The metal hinges on the door groaned, signaling someone entered, but he did not bother to glance up, much less move. He simply continued to suck in deep, calming breaths.
“You do not look so well, Calum.”
Calum almost snorted. If Liam addressed him by his God-given name, then he must look wretched. He cracked one eye open to find his cousin looming over him.
“I do not suppose you have your flask with you?” Mayhap, a shot of aged whisky was just the fortification he needed.
Liam stepped over his sprawled legs and dropped down in the seat opposite Calum. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”
Calum craned his neck toward Liam and lifted a brow.
“Fine. ’Tis your wedding.” Shrugging, Liam reached for the small flagon along his belt and passed it over to Calum.
He removed the cork and tipped the flask up, swallowing a mouthful of the smooth, amber whisky. The burn hit him at once, heating his insides and settling in the pit of his stomach.
Rubbing his thumb over the cool, metal flagon, he ventured to ask. “Have you seen her yet?”
Liam shook his head. “She and the women are locked away in your bedchamber. Have been all morn. Every now and again, the door flies open and one of them dashes out to retrieve this or that. Women. You know how they are.” He leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs at the ankles. “So, what’s amiss?” He nodded at the flask. “Not intending to take up the habit, are you?”
Calum swallowed another mouthful of the fortifying drink and handed the flagon to Liam. “Nay. Though, the day is still young.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s amiss? Or do I have to pester you to get an answer?”
Of course, his cousin would. Calum expected no less of the man. He propped an elbow on the chair arm, rested his head in his hand, and stared at the burning embers in the hearth. “Have you ever loved a woman?”
Liam rubbed his chin as if he contemplated the question. “I’ve felt a mild, passing affection for one or two, but nay. Never love. ’Tis not for me.” He glanced over. “Why do you ask?”
Calum rubbed circles over his temple. “I’ve fallen in love with Arabella.”
’Twas a foregone conclusion he’d reached during his restless eve. He was not ashamed of his feelings, but speaking them aloud felt more…real, unsettling, impossible.
“I know.” Liam fiddled with the flask in his hands. “’Tis plain to see.”
Calum cut him a sharp glance. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve known each other all our lives. You’re not so difficult for me to understand, you know.”
He frowned at the fire. “What if…she never loves me?”
When silence met his ear, rather than the taunt or bark of laughter he anticipated, he darted a glance at Liam and met the man’s earnest gaze.
“Do not start.” Liam shook his head. “You should see the pair of you together. Trust me, you’re worrying for naught. I’ve watched her face light up when you’re near. Her gaze tracks your every move. She’s every bit as enthralled with you as you are her.” Liam reached over and grasped his shoulder. “Count your blessings, Cousin. You’re fortunate to have found a prize of a bride. She’ll make a fine wife and mother for your children.”
Touched by the sentiment, Calum cleared the sudden lump from his throat. “Since when did you turn into such a babbling woman?”
Liam’s lips twitched. “Must’ve spent too much time in your company.”
The tightness in Calum’s chest eased and he grinned at his cousin’s teasing. “Will you offer such sage advice to Fraser on his wedding day as well?”
Liam scoffed. “That old boar will get no encouragement from me.”
“I thought you’d struck a truce with the man?”
“Does not mean I’m pleased with the whole ridiculous affair.” Liam slapped his thighs and rose to his feet. “All right. Enough of this discussion. ’Tis time for a wedding, Cousin.”
Calum drew in another drag of air and hoisted himself out of his seat. Yet again, he straightened the pin holding his mantle. He glanced down at himself, smoothing his hand over his linen tunic and buckskin hose and braies. He’d taken extra care that morn to don the attire the women fashioned for him, all in the hopes of pleasing his bride. Once satisfied, he raised a brow at his cousin and gestured to himself.
A few steps away, Liam folded his arms over his chest and his gaze swept Calum from head to toe. When his cousin’s lips twisted with a frown, a barb of unease moved through Calum. He opened his mouth to ask what was amiss, but Liam snapped his fingers.
