Moira pretended to be agitated, but Devon knew she could hardly hide her excitement as she rushed around trying to get the dress and veil ready. "I'm so glad you changed yer mind," she gurgled. "This wouldna be my choice for you, but 'tis better than that awful black."
The servant rambled on while Devon examined the headpiece and veil being constructing. "If you had given me one ounce of warnin', we wouldna be flyin' around so today."
Devon spun around in the purple velvet gown. Fitted, it showed off her gentle curves, tight through the bodice, and flaring out as it fell gently to the floor. It had always been one of her favorites.
Trails of gold embroidery rimmed the neckline of her lavender silk under dress. The purple velvet surcoat laced tight around her rib cage to push up a glimpse of her full breasts above the exposed U-shaped neck. The sleeves were long and fitted.
"Do you think it too immodest?"
"Nay, Milady!" Moira snapped. "'Tis perfect! Besides, you canna change yer mind now, 'tis the only colored gown with a matching veil. There was a day when you didna hide yer face from the world."
"And you think I still shouldn't?"
"Milady…” Moira broke off. “I wilna go through this argument another time."
"You never liked this gown," Devon accused.
Moira chuckled. "I think the gown is lovely and so are you.
"But you said it wouldn’t have been your choice. What would you have me wear?"
"Milady, I'm delighted with yer choice, of course I prefer a lighter color with yer fair skin, but 'tis fine."
***
The image seemed to shine from the canvas and it again held Liam spellbound when he stood before it. This time there was more light and he could see the fine details of her once glorious beauty. He sighed and moved to see if there were any other paintings of her. The next portrait on the wall had a black drape over it.
Reaching up, he tore off the covering. His blood ran cold when he saw the wedding portrait of his bride-to-be and her dead husband. Someone stuck a small dagger in the creamy flesh of Devon's breasts where they rose gracefully above the bodice of her cream-colored gown. Liam dislodged the weapon from its place and pocketed it.
Frazer Forbes looked much like his brother. Again, Devon radiated happiness and vigor. She must have loved him once Liam mused. The rest of the wall was empty. A second set of double doors were at the far end of the portrait gallery. Liam started to walk toward them, but he heard someone in the hall outside and moved back to stand in front of Devon's portrait.
Malcolm threw open the doors to the gallery. "I see you found my retreat."
"Why did you not tell me about her scars?" Liam asked. "Were you so sure I wouldna come if I knew?"
"Would you have?"
"I don’t know," Liam admitted.
"When did she tell you?"
“The night before the tournament.”
“And you still fought for her hand.”
“How could I leave her for Bryce Forbes?”
Malcolm sighed. "I suppose she also offered to find you a whore to take her place in your bed."
"I told her no," Liam said quietly. "She knows I expect her to be my wife in every sense of the word, but I must ask. How bad is her disfigurement?"
Malcolm snorted. "I don’t know. Moira tells me 'tis minor at best. Still 'tis hard to tell. Moira loves the girl as if she was her own. She would make light of any defect.”
Liam studied his future father-in-law for a minute and then turned his attention back to the portrait of Devon. "She was a rare jewel," he said. "This must be very difficult for her."
"You're a compassionate man," Malcolm said in a voice crackling with emotion. "I swear to you, you havena made a mistake in coming here. My Devon is still a rare jewel, if only you can make her see that." He strode from the room wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Liam stared after him, and then headed down the hallway toward the lower rooms.
A door popped open and Liam came face to face with Bryce Forbes. "What the hell!" Liam snatched the man by the tunic. "Why are you still here?"
"Unhand me," Bryce said. "In case you're not aware, I have fallen heir to one tenth of Laird Malcolm's estate. My brother's blood bought it for me. I have as much right to be here as you."
"In less than one hour I will be laird here," Liam said tersely. "I'll speak to Malcolm about your rights to any holdings."
Bryce gave Liam a victorious smile. "He'll tell you 'tis true. You have only won for the moment. If I may say so, in winning you may have truly lost. Do you know why she wears the veil?" Not waiting for Liam's response, he hurried on with his tale. "Her beauty is marred by God as punishment for what she did to my brother."
