The priest glanced their way.
“Shhh. You’re getting me in trouble in church again,” he muttered, trying not to smile. Grey had always had a hard time keeping quiet, particularly during mass.
They didn’t talk again, but neither did he look to the other side of the chapel. The few glances he’d seen had been enough. When she’d first approached them, wearing a deep violet, fur-lined cloak like the heroine in a fantasy movie, he’d felt that familiar pull toward her, just like he had by the loch that day. Her gloved hand had risen to touch her cheek, and he’d fought the urge to capture it in his own.
He had to keep reminding himself this wasn’t a real marriage. Lady Màiri Kelbrue, daughter of the laird of Clan Kelbrue, was not his real wife. Their arrangement was temporary. And if he wanted it to stay that way, he couldn’t let the foolishness of their first meeting happen again.
He didn’t need Grey to tell him she was likely a virgin, even if she didn’t kiss like one. And that’s exactly how she’d remain for her next husband.
Finally, the interminable mass ended and Ian found himself shuffled back outside. He felt rather than saw Màiri as she fell in beside him, her presence like a beacon—one he could not follow. People and horses and carts were everywhere. Where the hell had they come from? There hadn’t been this many people in the chapel. Cheers erupted as he and his wife—wife, for fuck’s sake—walked toward their mounts. Though they’d wed at Kinross, according to their agreement, their wedding reception would be held in their new home. Hightower Castle.
As they accepted the well-wishes, he felt Màiri stiffen next to him. Ian followed her gaze out into the crowd. Some people were already walking away. Others, like his brother, Marian and the laird of Clan Kelbrue, were talking amongst themselves. But one man stood next to a cart, presumably of Màiri’s belongings, staring up at them.
Ian knew that look well. The green-eyed monster, like every other emotion, it seemed, had been alive and well for hundreds of years.
The man was about his age, not quite thirty. A good-looking guy. Ian was confident enough that he never hesitated to acknowledge another man’s good looks. Màiri’s admirer was smaller than him, although not overly so, and had a trimmed dark-blond beard. He also looked like he wanted to kill Ian.
This guy was in love with his wife.
He looked at Màiri, and her expression gutted him. If he was reading this right, she felt the same way. Was this the man she’d arranged to meet that day?
“Go talk to him.”
She looked at him as if he were crazy.
“I . . . I cannot. I am a married woman now.”
Ian tried not to roll his eyes. If thirteenth-century marriage meant he could no longer even talk to the opposite sex, ever, it definitely wasn’t for him.
Actually, he doubted marriage in general was for him, but that was beside the point.
“It looks like he really wants to talk to you.”
Hopefully he could tell her sooner rather than later that their marriage was a farce—and she’d be free to marry her lover, or whoever this guy was, before long. He still hadn’t figured out how he’d explain the whole time travel thing, but if she didn’t believe him, he had Grey and Marian and Ross to back him up.
“Will it help if I come with you?”
That didn’t seem to appease her.
“Nay.”
In the end, it didn’t matter. The lovesick guy approached them directly.
“I offer my sincere congratulations to you, my lady,” he said.
A smooth operator, this one.
“Many thanks. Although . . .” She paused. Clearly his wife wanted to say something. But they had an audience now. Several people had gathered around them, watching the exchange with open interest.
These people really needed to stand down. They were acting like superfans at the Super Bowl. When a few of them began staring at Màiri’s mark, their interest obvious enough that she lifted her hand to cover it, a surge of protectiveness surprised him.
His training kicking in, Ian handled the situation as he would have approached it back home. No one would stare at his wife like she was some carnival sideshow act. Grasping her elbow, he urged her forward while speaking to Lord Lovesick.
“Too much attention. If you come to Hightower, I’ll arrange for you to speak privately there.”
Ian didn’t wait to catch the guy’s reaction. He made swift work of helping Màiri mount her horse and then climbed atop his own mount. If only he’d spent more time with Reik riding. Without glancing back at the crowd, he nodded to Ross and his new father-in-law, both of whom were already mounted and probably getting impatient, to signal they were ready.
It took him a while to notice his wife’s expression. She was looking at him like, well, maybe like he was from another century. Because he was. And it was time she learned all about it.
