Daughter of the king

by Ashley York

  The ceremony was only being performed to appease the strict religious beliefs of Brighit’s parents. It was far from simple and already a source of resentment for him. What little patience he possessed for the proceedings was quickly stripped away by his bride’s seeming lack of interest.

  “Blessings on ye both.” The elderly priest did not call for the kiss of unity but instead kissed each of their cheeks. First Brighit’s, right over the veil, and then his.

  “Thank ye, Father.” Darragh answered, always polite.

  “Ye’ve made a fine match.” With that, the priest started to turn him away from his bride while Thomasina led Brighit away, several women falling in around them.

  Darragh dug in his heels. “A moment, please, Father?”

  The room hushed, all movements stilled. His mother’s eyes widened in warning, but Darragh ignored her. “Have ye forgotten? This is a wedding.”

  The priest puckered up his face in concentration before shaking his head at Darragh. “No. I do not believe so.”

  “The kiss?”

  When the priest smiled and shifted closer to him for another kiss on the cheek, Darragh pulled back in exasperation. “Not me. Between husband and wife?”

  Clearly perplexed, the man looked to Thomasina for an answer.

  “Not her.” Darragh refused to try and hide his irritation any longer. Speaking to the priest as if he were an idiot, he said, “May I bestow a kiss on my wife? A sign of unity? Sealing the agreement with a kiss?”

  “Oh, well, I suppose.” The priest huffed as if he’d never heard of such a thing. But marriages were about the contract signed between two families, not the church. If Thomasina had wanted some elaborate blessing on them, Darragh would not gainsay her, but he would have this symbolic act as well.

  Brighit had not returned to his side, much to his chagrin, so he had to take the few steps toward her. He’d chosen his words to the priest carefully, hoping to remind her of their earlier kisses. He knew he had certainly not forgotten them.

  “Brighit?”

  When he lifted the material over her head, the first thing he noticed about his bride was the fine powder she’d applied to her face. It made her skin unusually pale, even sickly. And with her eyes as wide as a doe caught in the forest, he was suddenly afeared of his own strong need for her. He would go slowly, giving her his total focus so as not to frighten her. With that thought, all around him disappeared. He no longer saw the onlookers, her meddling parents who sought to dictate everything according to their own wishes, or even this man of the cloth. He saw only his beautiful wife, her lips sharply pink against her powdered skin.

  “Aye?”

  “A kiss to seal our agreement?”

  There it was. Her eyes lit with recognition and some of the fear drifted away. With gentle hands at her small waist, he pulled her toward him, allowing her to meet him halfway. Her lips were as he remembered, soft and pliant. A boon for certain and he wished to offer her the same. Reassurance. Pulling back, he whispered to her, “Ye will come willingly, I promise.”

  That flash of a smile disappeared just as quickly, replaced by dread when Thomasina took her by the shoulders to again turn her away. This time the ladies surrounded her in an impenetrable shield and moved ahead of the crowd toward the castle. The look of irritation Darragh gave the priest had the older man raising his hands and backing away in a show of surrender.

  Darragh proceeded with the crowd of well wishers, keeping his eye on the women ahead. When they reached the great hall decorated for the festivities with leaves and wild flowers, he watched helplessly as the women continued up the stairs at the far wall that led to the chambers above.

  The ridiculousness of the situation grated on him, as did the ever-growing number of people Darragh did not recognize, all offering best wishes and slaps on the back for a job well done. Job well done? He’d not even been able to speak to Brighit, let alone see any job done.

  Trained to be suspicious of everyone, his mind and body had been on high alert for days now. He was exhausted from seeing plots and schemes everywhere he looked. Sleeping had been difficult despite his father’s reassurance there was no cause for concern, and he’d risen near day break, roused by some noisy late-comers to the hall. Niall’s voice may have been among those who’d awakened him, but he couldn’t be certain. And here was Brighit’s uncle again, staring at him.

