The Kindling Heart by Carmen Caine Page B

then nodding once, growled, “Ye’ll do as I order ye, Ruan.”
    “Tormod, this isnae—”
    “Silence, Ruan!” the man retorted. “Ye’ll agree to this, or ‘twill nae be to yer liking what I’ll have done to Merry!”
    Bree swallowed nervously.
    “Aye,” the deep baritone finally muttered.
    There was a collective sigh of relief as another man appeared by her side.
    The newcomer was dirty. As he began to speak, his beady eyes flitted nervously in every direction but hers. He smelled of fish and wine, and whatever he was saying, it had apparently caught the interest of them all. Bree once again regretted the fact she hadn’t put more effort into learning Gaelic from Afraig. She sighed audibly, and then promptly blushed, ashamed of her odd lack of control.
    The fish-smelling man shot her an irritable glare as he withdrew a wooden cross from the folds of his sleeve and pressed it to his lips.
    He was a priest.
    Curiously, she wondered what the priest intoned that kept all enthralled, but as his voice droned on, she once again was unable to resist her impulse to yawn and she did, loudly.
    Someone chuckled.
    Embarrassed, and no longer able to focus, she closed her eyes and swayed lightly on her feet. Strong, steady fingers closed over her shoulders, and she smiled. Her father was always there when she needed support. He was proving a kind and thoughtful man, a man worthy of trust. He was nothing like Wat.
    The rich deep voice which had protested before spoke, its tone rank with irritation. It sounded unusually close. Her father chimed in, speaking her name. One of the hands left her shoulder. Something cool circled one of her fingers. She frowned, bewildered, and lifted her lashes.
    A ring circled her finger.
    It was far too big.
    Turning toward her father for an explanation, she was startled to find him standing across the table instead of behind her. His face filled with what could only be guilt. For several, long minutes, she frowned in confusion, wondering at the firm hands holding her upright before understanding they belonged to someone entirely new. With a gasp, she whirled, to find herself staring at the midriff of the tallest man she’d ever seen.
    Dark, smoky eyes caught and held hers for only the briefest of moments, but long enough that she could see resentment roiling within them. She’d only the briefest impression of firm lips, a strong jaw, and dark hair carelessly tied by a strip of leather before the man dropped his hands and moved away amidst scattered, half-hearted applause.
    Disconcerted, Bree inspected the ring again, and then faced her father.
    Domnall was grinning at Cuilen, holding a cup for someone to fill. “Tis done, then,” he said in English with a smile.
    Everywhere, cups magically appeared as the wine poured and the chamber buzzed with chatter, this time in English.
    “Aye, there’s many a jealous maid in Skye this night.”
    Muffled snorts greeted this comment.
    “The wedding night will nae be so trying now, eh, Ruan?” someone chortled. “Bree’s a comely lass.”
    At this, Bree’s heart began to race, each frantic beat clearing the wine-induced haze.
    “Aye,” another laughed. “I wish I’d offered to wed Aislin!”
    She held her breath.
    “Ach, if ye’d offered to wed that cow, ye would have got one …certainly nae a comely lass. Only Ruan has such braw fortune!”
    Bree willed her pounding heart to still. As comments erupted from all sides, she finally knew the truth. Domnall had brought her here to take Aislin’s place. He had wed her to this Ruan. It was not even a proper wedding on the steps of a church, but it didn’t matter to anyone here. He hadn’t cared for her at all. He’d merely needed a replacement. Slowly, she raised her head.
    Domnall was studying her closely. “There is naught to fear, lass,” he assured softly.
    From far away, Bree heard her own voice say, “What have you done?”

Chapter 04: A Proper Husband

    “Ruan is an honorable