“I’ve just the thing. The lasses fancy this sort of foolishness.”
Liam moved across the chamber and plucked a flower from a metal jar placed atop a side table. He returned to stand in front of Calum and fiddled at his shoulder, pinning the blossom beneath the brooch holding his mantle.
Content, Liam nodded. “There. Much better.” He gripped Calum’s forearm and squeezed. “’Tis time to claim your bride.”
*
Arabella’s slippered foot tapped a cadence on the stone floor, while she wrung the bit of linen Maggie had given her. Try as she might, she could not sit still. Her entire body trembled of its own accord. Her empty stomach growled in protest, but she dared not eat a morsel.
In a foul mood, she’d bitten back more than one harsh remark that morn as the women fussed, poked, pulled, and prodded her into her wedding gown. Now, at long last, the deed was done. To her utter relief, only she and Maggie remained in the chamber.
“Your mother and father would be so proud. And Iain.” Maggie raised a hand and tucked a curl behind Arabella’s ear. “You’re a vision if I’ve ever seen one. You know Dougal and I love you as our own. We always will, my sweet lass.”
Arabella wrapped her arms around Maggie’s plump middle. “I love you so much.”
“Come, now.” Maggie patted her back, then stepped away, holding her at arm’s length. She scolded, “You’re going to wrinkle your gown.”
Arabella laughed as she wiped away her tears with the scrap of linen Maggie had given her.
A heavy rap sounded at the door, and Maggie chucked her beneath the chin. “Head up, love.”
Maggie opened the chamber door and Uncle Hammish stepped inside, nodding at Maggie as he passed.
“I’ll leave the two of you to your privacy, but be quick about it.” Maggie grinned. “You would not want Calum thinking you’ve changed your mind, now would you?”
Arabella smiled after the older woman as Maggie quit the chamber, leaving her alone with her uncle. He slowly paced the chamber with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Do you know Calum was born in this very chamber?” He nodded toward the bed. “Right there, in fact.”
She raised her brows. Nay, she had not known, but she was unsure why it mattered.
“I remember the day quite well,” he continued. “Despite my protests, Cormac drug me into the chamber, pleased to show off his firstborn.” He creased his nose. “To be honest, the lad was pitiful, all wrinkled and bald. But to his mother and father, they’d never seen a more handsome sight.”
He paused before the window and gazed out. “I’ve missed much in this life. I was not there for Iain’s birth. Or yours. Hell, I was not even…” Facing her, he fidgeted with the dagger sheathed along his belt. “I’ve no desire to miss anything more.”
She stepped in front of him and smiled. “Then you shall not.”
Searching her gaze, he lifted a hand to her cheek. “You’re so much like your mother. Not a day passes I do not think of her.”
Sadness darkened his gaze, and Arabella moved to wrap her arms around his waist. She rested her ear over his barrel chest and listened to the strong, steady thump of his heart.
“I’m pleased you are here with me on this day, Uncle.”
“I would not have missed it.” Gripping her closer, he reached down to kiss her forehead. “I love you, girl.”
“I love
you, too.”
He pulled away, grasping her shoulders in his hands, and grinned. “Come along, lass. ’Tis time. Otherwise, Calum will wear a hole in the floor with all his blasted pacing.”
*
Inside the small kirk in the courtyard, Calum stood at the altar before Father MacKinley, struggling not to tug at his sleeves or straighten his brooch—anything to calm his trembling hands. He darted a glance at Liam and received a half-shrug and strained smile. Behind him, many of the MacGregors and guests from other clans spoke in hushed whispers as they waited for the bride’s arrival.
The sweet blossoming flowers adorning columns and pews hung heavy in the kirk, and Calum wrinkled his nose to prevent a sneeze. The perfumed air grew stifling the longer he stood alone at the altar. He pulled at the collar of his tunic, which had grown far too restricting for his liking. The murmurs at his back increased, boring into his ears.
Christ, he knew it. Arabella changed her mind.
