember when they first met.”
Patience looked up in surprise and found Brodee had done the same. He was frowning as he stared at the priest, whose head was still bowed, his hands folded in front of him. Patience inhaled a long breath and frowned. The smell of wine swirled off the priest.
