Untamed {Mature Reading}

Chapter XLVII

(TW: Flashbacks to violence, mention of death and rape)

Not long after, Mrs Lowe came bustling into the room, a smile from ear to ear as she carried a laden tray. "Eat up," She commanded Bianca and her Laird, not seeming to bat an eyelid at the sight of the couple together in Callum's bed. "I hear we have a wedding ter plan!"

Bianca smiled at the infectious enthusiasm from the older woman, arching an amused brow at Callum. "How soon is this wedding?"

She watched as Callum chuckled, seeing a faint tint of colour grace his tanned, stumbled cheeks. "I'll assume as soon as I am well enough," He gave Bianca a somewhat guilty look. "Ter be honest, lass - the sooner the better. Word of Grey will travel fast an' it won't be long before the English Lords get a notion ter come up here."

The priestess nodded slowly, though her mind spun. It was a lot to process and the prospect of her impending nuptials looming made a strange weight settle in her stomach.

She picked at her food, watching Callum from the corner of her eye. She had seen so many sides of him: she had seen his anger, his cold amusement, his lust. But the Callum before her was something entirely new. Relaxed shoulders, a carefree smile and tousled hair.

It was a glimpse of what life promised for her - of mornings waking up next to this man, of breaking their fast together.

She should be happy – the most perfect ending was mapped out before her. At the very least, Bianca should have felt content. But if that were the case, then why could she not ease the strange knot in her stomach? Why did it not feel like she was happy with the prospect of marrying the wild Laird beside her who was very much alive and very willing to call her his?

She ate in near silence, swallowing only what she could stomach, answering questions asked of her, and smiling when appropriate. She did not complain when Mrs Lowe retrieved her and whisked her away to her room, Callum waving them away with an indulgent smile whilst a physician came to tend to his wounds.

There was a strange emptiness to her chest whilst she watched Mrs Lowe eye her, tsking at Bianca's appearance as the older woman fussed the priestess out of her crumpled, bloodied dress.

"I will nae bother with trying to save it," Mrs Lowe murmured as she bundled the ruined garment into a shapeless heap on the floor. "Nae matter," she continued, her slightly harassed features softening as she carefully inspected Bianca, eyes snagging on the forming bruises at her wrists. "You'll be a Lady – any dress yer heart desires can be yours. The Lockhart men have always been generous to their wives. But first," Mrs Lowe's eyes gleamed. "Yer wedding dress, aye?"

Bianca smiled faintly.

The door to her chambers opened, revealing Moira, her cheeks flushed and flaxen hair tousled.

"And where have ye been?" Mrs Lowe demanded in a voice that had no real heat. "Ach, between the two of ye, it's a wonder the priest has nae come and demanded confessions out of the lot us." She raised her eyes to the sky presumably seeking the heavens. "Lord have mercy on us, for there are sacred unions ter be had!"

Moira smirked at Bianca's state of undress, leaning against the closed door with crossed arms and gave Bianca a knowing look. "Mrs Lowe loves a good wedding."

"Aye, I do." Mrs Lowe agreed, raising Bianca's arms up, brows pinched in concentration. "An' I have a rushed one ter do. Moira – take down these measurements, will you? I will have ter deliver them to the tailors this afternoon."

"Rushed?" Moira arched a brow, slowly unfurling herself to move towards the table by the window, picking up a stray quill and piece of parchment presumably there for letter writing. Her gaze dropped to Bianca's stomach. "Yer no with child, are ya?"