A sharp jab pierced his chest and he clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides. A cold sweat broke out over his forehead. A scant moment away from storming out of the church, he closed his eyes and tried to steady the pounding organ in his chest. ’Twas then he realized a hush fell over the crowd. At once, he glanced over at Liam. The wide grin stretched across his cousin’s face was the sole confirmation Calum needed to calm the battle in head.
Betraying his shaky composure, he spun toward the entrance and his heart stuttered over several beats. Framed by the entryway, Arabella stood bravely, a breathtaking vision in shimmering emeralds and golds. A beacon of red-gold curls tumbled around her shoulders, and her shy smile shone brighter than the sunlight through the panes of glass.
As she moved through the parted crowd, the pulse in his throat sped wildly, pounding in his ears. He could not dislodge his gaze from the enchanting sight floating toward him. He scarcely noticed Fraser press Arabella’s hand in his when she joined him at the altar.
Throughout the sacrament, he struggled to listen as the priest recited the rites, but his sole focus remained on the comely woman on his arm. The touch of her chilled fingers felt as light as a feather atop his hand. Only when Father MacKinley wrapped a length of MacGregor tartan around his and Arabella’s joined hands, binding their union, did he realize the ceremony drew near an end.
The priest prompted Calum for an answer, and he voiced his approval loud enough to shake the rafters overhead. His bride’s quiet but sure acceptance followed. Once Father MacKinley blessed their bond, Calum slid the substantial emerald ring he’d chosen to match her eyes onto her small finger. Her surprised gaze met his and he smiled. The astonished delight written across her features far outweighed the price of the gemstone.
One small, final action stood between him and his bride sealing their eternal bond as man and wife. He swept her into his arms and kissed her with all the joy and fervor pounding through his heart and soul. At last, he’d wed the woman who held his heart.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Arabella peered at the sparkling ring on her finger while her stomach continued to churn and turn flips. During the banquet, she’d sat wound as taut as a bowstring, hesitant of the eve ahead. She glanced to the source of her unease seated beside her. Sprawled in his chair with a tankard of ale in his hand, Calum chuckled at the ribald jests tossed around the hall at his own expense. As though sensing her gaze, he turned his head and proffered a slow, charming smile at her.
“Is something amiss, Sweetness?” He placed his goblet on the table and shifted closer. Grasping her hand, he interwove their fingers. “’Tis been an exhausting day for both of us. Shall we take our leave and retire for the eve?”
Her heart flew to her throat, and a heaviness settled on her chest, wringing the air from her. She attempted to form an acceptable response, but only managed to pull in shallow breaths.
Calum ducked his head closer. His cheek grazed hers. “Breathe, my lass. I vow all will be well.” His breath warmed her ear. “Let us take our leave and enjoy a cup of warm mulled wine in the privacy of our chamber.”
Privacy.
The word alone robbed the remaining air from her lungs. Wheezing, she glanced away from his tender, blue gaze to their joined hands. His large fingers dwarfed hers, but his grip was gentle and sure—just like him.
Saints, what was the matter with her? She was being ridiculous, allowing uncertainty to all but devour her. This was Calum. What’s more, he was her husband now.
Arabella steeled her backbone and lifted her gaze to his. “Aye, husband. I would like that.”
His lips curled with a smile. With a soft squeeze to her hand, he rose to his feet and helped her to stand. Facing the packed hall, he announced, “My bride and I wish to retire for the eve. You have our thanks for your warm wishes. Please continue to eat, drink, and make merry, my friends.”
“Ho, what’s this?” Marcus barked out. “The women are to see your bride up. Then we are to deliver you into her clutches.”
Calum snorted. “Not this time, I’m afraid. We’ll see ourselves up. Alone. You can save that nonsense for Fraser’s wedding.”
Her uncle spat a mouthful of water across the table, and the hall dissolved into laughter. Laughing, she leaned into Calum’s side as he led her through the throng of well-wishers and shouts of bawdy banter.
With an arm around her shoulders, he assisted her up the main staircase and led her down the passageway until they paused in front of the chamber she’d called her own since her arrival. Her husband unlatched the door and scooped her into his arms. She smothered a squeal as he carried her over the threshold, kicking the door closed behind them.
