Of course, there’s more to Rhona than that, even if she won’t speak of it. I haven’t teased or prodded her about it nearly as much as I normally would, because I can see it’s heavy on her shoulders. But that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about certain events from the last few weeks. One, when she looked like she’d seen a ghost after the Viking marauder Tor Odinson attacked Hamish’s castle the night of the wedding. And it wasn’t just a scared look with Rhona. It really was like she’d seen a ghost. Or as Una put it when we talked about it, like she’d kissed a ghost.
And then, just a few weeks ago at Ailith’s wedding, when Tor’s fleet of ships mysteriously came to the rescue to stop Lord Carlson from attacking Malcolm’s island, that look of Una’s came back. And don’t get me started on that beautiful, but very Norse looking necklace she’s been wearing ever since that night but trying to hide.
She brushes her hair back, and I’m about to drop it and just move on to chance the subject from her marrying Lord Wythe, when suddenly, something catches my eyes.
God, she’s wearing that very necklace right now.
“Okay, wait.” I arch a brow, pursing my lips as I give her a look.
“What?”
“What? What is, we’re going to talk about that necklace now.”
Rhona goes red, stammering as her hand flies to her neck to close the front of her dress. But, it’s too late.
“Wait, what necklace? What’s the deal with this necklace?” Iona butts in, curiosity on her face.
“It’s nothing, okay?” Rhona mutters. “Just something I… I found.”
I give Iona a look, and we both grin.
“You found it, did you?”
Rhona glares at me. “It’s nothing, Cat.”
“That looks Norse,” Iona says, her eyes going wide as they lock onto the amulet around our friend’s neck. “You could almost call it Viking.”
“You know?” I gasp sarcastically. “It’s almost as if you could call it Viking in design!”
Poor Rhona squirms between us, heat flushing through her cheeks.
“It really is just a necklace, okay?” She mumbles.
“A necklace from who?”
She swallows, her eyes flicking to me. “Cat, I’m engaged.”
“I know,” I smile wryly, squeezing her arm. “It’s from Tor, isn’t it?”
She looks down, and slowly, she nods.
Iona’s jaw drops. “Tor Odinson?”
The humor is gone from her face as she pales.
“Good lord, Tor Odinson the marauder king?”
Rhona’s shoulders slump, her teeth raking over her lip.
“You know what?” I stop, shaking my head as I wrap my arms around Rhona. “How about we talk about it later, if you want. And if you don’t? We don’t have to, okay?”
Rhona looks up, smiling wryly as she nods. “Thanks, Cat.” She takes a shaky breath. “And seriously, tonight is about you, okay?”
“Agreed,” Iona pipes up. “Now where’s the wine around here?”
As if on cue, the door to my room swings wide again as Una and Ailith come tumbling in, a bottle of wine in hand.
“Perfect” Iona laughs, clapping her hands.
“Iona!”
My other two friends, who also haven’t seen Iona in years, charge right into her, the three of them hugging.
We pour the wine, we laugh, we tell stories, we fill Iona in on everything, and soon enough, it’s time.
…It’s time to marry the man of my dreams.
We hold hands at the altar, we say the words, and there, in front of family and friends, we promise forever to each other. And when I kiss Callum, I know all is right in the world.
That is, until it very much isn’t…
Chapter 12
Callum
She kisses me hungrily, her arms around my neck and mine carrying her as we tumble down the halls of the castle. Ten minutes after being officially made man and wife, and all we both want to do is what we’ve denied ourselves for way too long.
And now, it’s time to claim her as my own. It’s time to lay her across our bed, kiss her like I’m never going to stop kissing her, and take her as my bride. As my queen.
We’re laughing and breathless, and we keep getting waylaid to stop and kiss each other against the stone walls of the halls before we stumble for again for her quarters. And we’re so wrapped up in each other, that neither of us notice Lachlan McDougall until we almost go crashing into him.
Catriona gasps, jumping out of my arms, her face red as she swallows.
“Father!” She beams at him. “The wedding was so lovely—”
“We need to speak.”
Instantly, I know something’s wrong. There’s an edge of steel in Lord McDougall’s voice—an edge not unlike the edge of the sword he’s holding, unsheathed, in his hand.
“Dad?”
“You should go, Catriona,” he growls, his eyes wild and fierce and locked on me.
But Cat just frowns, shaking her head as she slips her arm through mine.
“What’s going on?”
Lachlan’s eyes harden, his jaw clenched as he glares at me furiously.