Untamed {Mature Reading}

Chapter XXXVI: Callum

I could not deny the sickening feeling I felt in my stomach as I stood at the head of the alter. I could feel everyone's eyes upon me, the weight of their gaze pressing down upon me. I did not dare return their stares, for I knew what they thought already.

My ears still rang from the frustration in Ms. Lowe's voice, the disbelief in Angus'. How many times in the past few days had they tried to corner me in the spare moments I left my study? How many times had they whispered their protests fiercely about proceeding with the wedding?

"You and I both know she's not te one yer supposed te marry," Ms. Lowe had hissed at me last night, her grey hair loose and wild as she paced my bed-chamber. Her gaze cut to Angus. "Tell him."

Angus sighed as he stood awkwardly between us, looking as though he debated whether he would have to step in should Ms. Lowe decide to launch herself at me. "I tried, woman."

"Ach, aye ye tried." The cook all but spat. "And what good has it done? And that poor girl locked away in her rooms, no one te even talk te..."

"What?" My head shot up from where I nursed my whiskey, having resigned myself to the onslaught of Ms. Lowe's woes. "Bianca is locked in her room?"

I watched as the pair had exchanged a curious look, a silent message passing between them. It would be something I would never understand - the strange understanding those two shared. Always bickering to each other, always complaining about one another. And yet, they knew each other perfectly.

"Aye," Angus muttered. "Grey has a man posted outside her door, only lets te French maid in and out te give Bianca food." There was a lengthy pause. "We thought ye ken."

I knew what they meant - they thought, in agreeing to marry Rosalind, I had agreed to turn my back on the captive priestess. "No," I said softly. "I dinnae ken." Gods balls, the thought of her locked away, thinking that I had allowed it... "Grey wouldnae agree fer her te come out before the wedding is over with."

Again the pair shared a look - and this time I knew what silent conversation they were having. I knew they despised the fact that I was bound by my word, that I would allow an English man to command my castle as if he were its Laird.

"Well," Ms. Lowe said at last, her voice uncharacteristically cold. "I would have thought ye would have learned from my mistakes, lad. 'Tis a shame."

I looked at her then, the aging cook who had been around since before I was born - who had scolded me in the kitchens for stealing away the sweet tarts she made, chasing me around the grounds with a wooden spoon and a mouth full of curse words. It was years that I finally understood that Ms. Lowe had married in haste to a man with a taste of liquor and swift right hook. Had suffered years at his hands before he was found one day, cold in a ditch. Dead.

Angus never spoke about what happened to Frank Lowe, but whatever did, I knew he did not regret it.

The pair had left me soon after that, Angus giving me a half-hearted joke about not needing to tell me what to expect on my wedding night. There was a heaviness in his sigh as he slapped me on the shoulder and bid me goodnight.

Now, I stood next to Father Michael, a slight, nervous man who had always cowered in my presence. He clutched at his leather-bound bible, only occasionally easing his grip to mop his brow, wire-rimmed glasses were slightly askew on his long, thin nose.

The priest must have caught me looking because he gave a faint chuckle, adjusting his spectacles. "Nervous, my Laird?"

I paused long enough to think about the question. No, I wasn't nervous. I had awoken this morning after a fitful sleep to feel ice in my veins, dread settling deep into my heart. I had eaten my breakfast without tasting it, feeling it turn to lead in my stomach. And now, I watched the good Father begin to squirm under my gaze, I realised that still, I did not feel anything.