“You’re right,” Reikart said, running a hand through his hair. It wasn’t because of her, though. It was because he’d had no intentions of allowing himself to be happy like that with a woman again. “Do you have another solution?”
“Not with the given situation and considering we are in the thirteenth century and might be stuck here for life. Even if we left, unless she came with us, married or not, her situation here would be bad. She’s basically been labeled a—”
“Don’t say it,” Reikart bit out. “Just thinking about what’s happened makes me want to kill Fearghas.”
“Murder is out, so marriage is in,” Rhys replied. “The good but gruesome news is that after you two are married, everyone accompanies you to the bedchamber door, and once you’ve slept together—Christ, there is no delicate way to put this—the bloody sheets are passed out to the waiting crowd. Then Deirdre’s reputation will pretty much be restored. So if marriage between you two really sucks, and we get the cross and can go back, if she does want to stay in this time without you, Dermot will make it look like you were killed so she’ll be considered a widow and remarry respectably.”
Reikart frowned. “I should be thrilled. You’ve handed me an out before I’m really in.”
“But you’re not,” Rhys said, his expression wry.
“I don’t know what I am,” he said evasively. But he did—a little anyway. He wanted her, and he knew it wasn’t as simple as sleeping together and getting over it. He didn’t know what it was exactly, except that Rhys’s suggestion about her declaring herself a widow and remarrying made him physically react. A wave of possessiveness had washed through him. She was going to be his, but how much so? How much could he allow? He’d made it clear he didn’t know, and she’d accepted that, so for now he would have to push the questions to the side and simply get married.
A soft knock came at the door, and then it squeaked open. His mom poked her head in. “Are you ready?”
He nodded. The general consensus had been to wed tonight, especially given that Alastair was expected to return soon, and then he and Deirdre could be headed to Court.
“She’s ready, too. Maggie will bring her to the chapel.” His mom stepped into the solar and shut the door behind her. Her gaze locked on his. “I know I pushed this, but now that it’s actually happening, well, I—Did Rhys tell you about the sheets?”
“Yeah. I have to say I don’t like the idea of Deirdre having to prove her innocence. It’s barbaric.”
His mom gave him a lopsided smile. “It’s the times you’re now in, Reikart. And it will be a safety net for both of you.”
He frowned. Did he want this safety net? “Did you ask Deirdre? Is she okay with this?”
“She knows,” his mom said, “and she agreed to it. It’s a common practice in this time, Reikart. Admittedly, it’s not one women love, but it’s common.”
Another knock came before he could reply, the door opened once again, and Dermot stood there with Alastair by his side. “Algien is at the English court,” Alastair announced. “Now all Deirdre must do is charm him into letting her into his private chambers so she can steal the cross.”
Chapter Eighteen
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
~ William Butler Yeats, “The Cloths of Heaven”
Deirdre stood trembling in front of the closed chapel door. Her sister squeezed her hand. “Remember the kiss,” Maggie whispered, referring to the one Deirdre and Reikart had shared.
Deirdre nodded. “I am.” The problem was, she also remembered his warning, that he could give her passion but he wasn’t sure he could ever give her his heart. She pushed the worries away as the chapel door opened, and Rhys grinned at both of them. Whatever doubt she had, the time to consider it was over. She had chosen this path. Well, she had chosen it after being forced into a choice, but ultimately, the decision had been hers. She had decided to wed him, and whatever they did not have in love, they certainly did have in passion.
She stepped into the chapel, surprised to see it lit with too many candles to count, filling the tiny room with a warm, inviting glow. Flower petals were scattered on the floor, and bunches of wildflowers were tied to the candelabras with twine. At the front of the chapel, Reikart faced her. When her eyes locked with his and he gave her a heartbreakingly tender smile, some of her fear ebbed. He was good and honorable. He would be kind and loyal. Those things would sustain her. They were qualities neither Algien nor Cedric had possessed.
The chapel was small, and the only people in it besides her, Reikart, Rhys, and Maggie were Shona and the priest. Grace, Dermot, and Alastair, who Maggie had told her had returned, were in the great hall where the clan was gathered for the wedding feast. Maggie started to walk toward the altar, but Deirdre’s feet would not work. Her legs trembled greatly, and she bit her lip. Suddenly, Reikart strode toward her, held out his hand, and took hers with a reassuring squeeze.
He leaned toward her, and the fresh scent of river water tickled her nose. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, and then to her surprise, he lifted her hand and slipped a ring on her finger. She looked down to find a large stone glistening up at her.
“What—”
“It was mine,” Shona said. “My husband gave it to me as a gift when I had Reikart. It’s an emerald, and it seemed only fitting that you should have it now to mark the beginning of your new life.”
Her new life. She caught her breath, hope filling her to near bursting no matter how much her head cautioned her. She drank in her soon-to-be husband. He was achingly handsome in his plaid, tunic, and braies. The stubble on his face had grown slightly thicker since they had first met, and she would swear the haunted look in his eyes had diminished. He smiled and pressed close, pushing back her hair. His lips brushed her ear as he said, “Dee, I promise I’m not that terrible.”
Dee. He called me Dee.
He’d given her a moniker. It was stupid, but that small thing, that tiny hint that he’d been thinking about her, that he was now comfortable with her, chased away the rest of her fears.
“If ye are terrible,” she whispered back, feeling suddenly bold as his hand moved to the small of her back and her desire for him stirred once more, “I’ll have to punish ye.”
