by Alyssa Stark
“Ye look well, lass,” he said softly as he reached down to caress her cheek.
“Thank you,” she said as she leaned into his touch. Tristan had bathed and changed into clean clothes. He smelled of autumn sunshine and fresh soap, scents which Isobel found highly arousing. Isobel found her betrothed remarkably handsome and was giddy with the prospect of touching him and kissing him. Tristan Finnegan was soon to be her husband and she could not believe her good fortune.
“Will ye walk with me, Isobel?” he asked as he threaded her hand into the crook of his arm. He was careful only to touch her hand, but he delighted in its slight weight in the crook of his arm. He knew that if he touched Isobel now, if he allowed himself the pleasure of kissing her as he longed wholeheartedly to do, he would lose all resolve for what he needed to do.
Isobel nodded and fell into step beside him. She could not ease the near permanent smile that had taken up residence upon her face since Tristan’s victory in the tournament.
“I can hardly fathom that we can do this, ken?” Tristan said as he covered Isobel’s hand with his own and led her down the steps. “That we can walk together out in the open for all to see,” he said with a smile as he looked down at Isobel.
She looked breathtakingly happy.
“Tis wonderful,” she said happily as they walked out the grand entrance of the keep.
Preparations were underway for the wedding and the celebration that would follow. Men scurried about the grounds in front of the keep, setting up tables and bringing baskets laden with food into the kitchens. The kitchen maids had been a flurry of energy, baking cakes and sweet breads whilst planning the menu for the feast.
With Laird McLaughlin’s illness, it had been awhile since the clan had been so cheerful. Isobel knew that her marriage would have made her father happy. She missed him, but knew that he would be smiling down upon her now from heaven.
She also knew that he would be proud of her choice in a husband.
They walked without speaking for awhile, content with each other’s company and the newness of being allowed to walk arm-in-arm so openly. When they reached the large oak tree at the edge of the forest, Tristan paused and motioned for Isobel to sit down in the shady grass beneath the tree.
He lowered himself down next to her as she smoothed her skirts about her legs.
Isobel watched Tristan’s mouth intently. She hoped that he would kiss her now that they were well away from the prying eyes of McLaughlin keep. Tristan had not kissed her in the corridor as she had expected him to do and she felt herself longing for the soft touch of his velvety lips.
Tristan squared his shoulders and prepared himself to face Isobel. He knew that he could not hide the truth from her any longer. She had the right to know the full truth before choosing to carry forth with their marriage. Tristan had given Isobel his heart so fully that it terrified him. He had vowed to never again be vulnerable to a woman, but Isobel had rendered the walls around his heart to a pile of rubble.
Tristan feared that if she rebuked him now, his heart would be hardened forever. If she chose to walk away from him after his confession, she would take with her his heart, dragging it through the bracken and heather all the way back to McLaughlin keep.
He let out a great sigh and reached down to take Isobel’s hand. He brushed the back of her knuckles gently and then looked directly into her blue eyes.
“I need tae speak with ye before the wedding,” he said with hooded eyes. “There are parts of my past that I feel I must confess to you so that if you change your mind, I mean that if you decide that you do not wish to be my wife, there will still be time…”
“Tristan Finnegan!” Isobel scolded sharply. “There is nothing that you could tell me that would change the way I feel about you!”
“Please, lass,” he said, with hurt visibly welling in his hazel eyes. “Ye must hush now and let me finish.”
“I love you,” Isobel said with conviction. “And nothing that you say will change that.”
Tristan reached up and raked his hand through his hair. He was unsure of how to begin his confession and decided that the best course was to be direct.
“I was married once before,” he said, eyes searching Isobel’s for her reaction.
She said nothing and her face remained carefully expressionless.
“It was not the same as what is between you and I,” he said softly. “We were married as part of an agreement between our clans. It was a marriage of convenience. I did not love her as I love you,” he said with palpable sincerity. Tristan’s heart ached as he confessed his hidden past to Isobel. He knew that the omission of his first wife would hurt Isobel and he cursed himself for not telling her of the union sooner.
