Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 126485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
The church doors swung open, and I shivered at the lower temperature inside the vast nave. Half of the pews were filled with guests, mostly Lorcan’s men and their families. At the end of the long aisle, I spotted Gulliver with a serene look on his face. Was he really pleased with this bond?
My eyes slid to the side, coming to a stop on Lorcan’s imposing frame. I was surprised and a little pleased when I saw Lorcan’s wedding outfit. He had opted for a traditional kilt, Brian Boru jacket, white tux shirt with bow tie, knee socks that matched his tartan, a Sporran with a five-leaf clover, and Ghillie Brogue shoes. He looked exceptionally good in it. Some people thought men couldn’t look manly in a “skirt.” Lorcan with his muscled calves and imposing figure proved them wrong with a bang.
Beside him stood his groomsmen that—I could only guess—his brothers; other than Balor, their similarities to Lorcan were limited. They were all tall and fit, but their hair was lighter and so was their aura.
Balor began walking, and I had no choice but to follow along. Every face in the church turned to me. I could see suspicion in many faces: eyes narrowed, lips pinched, foreheads furrowed. I hadn’t gained their trust yet. I may be Irish, but I was an intruder in their community, and my last name probably didn’t help either. The only friendly face was Maeve’s. She beamed at me like a proud mother, and I couldn’t help but return her smile. Her positive energy was impossible to ignore.
When we arrived at the front, my cheeks burned under the force of everyone’s attention. I was definitely not ready for marriage, definitely not ready for this, for Lorcan and everything a bond with him entailed. It was a limited-time deal, on my part at least, but it didn’t make the current pressure any easier.
Gulliver gave me a nod, which he probably meant as encouragement, before turning to the Devaney brother closest to us. “Aran, will you tie the knot?”
My eyebrows shot up when the tall, blond man stepped forward with a rope in his hands.
Lorcan bent down to me with a smirk. “Handfasting is a Celtic tradition, Aislinn. No need for the shocked face. You should save it up for when I tie you to the bedpost tonight.”
He let out a low chuckle at my expression then straightened back to his full height. I had no chance for a comeback because Aran positioned himself in front of us with a serious look on his face. Like the rest of the brothers, he was traditionally dressed.
“Clasp hands,” he instructed, the hint of impatience coloring his voice. Lorcan took both of my hands in his, and Aran began his work of wrapping the rope around our wrists and hands until we couldn’t have separated even if we tried. This was probably a metaphor of what my marriage to a clan boss would be like.
When Aran stepped back, Gulliver took his place and began to read from the bible. The heat emitting from Lorcan’s body was immense and increased my flushed state. Though I tried to focus on Gulliver’s words, my mind drifted off to images of what might await me tonight in the bedroom. Lorcan couldn’t possibly have been serious about tying me to a bedpost. Not for our first night together …right?
Lorcan flexed his fingers, making me wince from the additional pressure. I looked up, but Lorcan’s attention was straight ahead.
Gulliver waited expectantly for my yes to the vows he’d just read aloud.
I glanced toward Lorcan. The dark green of his jacket matched his eyes, and the suspenders peeking out beneath it had horseshoes and clover leaves on them as tokens of good luck. He looked relaxed, at peace even.
I wished I could say the same about myself. My pulse hadn’t slowed since I’d set foot inside church. My body was in flight mode.
None of this felt real. Nothing felt real these last two weeks.
And now, standing beside my soon-to-be husband in my gorgeous hand-embroidered floor-length dress and flower garland in my hair, even less than before. As children, Imogen and I had occasionally taken turns putting on Mum’s wedding dress, a cheap white polyester garment she couldn’t part with despite Dad’s infidelity. We used to admire ourselves in the mirror, sometimes even staged wedding ceremonies. That had felt more real than the ceremony taking place in front of me.
“Yes,” I said, sounding clear and certain. It was as if a switch had been flipped, the realness and enormity of the situation finally sinking in. This was a real wedding. Even if I ran, I’d have to figure out a way to get out of this bond. If I assumed a new identity, which might be my only option to escape my husband, I wouldn’t have to worry about a divorce.