"What?" Liam choked. "You're insane! Devon was burned in the fire trying to rescue Frazer!"
Bryce laughed. "You're so naive it is pitiful."
Liam snatched him and threw him hard against the wall. "I'll hear no more lies about Devon," he warned. "Keep your evil rumors to yourself." He released Bryce, who fell to the floor. Liam gave him a look of utter disgust and strode away.
***
The eerie strains of the bagpipes filled the air as the crowd awaited a view of the bride. Liam stood at the head of the great hall wearing his plaid.
The doors opened and Devon appeared on the arm of her father. A wide grin lit Liam's face. He had half expected to see a black-draped figure clinging to Malcolm, but instead she was a vision in rich, purple velvet with a glorious gold-rimmed lavender front panel and bodice. He thought she looked like a regal princess touched by some ethereal presence. She seemed to float into the room.
Much more of her showed than usual and he wasn't the only one to notice. The crowd stared agog as someone who vaguely resembled the old Devon Dunsmore walked in with her father.
Malcolm walked Devon over to Liam and called for the clergyman to proceed. Devon was mesmerizing. Cropped just below the chin, her short veil grew longer as it circled her head. In the rear, only the sheerest covering fell over her magnificent, auburn tresses. It was all Liam could do to keep from reaching out to touch them.
The veil was fashioned in layers of a filmy material in various shades of purple and lavender. Could he make out her eyes, her lips, beneath the sheerness? He thought he could. It so enticed him he fought the urge to rip the mantle from her head. All of what he saw he found alluring. No hint of scars showed through the covering.
The cleric had to nudge him to get his response at the proper moment. His heart pounded with fiery longing. How would he handle tonight? The last thing he wanted was to drive her away from him in fear. He forgot all his nightmares as he drank in the beauty of her presentment.
The vows were completed and a cheer rose from the crowd. Overcome with the moment, Liam swept her into his arms. The veil fluttered upwards giving him full access to her soft, perfectly formed lips. His mouth swooped to capture the tender fruit before it disappeared forever beneath layers of material.
The sensuous softness of her mouth invited him to deepen the kiss, but he sensed her withdraw from his public display of affection. Did he imagine that for a brief moment she seemed to answer his insistent kiss? Gathering his wits, he stopped his gentle attack. Setting her lightly back on the floor, he leaned close to her veiled head.
"Thank you for wearing this," he whispered. Taking her hand, he drew it to his lips for a soft kiss and then held it high as he faced the crowd.
"I give you Lady Devon Dunsmore MacLean," he announced proudly. Another wild cheer broke the stillness and the merrymaking began in earnest.
The kiss scorched Devon's lips bringing to the surface a thousand buried memories of another wedding night, but Liam wouldn't allow her to dwell on it. He swept her into the dancing, forcing her to celebrate their nuptials.
Amazingly, she found herself caught up music, quickly regaining her once legendary skill in the dance. Onlookers cheered loudly when Liam and Devon finally took their seats for the wedding feast.
Malcolm
sat beside them beaming. Her father knew she was having a good time. Devon was astonished herself. Liam had a way of making things flow seamlessly, as if there were no past, no grim reminders, and this was all the joyful celebration everyone intended.
Devon found that by bowing her head slightly she was able to let the short veil swing away from her face and partake of the food. Liam watched her with interest, but never ventured to suggest she remove the impediment. He was a fascinating man and she found her attention continually drawn back to him. She had the advantage. He couldn't see her eyes as she studied him through the haze of purple and lavender.
She noticed he drank in moderation and seemed very much in control of his faculties. If only he had been her first husband, how different her life might have been. The crisp, white shirt he wore contrasted with the bright colors of his plaid making his hair look blacker as it fell to his shoulders. His face was tan from exposure to the elements and the muscles of his arms rippled against his sleeve as he performed the simplest of tasks. There was a formidable strength in him, a power that could…. Her thoughts turned dark and she swallowed hard. What would he expect from her tonight?
