Trust: Betrayed

by Cristiane Serruya

  The music stopped.

  The guests held their breaths with great anticipation while the enormous double doors of the castle opened slowly when the orchestra played the first chords of Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol.

  Alistair’s heart was pounding so fast and hard that it felt like he had a military drum in his chest.

  Her head held high, bearing one of his mother’s crowns, Sophia appeared from the dark entrance of the castle on Felipe’s arm.

  She wore no veil and carried no bouquet.

  For Alistair, in that moment, she was the incarnation of love. My personal ray of sun.

  As Alistair’s breath caught in his throat, the breath the guests had been holding transformed into murmurs heard all around the chapel.

  He squinted his eyes and peered at the congregation only to see that the male guests’ stares were envious.

  Her slender neck and her shoulders were exposed as her long raven hair was braided and tied up high on her head. She was wearing the magnificent necklace and earrings he had given her that matched her engagement ring.

  Her gown was diaphanous, made of the finest and most delicate silver threaded Gauzy Chantilly lace on a very pale rose background the same shade of her skin. A sheer bodice of silver Gauzy Chantilly lace with fitted long sleeves had tiny embroidered flowers of the same lace. The skirt was made of asymmetrical layers of pale rose organza, with the same tiny flowers of silver lace scattered over it. It fell to the ground in a soft A shape, and the right amount of flair, floating around as she moved.

  Alistair looked at Victoria, in awe of her talent and smiled. She blew him a kiss, her brows wiggling.

  He loves you. You love him. Sophia chanted the words in her head, but they didn’t lessen her trembling as she descended the stairs and walked down the aisle.

  Never in her life Sophia had felt so nervous. She clutched Felipe’s arm and tried to smile a couple of times, but gave up. All she could do was breathe and count her paces to move steadily forward. Her lips parted in a breathless way more alluring than any smile.

  The white flower arrangements and the colorfully dressed guests were no more than blurs as she walked by. All she could feel was Alistair’s warm and possessive gaze calling her to him.

  Reaching his side, she took a deep breath taking in his masculine scent. Their eyes met and she saw in his the same nervousness and need.

  She felt anticipation streak through her and she remembered him quoting Dante when they first met. It’s the spark before the flame.

  “Alistair,” Felipe greeted Alistair and put Sophia’s hand in his, “she is a precious jewel. You take care of her.”

  Jesus Christ! How many more are going to tell me this? He noted her ribs expand as she inhaled deeply and raised her eyes to him. His flaming green eyes met her light yellow diamond ones and locked.

  Holding both of her freezing hands in his, he whispered, amazed by the song she had chosen and remarking from it. “You need nothing else but me?”

  Her lips trembled in a smile and she nodded.

  “So let’s forget the world?” he asked.

  She shook her head now with a small smile in her lips.

  He quirked an eyebrow and grinned teasingly at her. “Are you going to just nod when Father Bruce asks you to repeat your vows?” He nodded his head, “Like this?”

  “Those three words will never be enough,” was her hoarse reply.

  “Better.” He stepped closer to her, and his fingers curled around her wrists, bringing them to his chest. “Nervous?”

  “Are you?” she asked as she nodded confirming what everyone could see.

  “All I can promise is not to faint,” he sneered.

  “God forbid.” She grinned then.

  Valentina, Victoria, Felipe and Edward were chuckling. The priest looked at the rabbi and cleared his throat.

  “I brought two handkerchiefs in case you decided to cry.” He laughed when she opened her hand and showed a frilly lacy handkerchief wrung in her fist.

  His smoothed a hand over her lace covered back, spreading his fingers on the small of her back, and stopping dangerously near her buttocks. “Are you trying to entice the male guests?”

  Lachlann coughed, disguising a laugh. Angelica didn’t even try to conceal hers.

  “Only you,” she sighed, stepping closer. Her arm wrapped around his waist. “Was I successful?”

  The rabbi cleared his throat louder than the priest.

  “I don’t have words to describe how stunning you look.” His hand pressed her closer.

