"That, too," he said easily as he draped the veil over a chair, then returned and began to untwine the strings of pearls twisted through her hair. "Did I tell you how lovely you look? When you arrived at the church, I was quite overcome."
"Hamish…" She started to retreat then winced as the movement tugged on her hair.
"No, stay there. I haven’t finished." His hand brushed her shoulder and damn her if she didn’t stop shuffling around. He touched her the way he’d settle a restless horse. The odious truth was that she suspected Hamish was fonder of his horses than he was of his wife. "You’re a beautiful bride, Emily."
"Thank you," she said grudgingly and hated that she sounded like a sulky child. Hamish turned his attention to the pearl pins that held up her coiffure. She struggled to sound more gracious. "Thank you for my wedding gift. They’re very pretty."
Yesterday a velvet case had arrived from Rundle and Bridge. Inside she’d discovered the pins and ropes of pearls, with a note from Hamish asking her to wear them for the wedding. Another example of Hamish’s largesse, another occasion for her to feel like her new life overpowered the woman she used to be.
"The second I saw them, I imagined them in your hair, like moons in a dark sky."
"You picked them out?" she asked, surprised and dismayed at the way his poetic description sent warmth pulsing through her veins.
"Of course I did, you silly widgeon." The unexpected note of affection in his voice stifled her protest about the way he touched her hair. "How else did you imagine they came to you? The fairies?"
She shifted from one foot to the other as one long curl of dark hair slipped down to dangle over her shoulder. "I thought you might just tell them to find something nice and send it over with your compliments. To date, my life hasn’t been full of dealings with the royal jewelers."
"That’s going to change."
Why did that sound like a threat? "Oh," she said in a small voice, as another lock of hair unraveled.
"I thought you’d like the pins better than a parure."
"A parure…" she echoed.
"Yes, a tiara and a necklace and bracelet and—"
"I know what a parure is. I just never imagined I’d be wearing one."
"You’re Lady Glen Lyon. Of course you’ll wear a parure."
"You’ve already given me a ring."
"Two rings."
"Well, yes, but I’m talking about the engagement ring." Unable to resist, she lifted a left hand now weighed down with a simple gold band and a magnificent ruby. "That’s extravagant enough to be going on with."
With little fanfare, Hamish had produced the ring a few days after his proposal. Both rings symbolized the vast changes she’d faced, and the even vaster changes ahead. The wedding ring branded her as Hamish Douglas’s wife until the day she died. The ruby announced her new status as Lady Glen Lyon.
Briefly, Emily wondered about her husband’s Highland estates, so far away on the west coast of Scotland. He rarely talked about them. Just as he rarely talked about his family. She’d been surprised at the number of relatives who traveled down for his wedding. Surprised and envious. It was all too clear that his family adored Hamish, whereas apart from her close relationship with her father, she had no strong family ties at all.
Even worse, most of Hamish’s friends and relatives seemed to be happily married. Their joy in one another had been palpable, even to a stranger like Emily. The contrast with this empty union she entered into had been painful.
She shivered as the weight of her hair slithered down her neck. "You don’t have to undo my hair. I thought you were just taking off my veil."
"You know me. When I do something, I like to do it properly."
Surely only this intimate atmosphere building between them made his remark sound like an invitation to sin. It was an innocent enough comment.
"You can stop touching me now." She cursed how quivery her voice sounded.
He made a soft hum under his breath, and those clever, insinuating hands began to massage her skull. "I’m helping to get rid of your headache."
Emily wanted to tell him that he was her headache, but the sensations emanating from his hands were too delicious for her to summon the words.
"You’ve never touched me like this before." How could that sound like another invitation?
"I wouldn’t dare," he responded with the wry humor she’d always liked.