“Now ye may kiss the bride,” Reverend Angus said, closing his prayer book and regarding Fiona and Diarmid with misty-eyed approval.
With a hesitant smile, Fiona turned to face him. Diarmid couldn’t help remembering her awkward kisses in the crofter’s hut. When it had taken him far too long to realize that she was as unresponsive as a stone in his arms.
Still, he had an image to keep up. If the Grants decided to question the validity of this union—and it might well come to that in the end—he wanted the parson to say that all was done in accordance with law and tradition.
Not wanting to frighten his bride, Diarmid leaned in to brush his lips against her cheek. But at the last second, Fiona shifted and her lips met his. This close, he couldn’t miss her swift intake of breath.
For an instant that seemed to extend into eternity, her lips remained motionless under his, before he felt a faint flutter as, unbelievably, she kissed him back. He hardly had time to register that tremulous response, before she’d pulled away.
For a blazing instant, he stared into blue eyes shadowed with uncertainty and astonishment. He struggled to mask the titanic effect that kiss had on him.
It was over so quickly, now he wasn’t even sure he had felt her kiss him. Dazed, he turned to Marina who embraced him with an enthusiasm he’d never encounter in his bride.
And yet…
“Diarmid, I’m so pleased for you. Congratulations, caro. I know you and Fiona will be very happy together.”
By God, he didn’t. But he owed Marina so much, not least for her generosity when he brought a stranger to claim her help and hospitality. He made himself smile. “Thank ye, Marina.”
“Congratulations, old man.” Fergus came up to shake his hand. “She’s a wonderful lassie.”
“Thank ye.” He glanced at Fiona, and acknowledged that Fergus was right. Fiona was wonderful. Beautiful and brave and steadfast.
The undeniable truth that her steadfastness wasn’t focused on her new husband didn’t take away from how exceptional she was.
“Congratulations, Mr. Mactavish and Lady Invertavey,” Reverend Angus said. “I’ve got some papers for ye to sign, then I believe you’re both acting as godparents at the christening I’m to perform the noo?”
“Aye,” Diarmid said, noticing Jenny had slipped into the room carrying a sleeping Eilidh. That peace wouldn’t last, heaven help them.
Fiona had already left his side to go across to take the baby in her arms. He’d been touched when Marina and Fergus had asked his bride to join him as a godparent to their first child. Fiona had looked completely overwhelmed at the offer, reminding him yet again how lonely her life had been over the last years.
Aye, however it turned out in the end, he did a good thing this morning.
“After this, we’ve put together a piccolo wedding breakfast,” Marina said, tugging him away from his solemn thoughts.
Diarmid frowned. “That’s kind of ye, but we must start on our way. We have a long way to go today.”
Marina took his arm with a naturalness he wished his wife would emulate. “Diarmid, per dio, don’t be such a spoilsport. You both need to eat, and it’s a day when we should take time to celebrate. It’s not every day our best friend decides to take a wife.”
“What do ye think, Fiona?” he asked, conscious that from now on, he had to consider someone else’s wishes with everything he did. The short ceremony changed his life in ways that he’d hardly started to imagine.
She looked up from staring down at Eilidh and summoned a smile. Nobody would call her a radiant bride, but she’d handled the difficult day with her usual stoic courage.
“A chance to say goodbye to Fergus and Marina would be nice. Another hour or two won’t make much difference, when the light lingers so late and the weather promises fair.”
“Excellent,” Fergus said.
It was only as Diarmid turned to thank the reverend for conducting the ceremony that he wondered whether perhaps Fiona seized the chance to delay being alone with her unwanted bridegroom.
Chapter 22
After the wedding breakfast, Fiona and Marina went upstairs to the lovely bedroom overlooking the loch. A room that she was sorry to leave, where she’d slept in a security she couldn’t remember enjoying since her childhood.
Heaven knew where she’d sleep tonight. Heaven knew if she’d be alone. Diarmid had promised he wouldn’t demand a wife’s duty from her. But however honorable he was, was that a promise too far?
A strange shiver rippled through her, and to her surprise while it contained fear, it held no trace of revulsion. She couldn’t help remembering how that kiss at the ceremony had made her blood rush.
“That went well.” Marina smiled at Sandra, who turned from laying a pretty dark blue traveling gown across the bed. “You’re a lucky ragazza, Fiona. I know of no better man than Diarmid, and if he pledges himself to you, he’ll never falter.”