  “Aren’t you disappointed I didn’t choose white?” She raised her face to his.

  “Sophia. You could never disappoint me. Your real beauty resides inside you. Your soul is so pure that it is white,” he declared to her, his face bending.

  She rose on her tiptoes, “And you are the most handsome Scottish groom I’ll ever see.”

  “Lad! Lass!” Father Bruce shouted.

  They were startled and looked up from each other as discreet laugh could be heard around the chapel.

  “Sorry, Father,” they said in unison and gazed at each other again, grinning.

  The priest mumbled something under his breath and started the service.

  “In the presence of God and these witnesses, I, Alistair Connor Davenport MacCraig, take thee, Sophia, the light of my life, my own sun, to be my wedded wife, from this day forward until my last breath, promising to trust you with all the faith in my spirit, to have you with all the hope in my soul, and to worship you with all the love in my heart.” He grinned at her while he slid the wedding band on her finger, his forest green eyes holding so much love that Sophia could no longer stop the tears.

  “Come on, wife. Stop crying,” he ordered, his pristine white handkerchief drying her face.

  She smiled at him through her tears, “I never promise to obey.”

  “I think I can manage your disobedience, Beauty.” He grinned broadly, overjoyed by her blatant happiness. “Keep crying and you’re going to turn from my Beauty into the Beast.”

  Oh! “Stop. I can’t concentrate like this,” she retorted.

  “Beast!” he whispered.

  Sophia tightened her lips, but a strangled giggle bubbled anyhow. “They’ll think we are crazy.”

  Alistair chuckled and murmured on her lips, “I am, you know? Crazy about you.”

  “Alistair Connor!” The old priest was clearly horrified. “Not yet, you have to wait for her vows.”

  “I’m waiting, but she’s just taking too long.” Alistair turned his head to look at the priest who’d known him since he was a child. “Father Bruce, can we hurry things along?”

  The priest threw his hands to the sky, shocked, not believing what he had just heard. “Forgive them, Father, they don’t know what they are doing.”

  Sophia blushed as she heard the laughter all around her. She looked briefly at Felipe and Gabriela, who were clearly amused by the whole ceremony. Or the lack of it.

  That’s enough Sophia! She took a deep breath and locked her eyes on Alistair’s.

  “In the presence of God and before these witnesses, I, Sophia Gonçalves Espírito Santo Leibowitz, give to you, Alistair Connor, my heart, my soul, and all that I am. I promise to be faithful and loyal, to cherish and to love you. I choose you today to be my husband, as I will choose you tomorrow and every new day for the rest of our lives.” Her hands shook as she put his ring on his finger.

  “Now, son,” Father Bruce had a smile in his voice, “you may kiss the bride.”

  Afternoon sunlight poured through the long windows onto the ballroom. Gowns of every hue vied with bright jewels and equally bright eyes. Surrounded by felicitations and congratulations, Sophia moved through the crowd, smiling. She spied Alistair talking to friends in a corner. She headed toward them.

  Alistair saw her long before she reached him. The thrill was still there, the sudden breathlessness, the ache of longing, the need to give and to take. He wondered if the feelin
g would ever fade.

  “I come to steal my husband away, gentlemen.” She turned to Alistair and smiled, “It’s time to cut the cake.”

  “Dessert?” Alistair gave her a wicked smile and gallantly raised Sophia’s hand to his lips kissing it before putting it on his arm. “Your merest wish is my command.”

  Oh. You naughty man. Sophia flashed him a wanton smile as they walked to the center of the ballroom.

  “In fact,” he mused, his voice deepening to a purr and his thumb caressing her wrist, “I’m anticipating fulfilling a good number of your wishes before the night is through.”

  She laughed, “Keep speaking like this and I’ll blush.”

  “Brides are supposed to blush, didn’t anyone tell you?” Alistair’s words feathered her ear as he steered her among the guests. “Besides, you look delightful when you blush.”

