As he turned the page of his book, the priest squinted at the pages and ran his trembling finger along the words. “Then let the betrothal be recorded. The wedding shall be held a year and a day from today, unless…” He cleared his throat and glanced about the room. “Unless an…uh…ev-event oc-occurs that brings about the marriage sooner.”
“If he’s anything at all like his brothers, she’ll be his wife before tomorrow’s dawn!” A rumbling voice echoed across the hall, as Angus MacKay shouted from the back of the room.
The crowd cheered at this announcement. They clapped their hands and stomped their feet upon the wooden benches. “Aye, Faolan! Consummate your vows this eve! Dinna wait for the wedding feast!”
With a groan, Faolan ignored the rowdy crowd and bent to brush his lips across Ciara’s in the required sealing kiss. With a start, he stiffened when she slid her soft hand up the back of his neck. He shuddered as she laced her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down to hers. His wind fled his lungs as she opened her mouth beneath his. She sent him the most intimate of messages with her warm, moist tongue. Her other hand rested on his chest as she slid her body closer.
Instinct over-rode his stubborn mind and Faolan deepened the kiss. He pulled her close; hardened into her curves as she pressed in subtle invitation against him. Her delicious scent, a warm mixture of ginger and vanilla intoxicated his senses. His mind filled with visions of what she’d look like sprawled against the pillows of his bed. He reeled with the taste of her, lost himself in her arms; he almost forgot he stood before his clan.
“Oh Aye! There’ll be no Wedding Feast in a year and a day for this union. We’ll more than likely be a celebrating the christening of a bairn! Here’s to the birth of the first of many sons!”