Isobel considered Tristan’s words for a moment. The shock of his revelation was still resounding within her.
“But you did love her?”
“Aye,” Tristan admitted. “I loved her because she was my wife, entrusted to me to protect and care for. But I did not love her as I love you. There was no passion, no love in our joining.”
Isobel bit her lower lip as she contemplated Tristan’s words.
Tristan could feel the warmth of her body next to him. She was sitting so closely by his side that the sweet smell of lavender wafted from her hair, tormenting his senses. He was encouraged by the fact that she had not moved away from him. Her silence was unsettling to him and the quiet of the forest unnerved him further.
He wished that she would say something.
Tristan’s eyes scanned Isobel’s face, which was still carefully expressionless save for the nervous habit of chewing on her bottom lip. Her blue eyes were intent on his face. It was as if she was waiting for him to speak further of the matter.
He shifted his gaze to the ground and continued.
“I doona wish to be so harsh as to say that I didna care for her. Because I did,” he added as his eyes again locked with Isobel’s. “I do not ken how to explain it really,” he said very softly as his eyes returned to the grass. “We were bound together by marriage and although it was not a passionate marriage, we were happy together.”
Isobel drew in a shaky breath.
Tristan had been happy with another woman.
“What was her name?” Isobel asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“Catherine,” he answered. It was the first time that he had spoken her name aloud since her death. Her name seemed to catch in his throat, causing a great lump to settle there.
“Is she dead?” Isobel asked, needing to know. She hated the jealousy that had reared up within her, but the thought of Tristan being with another woman ripped at her heart.
“Aye,” Tristan said. He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. “And there is more to tell, love,” he added as he forced his eyes up to face Isobel’s.
Isobel squeezed his hand.
Tristan had told himself that he would remain strong as he made his dreadful confession to Isobel. He felt the tears gathering behind his eyes and he raked his hand roughly through his hair and then fisted his free hand by his side. He knew that he had to tell Isobel, he knew that he had to bear his sins openly for her to see. He had repressed thoughts of Catherine for so long. Speaking of her now, confessing his grief to Isobel had ripped his wounds open as if they were fresh.
“I killed her, Isobel,” Tristan said shamefully. He gritted his teeth together in a final effort to stop the tears from coming.
Isobel took in a swift breath. Her mouth fell open in shock. Tristan was and had been many things to her, but for the life of her, she could not see him as a murderer.
“She died trying to bring my son into the world,” he said, chin quivering with emotion as he confessed the full weight of his guilt. Damn it, he’d sworn to himself that he would not weep, but his grief was too much! Tristan wiped at his eyes with the back of his arm, viciously trying to wipe away the tears.
Isobel released her breath slowly.
Tristan was not a murderer.
<
br /> She scolded herself for pronouncing such a swift judgment on his character. Her heart broke as she watched him now, struggling valiantly with his flood of emotions. His eyes were downcast and he refused to look at her.
“Twas not your fault,” she said softly as she leaned forward and gathered Tristan into her arms. He relaxed into her breast and allowed her to hold him. “Shh,” Isobel whispered as she stroked his hair. “Twas not your fault.”
Tristan held on to Isobel for dear life, his wounds fresh and torn open for her to see. He waited until he was sure that he would be able to speak without his voice cracking and then forced himself away from the sweet solace of her chest. His eyes still stung from his unshed tears.
Leaning away from Isobel slightly, his eyes locked with hers.
“I thought that my heart had died after I lost them,” he confessed. “Losing them is what caused me to run from my family, my responsibilities and come here. I ken that it was cowardly, but I could not stand to live in the shadow of their memory,” he said softly, his voice a shaky whisper. “I thought that my heart had died, Isobel! I thought that my heart had died until I met you.”
His hazel eyes were locked with hers.