  “Relax, Darragh.” Tadhg’s tight smile seemed more intended for the onlookers than for Darragh. “Sean told me this is how Thomasina preferred it. They’re preparing yer bride for ye.”

  Darragh cringed at the mere thought of them “preparing” her for the marriage bed. This wedding seemed more of a farce than ever. Worse yet, he knew they would have to face the bedding ceremony.

  “Can they not allow us a few moments to sit together? Mayhap enjoy some of the wine dear Uncle Niall procured for us?”

  Niall’s eyes had been on him since they’d crossed the yard to the castle. Darragh finally nodded at him, but he’d swear the older man scowled back.

  “’Tis not their way, son. Trust me that yer mother is hoping to convince them to desist in following through with the practice. She had a bad experience herself and would not wish the same for Brighit.”

  “Do they really plan to witness my deflowering of the lass?”

  Tadhg frowned. “Do not be so crude.”

  Pressing to a halt, Darragh frowned at his father. “Certainly ye do not believe I would be unkind?”

  Others continued past them, headed toward the refreshments lavishly displayed for their consumption. Tadhg moved closer to him. “I do not.”

  The crowd passing to either side of them seemed to never end, and the longer Darragh had to wait to have his say, the angrier he became. Finally alone, he pierced his father with his glare.

  “I did not wish to take a woman to wife who was so opposed to the idea, as I said. Over and over again. ’Twas not I that insisted.”

  He refused to share his own hopes that he was winning her over or his disappointment at how uninterested she’d seemed at the chapel doors. She was a beautiful, alluring lass, but there were many beautiful lasses. He would as soon marry one who wished to be his wife—or be given the opportunity to entice Brighit into his arms before bedding her. What a wretched arrangement he was walking into.

  “They cannot hand ye over to her without some show of…of…protection,” Tadhg said, his last word nearly growled. “I do not claim to understand their reasoning, but I choose to respect their wishes. Can ye not see yer way clear to do their bidding?”

  “With a lass a bit more willing…” If given half a chance, he believed he could spur her interest, which was the reason behind his whispered words to her. She was certainly passionate. He could ignite her fire again as she had his. If she chose to remain stubborn, it could be awkward.

  “Ye believe she’ll resist ye?”

  “D'ye see the way she is with her brothers? She may now dress like her mother, but she sees herself the same as a man. More importantly, she sees nothing of value in what a man can offer her. Just the opposite.”

  “I see.” Tadhg rubbed his chin in a thoughtful manner. “So they fear she will continue to resist. And with the onlookers—” Tadhg raised a hand at Darragh’s gasped protest. “—not exactly onlookers.”

  Darragh relaxed his shoulders.

  “They want to be certain she cooperates with the bedding.”

  Darragh glanced toward the heavens. Then he shook his head in disbelief. “And not a spot of wine or mead to dull her reactions to me, to her first experience of intimacy with a man? This is going to be hell.”

  The two men stared at each other, neither one daring to speak their morbid thoughts.

  “And how will this play out?” Darragh asked, admittedly afraid to hear the answer.

  “The ladies will come to the hall and escort ye to her once they’ve prepared her.”

  That word again… Darragh smacked his hand to his forehead. “Prepa
red. It sounds like a chicken rather than a wife.”

  Tadhg smirked. “Mayhap we can resist a wee bit ourselves.”

  Searching his father’s face for any show that he hadn’t understood his meaning was met by a beaming expression. “What d’ye have in mind?”

  “A celebration. That’s what this should be.”

  “And?”

  “We shall celebrate.”

  Darragh’s heartfelt sigh of relief was met with a smile. “Come, my son. Let us liberally partake of the bounty that has been prepared. We shall make this a memorable night even if we have to dull yer senses enough for ye to ignore any crowds gathered around ye.”

  At that moment, it sounded like a fine solution. Sometime later, not so much. After indulging in far more wine than he would usually allow himself, Darragh’s thoughts wavered between morose misgivings and Brighit tumbling down the back stairs in her attempt at a harrowing escape. No one had yet approached him to say his bride was “prepared.”

