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!”
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