Inside, he deposited her on her feet in the middle of the chamber. Arabella’s heart pounded as fast as a bird’s wings in flight. Her spine as rigid as a lance, she tracked his every movement.
Calum pulled a fur from the bed and spread the pelt before the fire. He moved to a side table, retrieved a tray laden with a jug, goblets, and a trencher, and settled the platter on the fur. Once done, he paced toward her, extending his hand and a kind smile.
“Would you care to join me, my lady wife?”
Her face heated to the roots of her hair. Despite her apprehension, she placed her shaky hand in his. “Aye, my lord husband.”
With care, he helped settle her on the fur, and then he eased down beside her and began unlacing and removing his boots. She tensed and he paused his movements long enough to explain. “I merely wished to get comfortable. ’Tis ages since I’ve been in my bedchamber.”
“I’m sorry.” She ducked her head.
Chuckling, he nudged her shoulder with his. “I’m only teasing, Arabella.” He reached behind him and pulled the tray between them. “Would you care for some wine?”
She spotted a bowl of Elena’s pastries on the tray and glanced up at Calum in surprise. “How ever did you get these?”
“I asked my aunt to make them. I thought you might enjoy them.”
Deep crimson tinged his cheeks and she grinned at his awkwardness. The thoughtful gesture shed another measure of her unease. “That was sweet of you, Husband.”
Shrugging, he poured two goblets of mulled wine and passed her one. He set his aside and rose to his knees to stoke the fire. The faint pop, crackle, and hiss from the hearth enhanced the comforting mood in the chamber.
As he fiddled with the fire, she sipped the spiced wine and considered her husband. In truth, she was rather fortunate to have wed a kind, considerate man. From the first moment she’d met him, he’d looked after her care and seen to her every need. Even though she trusted Calum with her life, a battle of nerves waged war in the pit of her stomach. She wished for naught more than to please her husband, but she’d no notion how.
Annoyed with her ignorance, she snatched a tart from the bowl and sank her teeth into the small confection. Why had she not paid more attention to the serving girls at Penswyck when they mooned over Iain’s men? Perhaps she might’ve learned how to please her husb
and from the foolish women. She swallowed a mouthful of the sugared berries and set the other half of the pastry aside. Vexed, she pursed her lips and glanced at Calum, only to find him studying her with that penetrating stare of his.
Arabella glanced away, embarrassed by her thoughts. “Is something amiss?”
In the next instant, she gasped when he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her over his hard thighs onto his lap. Spicy scents of soap and man filled her nose, and the pulse in her neck thumped wildly from his nearness. Plagued with unease, she wrung her hands and peered at the stitching of her gown.
With a finger beneath her chin, he lifted her gaze to his. The desire darkening his gaze robbed her of breath and she shivered.
“Are you cold?” His husky voice hummed in her ears.
She shook her head and bit her bottom lip.
“Do you fear me, Arabella?”
The question brought a smile to her lips. “Nay. I’ve never feared you.”
His thumb ghosted over her cheek. “Then why do you tremble?”
Frowning, she plucked at a loose thread on her sleeve. “What if I displease you?”
Calum framed her face in his hands and lifted her gaze to his once more. “You’ve pleased me since the moment you glared down at me from atop of that wretched beast of yours at Penswyck.”
His warm gaze bore into her. He leaned the short distance between them and captured her mouth. His tongue swept inside, teasing her and igniting a slow burn in her belly. Her worries slipped away as their tongues entwined.
Calum arranged her bent legs on either side of his lap and eased the hem of her gown up her thighs. Falling into the grips of passion, she tugged him closer, reveling in the feel of his powerful body pressed against hers.
Desperate for air, she tore her mouth free and panted. The man set her so off balance she’d forgotten to breathe. His lips slid over her jaw, warming her skin. Gooseflesh rose on her arms and she vaguely realized his questing hands worked the lacings of her gown and shift free. The soft material slid from her shoulders, baring her chest to his heated gaze.
My Reckless Love Page 20