  His father, Sean, and many of the kings from the other clans had settled close to the exit and far from Darragh. He felt a bit like an outcast. The occasional glances the guests darted at him assured him they were discussing him. Terrence finally took mercy on him and came to keep him company.

  “Ye being here makes no sense as she is up there.” The scruffy blond pointed upward. “Is there something they’re forgetting about?”

  Darragh couldn’t agree with his friend more and said, “Well, apparently, there is more to be done with a bride than with a groom.”

  “How so?”

  A shrug was all Darragh could offer.

  “I believed,” Terrence said, his tone held a definite air of being right, “that it was something they did together.” He scrunched his face in confusion. “Or are ye not to touch the sainted daughter of the great ri túath?”

  Laughing behind his hand as he made to rub his face, Darragh looked away from the room. They both turned to face the wall and Darragh lowered his voice. “Sainted? God save us.”

  “D'ye think she’ll glow like a bright candle after?”

  “How about before?” Their idiocy was being spurred on by the mead, the lack of food since no one would eat until both bride and groom were present, and the ridiculousness of the festivities in general.

  “I wouldn’t doubt it.” The tapestry that hung behind the head table gave an intimate feel to their conversation with none of their words bouncing back into the room. “And if I have to ask permission to touch her golden breasts? I’m thinking I’ll set her aside before I subject myself to that.”

  “Ye’ll set Brighit aside?”

  They both jumped at the booming voice of Brighit’s father.

  Sean stood opposite the table, his arms about his chest and a scowl on his face fierce enough to make any enemy shake in his boots.

  Terrence giggled awkwardly; his face paling as if he were about to vomit, but no words came out as he stood beside Darragh, who remained seated.

  “Well, Sean.” Darragh was irritated just enough to not be intimidated by the huge man. “’Tis words between friends ye’ve interrupted and none of yer concern.”

  “If my daughter is to be set aside, I would find it very much my concern.”

  Before Darragh could respond, all thoughts escaped him at the vision beyond the man. Brighit herself was entering the hall. His mouth fell loose, and he stood to watch her as the large entourage of females around her clucked their displeasure. Her dark hair was brushed out now, soft and flowing around her shoulders. A multi-colored ribbon adorned her hair and the baby’s breath had been removed. A sign of her innocence, which he would experience soon enough.

  That she still wore her dark blue gown from earlier was at first a relief. Her stern expression was also very telling. Darragh would guess she had resisted the bedding ceremony as much as he had, which may explain why he’d not received his summons to do his husbandly duty.

  So entranced by his bride, he didn’t notice Brighit’s mother beside her until Thomasina was headed straight for him. “Darragh.”

  Spoken in a pleasant tone, but Darragh prepared for the worst. “Thomasina.”

  “Oh, Mother. Please. Call me Mother. After all we are now mother and son, are we not?”

  Fighting the grimace that seemed stuck on his face, Darragh coughed into his hand before answering. “Beg pardon...Mother.”

  Thomasina smiled brightly before tipping her head. “Verra nice. I was wondering how ye would feel about a bit to eat before the bedding ceremony?”

  “Well, I had actually—”

  “No bedding ceremony.” Brighit came to stand between the two of them, her back to Darragh as if he was of little importance. Instead, she faced down her mother, a hand to her hip. It was the only way to describe this encounter. Though not much taller than her mother, Brighit did appear quite imposing. “I have said as much to ye, Mother. Repeatedly.”

  “Brighit,” Thomasina’s scolding tone grated on Darragh’s nerves. “Yer father and I—”

  “And that is all well and fair,” Brighit’s interruption left Darragh wondering what exactly his mother-in-law had intended to say. “…for yer children—whatever it is ye and father want should certainly be seen to—but I am a married woman now.”

  “In name only.”

  Bridget’s loud gasp seemed to echo around the room. As still as a doe caught unawares by a hunter, she stood there, mouth hanging loose. Thomasina was demonstrating a stubborn side Darragh had not yet witnessed, but she was going too far, and his own ire was rising. The scathing glance Thomasina sent to him halted the words he was about to say.