  People were already crowding around the wedding cake, which had been brought to the middle of the room, a seven tiered celery green cake decorated with handmade white sugar roses and tiny orange blossoms.

  With exaggerated formality, Tavish bowed in front of them and presented Alistair a scabbarded claymore almost the same height as Sophia. “Your weapon, Lord Ells.”

  “God spare me,” Sophia exclaimed.

  The ballroom erupted with laughter and Sophia’s cheeks flamed bright red.

  “Now you’re blushing, wife.” With a devilish smile, Alistair reached for the hilt and with a swift and powerful movement the huge claymore came singing from its sheath.

  “Grip the hilt.” He stood behind her, his arms encircling her and transferred the thick ridged rod to her hands and wrapped his over hers.

  Sophia suddenly felt faint with desire. Alistair’s deep chuckle in her ear told her he was feeling likewise.

  Together they raised the claymore and neatly cut through each of the seven layers. He handed the claymore back to Tavish and opened his mouth to eat the sugar rose petal she held in her fingers.

  His eyes devoured her as she also ate a petal and licked her lips. He bent and took her mouth in a passionate kiss while cheers and clapping erupted on all sides.

  Sophia shivered and felt an answering ripple pass through him. Their eyes met when he broke the kiss and stepped back, putting distance between their overcharged bodies.

  “Later.” His whispered word was a promise.

  6.03 p.m.

  “Dance with me,” a deep baritone voice hoarsely requested in Sophia’s ear. Ethan stepped around and held his hand out to Sophia. He was at his most charming.

  Oh, my. She blinked up at him, “Ethan.”

  She looked around searching for Alistair and her heart stopped when she noticed him looking at them through narrowed eyes.

  “You know...” Ethan’s azure eyes were full of longing, “I would be honored if you’d dance with me on your wedding day. Please?”

  Sophia couldn’t refuse his plea and rose from her chair, placing her hand in his.

  He raised it to his lips and lightly kissed her knuckles, “You look gorgeous, Sophia. And happy.”

  “I am.” They walked hand in hand to the dance floor and he pulled her into his embrace, his arm snaking around her waist. “I missed you at the other parties. Why didn’t you come sooner?”

  I’m not entirely sure why I came today. “I couldn’t. But I wouldn’t miss your wedding,” he answered noncommittally. “I’ve set the date of our ball.”

  For some reason, she wanted to reach out and bridge the gap between them, to comfort him. “That’s great news. When?”

  “November the twenty-seventh. It’s a Saturday,” he said. “I talked with Mrs. Chanda and she told me you’ve already started the refurbishment at both India and China.”

  “Yes, the planning is done and we’ll start work no later than next month. You will love the project, Ethan. I told Zahira that I wanted to show it to you personally.”

  Ethan danced effortlessly and a comfortable silence spread between them. He looked down, saw the warmth and understanding in her eyes, and wished he could hold her tightly in his arms again and feel her softness against him.

  Frowning, Alistair opened his fisted hands and breathed. You’re being unreasonable, Alistair Connor. She is only dancing. Nothing more. You have no justifiable cause to complain.

  He wanted Sophia, had wanted her from the first moment he saw her, when she walked into that meeting room. The physical, possessive and protective want, the need for her loyalty, her commitment; it was all still powerful enough to unsettle him, to obsess him, to undermine his usual unassailable control. Fuck!

  She did look splendid in the gown, the lace bodice revealing a good deal more of her body than he deemed necessary. Enough to constitute a threat to public order.

  Victoria did a fabulous job. It is gorgeous. She is gorgeous. And I am the most infatuated husband in the world. Bemused, he shook his head at himself. All I have to do is control my temper and remember that I mustn’t break any of my friends’ noses for looking where she is so flagrantly inviting them to.

  Go there. Take her and take control of your feelings again. Brows quirking, he examined that conclusion and could not fault it. He wasn’t going to get any real peace until he fulfilled this desire. Unbidden, his mind conjured up their first kiss and his hands fisted again. Lips thinning, he crossed the room with sure steps.

