Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
She takes one look at my flustered face, throws her head back, and laughs so hard I can’t help but join her.
“Seems you’ve got nothing to worry about, then.”
“Please, God, no,” I tell her. “He’s your son, so if there’s anything else I need to know—”
“You ask me,” Megan says, giving me a wink and cracking her gum. “Alright?”
“Alright,” I agree. I take in a deep breath.
“Now,” Megan says. “On with your dress.”
I keep my back to the wall and quickly undress, slipping into my undergarments. If they notice the marks he left, they don’t bat an eyelash. I’m grateful for the women of The Clan who know what these men are like. Something tells me I’ll be glad of their company soon enough.
I stand like a mannequin, letting them dress me, fix my hair, and slide on the prettiest glossy shoes I’ve ever seen.
“Mother of God, if she isn’t the prettiest bride that ever lived,” Megan says enthusiastically, clapping her hands with glee. “She’s gorgeous.”
I look at myself in the mirror, not recognizing the woman who stares back at me. My hair’s plaited and woven onto my head, pinned up with little flowers and gems. A gauzy veil hangs down to my elbows. They’ve done my makeup, and my eyes look brighter, my cheeks flushed, my lips full and pink. But the dress. The satin white dress is simple but elegant, the top of the bodice held up with thin straps. The bodice itself glitters with rhinestones, sequins, and iridescent beads to a high waist, and full skirt.
“I love this dress,” Megan says. “’Tis a Georgette maxi skirt and hand-beaded bodice. It makes you look like a princess.”
“How did you get this so quickly?”
Megan giggles. “We’ve connections, you know.”
Don’t I know it.
I spin around in front of the mirror, when Megan hands me a bouquet of white roses.
“We’ve no time to waste, Caitlin,” she says.
Maeve is on her phone, waving us along. “We do have to go,” she says. “He’s going to lose his mind, that son of mine.”
“My goodness,” is all I can reply. But I know that time is of the essence, that I’m to marry him quickly if we’re to secure the safety of all. They open the door to the bedroom and usher me out, and half a dozen armed men stand outside my door. Gone are the friendly expressions, every one of these men wearing the stern, hardened faces of soldiers.
Our procession is a somber one with our guard marching beside us, but Megan tries to make small talk. Maeve laughs at her jokes, but I can tell she’s concerned as well.
“Where are we taking our vows?”
“By the garden,” Maeve says. “It’s a beautiful spring morning, and we want your vows to be publicly witnessed. They must be, to spread the word far and wide, and quickly. Father Finn’s there, as well as Keenan, and the rest of The Clan.”
“Is it safe out there?”
“They’ll see that it is. It’s our best bet, since the wedding must be on record and witnesses present. We’ve got all our men prepared, Caitlin.”
Still, foreboding gathers in my stomach, and I try to dismiss it. Is it because I’m about to take permanent vows to a man like Keenan? Or because my intuition is alerted to something else? I can’t tell. But I have no choice. With the guard flanking me on all sides, I leave the mansion.
My heart twangs like the long-forgotten strings of a violin when I see, far beyond the mansion, the burnt remains of the lighthouse. They put out the fire, but little could be saved. I’m pleased, though, somehow, even as I ache for the home I knew. It signifies the end of an era, and the beginning of a new one.
The start of family.
Mine, where I’m to be the mother and Keenan the head. Hope blooms in my heart, and I’m filled with a sense of awe and wonder. Down by the garden, where the archways blossom, lay miles of white flowers. They’ve done magic overnight, it seems. There’s a flower-lined trellis, and every man of The Clan’s dressed in black suits. Beneath the trellis stands the priest, and—is that him? My future husband. He’s dressed in black, his hair slicked back, as large as life standing before his uncle. He turns and freezes when he sees me.
It’s as if someone’s waved a wand and frozen that moment in time, when his eyes meet mine. I smile, lift a finger off my bouquet, and give him a little wave. He grins in return. A sparrow twitters overhead, the clouds break free, and sun beams down on the small gathering. I see Seamus and Cormac, Boner and Tully, Carson and Lachlan. The rest of the men as well line like soldiers bedecked for a banquet. I ignore the drawn weapons and the guard that escorts me toward the trellis.