  Sean, forgotten until this moment, moved casually closer to the women, who had the attention of everyone in the room. He made eye contact with Darragh, the smug smile on his face declaring that his new son-in-law certainly did not appear to be a man about to set his bride aside. No. He no doubt appeared as befuddled as he felt. Befuddled. Bewildered. And beyond words. When the older man placed a hand on him, squeezing his shoulder in a reassuring way, Darragh realized his reaction to what was happening was easily read. And that irked him.

  “Ladies?” Sean gave him a reprieve by engaging the two. “Why this scene?”

  “Sean.” Thomasina now used the same tone Darragh had heard her use with her youngest son, Lorcánn. A tone meant to elicit her husband’s support. “We’ve been preparing our dau—”

  “My wife.” All eyes turned toward Darragh, showing an assortment of reactions. Though surprised at his own words, he suddenly realized their importance. He would not be forgetting that any time soon. “She is my wife now.”

  Thomasina’s face turned a bright shade of red, and though her lips parted, no words came out. Turning to Sean, Darragh waited politely, brows raised, for any denial of the fact. There was none. Instead, Sean inclined his head, took his wife gently by the upper arm, and led her away from Brighit. The rest of the group followed and the two of them were left alone. As alone as two people could be with a throng of people focused on them.

  “Sit with me.” Darragh indicated the large chair beside his own. Places of honor for the bride and groom. “Please.”

  Brighit kept silent but came around the trestle to join him. Not a moment too soon, as Darragh plopped down again, feeling the full effect of the excess libations. She didn’t seem to notice.

  Picking up the goblet beside his own, he pulled it toward Brighit and filled it to the rim with wine from a clay pitcher. “I hope ye find this pleasing. A friend brought this to me when he was visiting from Castile.”

  “Not from my uncle then?”

  “His has long since been dispatched.”

  She took the goblet to her mouth. The room swayed gently around him, but his eyes remained fixed on her sweet, full lips parting for the liquid. That lighter powder was still visible on her jaw and cheeks, giving her skin a strange discoloration.

  Brighit closed her eyes as if in appreciation and he allowed his gaze to wander over her. Admi
ttedly, he studied her. Or more accurately, appreciated her. Her generous curves, the slope of her elegant neck, and the gentleness of her hands, again clasped in her lap. And her expressive eyes, flashing with anger or outrage. Quite a change from a year earlier dressed like a lad. A dirty one at that. He would like to see those eyes filled with passion.

  Darragh pressed back against his own chair and gazed out at the guests still milling about despite the food about to be served. The others appeared to be giving them little attention. He was certain, however, that they had their ears wide open.

  “I prefer not to have a bedding ceremony.” Despite the quietness of Brighit’s words, a few heads turned toward her. Her voice had lost the edginess she’d used with her mother.

  Darragh glared back at those who had turned toward him, anticipating his reply. Some took the hint and went to their table, but others lingered. Finishing his wine, he refilled it before answering. “Then we are in accord.”

  She beamed at him, a lovely smile. “Ye agree?”

  “Of course.”

  Her expression shifted back to concern. “But they’ll try to insist. They could—”

  “They will not succeed.” His lips curved at her look of disbelief. She had much to learn about the difference between being a daughter and a wife. “I assure ye.”

  Brighit’s chest expanded with her deep breath and her eyes brightened considerably. She was pleased with him, which would make things much easier later.

  Later.

  He remembered how she’d looked that day by the water. Dripping wet. Enticing. Exceedingly desirable. And all that sheer, uncontainable outrage just for him. His smile widened at the memory and she returned the gesture. The urge to move in for a kiss was strong, but after considering the possible outcomes, Darragh cleared his throat and turned away. Best he didn’t get ahead of himself. One step at a time. He placed the gold vessel down and moved his hand to cover hers. It took but a moment for her to turn her palm up, holding his hand in return.