Disquieted she turned her head and gazed at the gathering. Everyone seemed to be having a good time except Bryce. He was sitting in the corner of the hall with Nigel, his face an impassive mask. Then he looked up and sat staring at her. She knew that look.
Liam wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "What troubles you, Devon?" he asked, leaning close to her. "What are you afraid of?"
"I don’t know why you think I’m afraid."
Liam's warm, dark eyes appraised her slowly. "I feel you quivering."
"'Tis not for me I quiver, Milord. The cause lies in my fear that you have put yourself in mortal danger with this marriage."
"You suspect Bryce of treachery?"
"Aye, Milord. He is an evil man." Devon's deep-seated conviction did not seem to faze Liam. A slow grin spread over his face.
"I look forward to his treachery. It will give me an opportunity to drive him from Dunsmore Heath forever."
"You don’t fear him?"
He laughed and gave her a hug. "No, sweet Devon, I don’t fear Bryce Forbes."
"Please don’t take him lightly. He's like Frazer. He's…."
He gazed at her and she could feel the heat of his perusal right through her elaborate coverings. "He's what, love?"
"Treacherous," Devon finished.
His hand moved slowly up and down her arm keeping her pinned securely to his chest. He rubbed her shivering flesh. "It warms me to know of your concern." Liam's full attention focused on her and she squirmed restlessly.
"I simply don’t want your blood on my hands," Devon snapped a little more sharply than she intended. His hot breath pierced her veil as he leaned his head closer.
"I'll watch Bryce. Don’t feel responsible for the choices I have made. If I didn’t want to take you for my wife, I would have found another way to save you from Bryce Forbes." Liam caressed her forehead through the filmy covering. "I think 'tis time for us to retire."
Taking her hand, he stood and pulled her to her feet. "Lady Devon and I bid you good evening," he said. The crowd met his announcement with good wishes and a few snickers.
Devon couldn't stop the shiver that washed over her.
“Don’t be afraid,” Liam whispered softly against her veiled head.
Chapter Five
Liam led her quickly from the hall. "Your father tells me he has prepared a new chamber for us."
"Aye Milord, 'tis the old master's chamber in the original part of the castle," Devon responded. "During the festivities some of the servants have moved all of our things there."
"You must lead the way," Liam said, bringing her hand to his mouth for a brief, soft kiss.
Devon drew in her breath sharply and led him through a series of passages, then up two flights of winding steps. They stood before a huge, oak door.
"Beyond is our chamber," Devon announced.
Noticing she seemed reluctant to open the door, he pushed it open. Devon started through the portal, but Liam grabbed her and snatched her into his arms, carrying her across the threshold, and then setting her gently on the floor.
"For luck," he said with a grin. "You and I are in need of all the luck we can muster."
His tone was light and teasing and Devon found herself smiling at his remark in spite of her trepidation. Liam moved from her side and examined their new quarters.
In one corner was a huge, poster bed with heavy, velvet draperies. There was a desk, several chests, and two soft-cushioned chairs. A fire blazed in the stone fireplace. A small door in the corner got Liam's attention. Moving over, he opened it. Devon held her breath.
A scowl crossed his face when he looked in the room beyond the door. He turned and walked over to her. "Why are all your things in the small chamber that adjoins this one?" When she didn't answer, he let out a heavy sigh. "You had planned to sleep apart from me? I told you I desire a true marriage and children."
"The first laird of Dunsmore Heath preferred to sleep alone and kept his wife in the adjoining chamber to be near when he desired her. I sought such an arrangement," she explained, fighting to keep the tremor out of her voice. She squared her shoulders and prepared to accept her punishment.
Liam lifted his hand to touch her veiled head and she jumped away. He did not pursue her, but rather folded his arms across his massive chest and studied her. "'Tis my hope that eventually the smaller room will come to be used only for a nursery; however, if you find it essential to start out there, I'll allow it."