Isobel saw him wholly just then, his vulnerability and imperfections settling him even more firmly into the fiber of her own heart.
“Are you asking me if I still want to be your wife?” she said softly as she held his fragile gaze.
“Aye. I thought that I should tell ye of my past, tell ye of my sins so that you might have full knowledge of me before we were wed. So that you could change your mind if you want to.”
Isobel shook her head gently from side-to-side.
“I want you, Tristan Finnegan. I want you broken parts and all, so that I may spend the rest of my living days piecing your heart back together and loving you with all of my own heart. I want to be your wife, now and forever,” she said with steadfast conviction.
Tristan sighed heavily. He felt as though a burden had been lifted from his soul. Isobel had not rebuked him and he was thankful, for he knew not how he would have lived had she cast him aside.
“I love you, Isobel,” he whispered as he gathered her into his arms.
“And I you,” she said with an honest smile.
Isobel reached up and kissed him softly on the mouth. She withdrew and lifted her hands to his face, wiping away the last of his tears and beginning the process of knitting his heart back together.
..oo Chapter Eighteen oo..
Isobel had never been happier.
She smoothed the skirts of her ice blue gown and took a final look at herself in the mirror. The low scooped neck of her gown accentuated her breasts perfectly. She knew that Tristan would love the gown, but she also knew that he could complain that his men would be admiring her over much.
Her hair was unbound, just as Tristan liked it, and cascaded in loose waves down her back. Her maid had painstakingly woven pearl studded hair pins into the braids that adorned the crown of her head.
She felt beautiful, just as a woman should on her wedding day.
As she reached for the handle of the door she had a sudden pang of longing for her father. Despite his unconventional ways, she knew that her father had loved her greatly. Isobel wished that he could have been here today to give her hand to Tristan. She scrunched her eyes shut tightly when tears of longing threatened to break loose.
Taking a deep breath, Isobel opened the door and stepped into the chapel. Her dressing room was down the corridor from the main atrium. Isobel walked briskly down the corridor, the swishing of her skirts and the clicking of her shoes on the flagstones the only sound.
“I chose well, Papa,” she whispered as she smiled slightly. In her heart of hearts, Isobel knew that her father would approve of Tristan Finnegan. Not only would he be an excellent, loving husband, but he would be a skillful leader and a powerful Laird. “I wish that you were here with me,” she said to the flagstones as she turned the corner and stood at the entrance to the atrium.
Her eyes flitted up from the flagstones and locked with Tristan’s at once.
He stood next to the altar, dressed in a formal crimson plaid and a crisp white shirt. Isobel noticed that he wore the McLaughlin tartan, signifying his new position as Laird. Tristan’s sandy blonde hair was pulled back into a queue and he was wearing a radiant smile. He looked deliriously happy as he stood waiting for his bride.
Isobel’s blood heated and her heart beat a rampant rhythm as she strode down the aisle to join Tristan. She could not stop from smiling and a broad grin overtook her beautiful face as she walked towards her soon-to-be husband.
Dozens of candles adorned the altar of the chapel, their flames dancing and adding a warm glow to the intimate ceremony. Tristan stood next to the priest, a portly aged man that Isobel had known for the entirety of her life. The priest smiled warmly at her as she walked down the aisle. To Tristan’s left stood Brandon and Hodges, their familiar faces completed the sparse wedding party.
Tristan extended his hand and helped Isobel up the stone steps that led to the candle lit altar.
Her heart threatened to burst with happiness as she looked up at the man that would be her husband.
We’ve won! Her heart screamed with each thunderous beat.
Tristan bent down and kissed Isobel’s cheek as they stood before the priest. His breath was warm against her skin and sent shivers of anticipation zipping down her spine. He took both of her hands in his and they stood facing each other before the altar.
“Tis good to see that you are happy with the match chosen for you, Isobel,” Priest Murray said with a knowing smile. He had always held a fond place in his heart for Lady Isobel McLaughlin and he was overjoyed to see the lass so content on her wedding day.