  Sophia was startled when Alistair’s voice cut in, “My wife.”

  Ethan’s hands fell slowly from Sophia’s body and he stepped back. The expression on his face showed his disappointment at Alistair’s arrival.

  “Sophia, darling, thanks for the dance.” Ethan kissed her cheek and turned to Alistair, “MacCraig. Yours was the most beautiful wedding I have ever been to.”

  Of course. Sophia is the bride. Alistair enlaced Sophia’s waist and pulled her flush to his body. “Thanks, Ashford.”

  Ethan nodded and walked away slowly as Alistair spun Sophia in his arm and started dancing with her.

  “What are you looking at?”

  Alistair’s eyes turned in her direction, her face holding an unasked question. “I’m looking at my beautiful wife,” he murmured for her ears only, running his fingers over her nape, while he told himself he really should behave since they were in public. “My sexy wife, whom I’d like to peel out of her dress and set naked on my lap so I can do debauched things to her sexy body.”

  “You shouldn’t be let out to torment women.”

  Smiling with slow deliberation that brought lustful heat into those eyes of forest green, he leaned in close, his next words a purr against her ear. “I only plan to torment one woman for the rest of eternity.” He drew in a deep breath, took her scent within, but he wasn’t about to rush. Not today. “Shall I tell you what I intend to do to you as your gift on our wedding night?”

  He wrapped her up in tendrils of vanilla and oak. A sensual and decadent promise.

  “No.” It was a laughing refusal, her husky voice entangling him in chains he had no intention of ever breaking. “Or I’ll tell you what I’m wearing under this dress.”

  He felt like stretching in pleasure as her precious laughter stroked his senses.

  Mine. The most beautiful woman in the place, and she was his. “You... You turn me inside out, you know?”

  Welcome to your married life, Lord Caveman. She cocked her head at him, playfulness sparkling in her honey eyes.

  “I feel... I don’t know...” He lost what he was going to say as he looked at her face. A fleeting thought that he didn’t deserve to be looked at with so much love was immediately swept away by her sweet scent billowing around him, everywhere a soft cloud of lace and femininity.

  “Possessive,” she said, delving her hands in his hair. “The word you’re looking for is possessive.” She sounded entirely satisfied and leaned in, her lips softening in subconscious invitation.

  Her mouth was a breath away from his.

  That was all the encouragement he needed. “Come, my wife, it’s time
for you to indulge your husband’s possessive wishes.”

  As they walked away, hand in hand, they vowed to be together forever, not knowing that forever always ended.

  Epilogue

  Scotland, Highlands.

  Sunday, August 8th, 2010.

  Airgead Caisteal.

  9.15 a.m.

  Some lessons are best learned with love. He smiled as he changed the saying. Propping himself on one elbow, he admired the sleeping woman in his bed. Mine.

  He had known betrayal.

  He had known pain.

  But from the very first day he had met her, all he had known was love and happiness.

  He didn’t resist the temptation and bent to kiss her soft lips. All mine.

  “Mmmm,” she moaned, stretching on the bed, her lips curling up.

  She had lost so much.

  She had been hurt so deeply.

  Since he had entered her life, he’d given her all the missing pieces of her broken heart and shown her a new path.

  A new path for them to trail together.

  She opened her hazel eyes and gazed into his forest green ones. “Good morning, husband of mine.”

  All yours. “Good morning, my wife,” he answered and his smile grew impossibly large. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of your new title. My. Wife.”

  Nor will I tire of hearing you say it. She happily smiled back at him. “I do hope not.”

  “I love you,” he whispered on her lips.

  And before he kissed her, she whispered back, “I love you.”

  Altreck Caisteal.

  9.30 a.m.

  In the painting on the ceiling, a chubby cupid shot arrows at an enamored couple, and mocked the handsome man who was lying wide awake since the night before.

  What am I supposed to do now?

  He looked around at the beautiful master bedroom of his manor. Even though the recent refurbishment had altered it drastically the room was still haunted by the presence of his one and only love.