Had she heard him correctly? "Thank you, Milord," she murmured. Her small haven was preserved. She walked into the small adjoining chamber and he followed. "You see, Milord, I wasn’t trying to escape you. The only door in or out of this bedroom is through the master's chamber."
Liam's eyebrows rose at her statement. "Escape me?"
"I assure you I will not try to shirk my duties and escape you," Devon said hurriedly. "I'll give you no reason to…."
"To what?"
"To be displeased with me."
Liam gazed at her thoughtfully. "I had not anticipated being displeased with you. But there is one thing that bothers me."
"Mayhaps if you told me, I could remedy the problem," Devon suggested, steeling herself for a monumental task.
Liam smiled at her. "I'd like you call me Liam, especially when we are alone."
"Aye Milord," she replied, breathing a sigh of relief. He gave her a quizzical glance. "Oh… I mean Liam."
"Better," he said. Liam reached over and took her hand. "Come sit by the fire with me. I want to speak with you."
His large hand placed over her smaller one sent warmth flooding over her. Perhaps he wouldn't be too hard on her this evening, not if he thought she really tried to please him. If Liam noticed her trembling, he didn't mention it. He led her to a chair by the fire and seated himself across from her. Liam pulled his chair up so that she had nowhere to look but right into his eyes. He stretched out his long legs on either side of her and then straightened, leaning forward and taking both of her hands in his.
"Devon, we have a long life ahead of us. I have no wish to put you from me in fear, but I want you to show me your scars. In the privacy of this room, there should be no secrets between husband and wife. I'll think no less of you because of whatever hides behind the veil. You've said you wish to please me, to see all of your face would please me."
"Milord, dinna ask me this," she choked. "I want you to get to know me better before you see my face. I ask only for time. Is that so much?"
It saddened Liam to hear the desperation in her voice. He leaned back and sighed. "Do you sleep with this contraption on? You could suffocate if it tangled around you in the night."
"I sleep alone and therefore I have no need to cover myself," she said. "That's part of the reason I felt this arrangement was for the best."
"And when I take you to my bed, d
o you plan to keep your face from my view? How can two people join together when one hides in fear?"
"I dinna know, Milord. I only know I'm not ready to let you see me. I beg you to grant me the time I need to come to terms with this."
"Liam," he corrected.
"Aye, Milord… aye, Liam," she whispered.
His name on her lips had the same magic effect as before. It was something about the way she seemed to breathe it. What was he going to do with her? She was terrified and that was not what he wanted.
What did he do now? He desired her, faceless or not, although he didn't understand how that could be. Maybe it was the glowing face of the portrait that fed his hunger for her. In his mind, she was the woman in the painting and she was his wife. If he gave her time, she might think he didn't desire her because of her scars and that wasn't the case. He was fairly bursting with desire for her at this very instant.
"I'll try to honor your wishes," Liam said softly. "But you must try to learn to trust me. I will never let any harm come to you."
Devon had heard that promise before. She swallowed hard awaiting what was to come. Could she allow him to touch her? She owed him whatever he wanted. He had saved her and now she was his wife. The terror of it set her blood thundering through her veins, but she remained as still as the chair she sat on.
Liam reached across and stroked her face through the veil. His hand moved slowly to the edge of the sheer covering and ran under her chin, softly stroking the smooth skin of her jaw line until he came to the rough area on her neck behind her ear. His hand never hesitated, but continued touching her ever so gently, then ran up through her rich, auburn locks. She sat hypnotized, unable to move, afraid to object.
His body moved closer so that his other hand also ran lightly across her neck, then down over her shoulders. He leaned forward and drew her head to his, using one hand to expose the soft flesh of her lips, then covering them with his own.
Devon felt some of her fear drop away as he gently plied her lips apart with his insistent tongue. He was different from Frazer, gentler, more in desire of some response. She felt it instinctively, but her fear was too great to enjoy the warm enticement he offered. She fought to keep from pushing him from her—to accept his violation of her—teasing, stroking her to a glimmer of feeling. She fought that down too, afraid to feel, afraid to move, afraid to react.
Connie C. Scharon - Highland Legends 02 Page 5