“I chose him myself,” Isobel said with conviction as she looked into Tristan’s hazel eyes.
The Priest laughed heartily. “Shall we begin?”
“Aye,” Isobel and Tristan said at the same time.
“Ye shall go first, Tristan,” Priest Murray began. “Repeat the words to Lady Isobel after I’ve spoken them.”
“Aye,” Tristan nodded, his eyes never leaving Isobel’s lovely face. He listened to Priest Murray’s words and spoke his vows slowly and ardently to Isobel.
“I take ye, Isobel McLaughlin to be my wife. Ye are blood of my blood, and bone of my bone,” he said reverently as he looked into Isobel’s blue eyes. “I give ye my body that we two might be one. I give ye my spirit ‘til our life shall be done,” Tristan said, his body thrumming with the overwhelming emotion of his love for Isobel as he spoke his vows to her. “You cannon possess me for I belong to myself, but I pledge to give you that which is mine to give. I shall serve you in those ways that you require and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand,” Tristan vowed, his voice raw with emotion. “Above and beyond this, I will cherish and honor ye through this life and into the next.”
Tears of happiness streamed down Isobel’s face as Tristan spoke the vows of marriage that would bind them together for eternity. She was overcome with emotion from both the ordeal that they had endured and the happiness that overflowed from her heart.
“Doona cry, love,” Tristan whispered as he reached up and wiped away her tears.
“I cannot help it! I’m just so happy!” Isobel stammered. She laughed and allowed Tristan to wipe away her tears with his thumbs. When he was finished, he took her hands in his once more.
“Tis your turn, Isobel,” Priest Murray encouraged.
“I take you, Tristan Finnegan to be my husband,” Isobel said, her voice jubilant. “You are blood of my blood and bone of my bone,” she smiled as she looked up at Tristan. “I give you my body that we two might be one,” Isobel said as her face flushed pink at the meaning of her vow. “And I give you my spirit ‘til this life is done. You cannot possess me for I belong to myself but I pledge to give you that which is mine to give. I shall serve you in the ways that you require and the
honeycomb shall taste sweeter coming from my hand.” Isobel’s pulse raced as she looked into Tristan’s eyes. “Above and beyond this, I will cherish and honor you through this life and into the next.”
Overcome with emotion, Tristan pulled Isobel towards his chest and captured her lips in a possessive kiss.
“Ye may kiss the bride,” Priest Murray said a moment too late.
Tristan threaded his fingers through Isobel’s hair and kissed her lips sweetly as he held her in his arms.
“And by the power vested in me, I proclaim ye tae be husband and wife,” Priest Murray added. He cleared his throat when the young couple extended their first kiss a moment longer than was proper.
Tristan regretfully drew his mouth away from Isobel’s lips.
He gifted Isobel with a mischievous look that told her that they would finish this later.
“My wife,” he whispered against her mouth.
Isobel’s mouth turned up into a broad smile.
“My husband,” she said in return. “We have won,” she said, not believing their good fortune.
..ooOOoo..
Tristan carried his wife up the stone steps two at a time. He nuzzled his favorite place in the hollow of her ear and elicited a sweet giggle from his bride.
“Where are you going?” Isobel asked between giggles. Tristan had walked right past the Laird’s chambers and had continued down the candle-lit corridor.
“I’m taking my wife tae bed,” he said huskily as he continued walking.
He nipped playfully at Isobel’s earlobe and squeezed her bum.
“But will we not sleep in the Laird’s chambers?” she asked, thinking that Tristan did not know where they were supposed to reside now.
“To tell ye the truth, Wife, we will not be sleeping much tonight,” he said with a lop-sided grin.
Isobel felt her face flush and she bit her lower lip.
“Trust me, love,” he whispered as he eyed his beautiful bride desirously. “We will not take up residence in the Laird’s chamber. I’ve had the room at the end of the hall prepared for us. We shall stay there from now on.”