The Pledge Read Online Free PDF Page B

alone, though the widening of MacKay’s
     smile said he’d picked up the words. “Let us proceed.” He waved his hand and all the frozen retainers unbent, surreptitious
     gripping of weapons relaxed.
    Morrigan hadn’t received a verbal promise, but she felt encouraged that she hadn’t had a negative response. She’d persevere.
    Instead of returning to his place as custom demanded, MacKay offered his other arm.
    She looked up at him, reeling at the heat she saw there, the interest. This was unexpected. That she could be drawn to a Scot
     had not entered her thoughts. At best she’d thought to tolerate him. Now her innards quivered like treacle because he eyed
     her.
    For the first time her carefully built resistance wavered and Morrigan could feel a trembling at the back of her knees. Her
     neck was so stiff it’d cramped between her shoulders. Her soon-to-be-spouse was even larger than he’d looked at a distance.
     His shoulders were like doors, though there was a smoothness to him, a quickness she sensed. Danger surrounded him like the
     lunar aureole.
    His face had been chiseled to rock hardness, his eyes the brown of a Welsh hill with golden slashes around the outside. He’d
     made such a quick complete impression on her, she could recall the slight scar at the corner of his mouth, a similar one to
     the side of one eye. She felt the beat of his blood under his hand. Not as fast as hers. She’d not expected to like his features,
     to find him winsome in a manly way. She must be sickening with something to find a Scot appealing.
    Her hesitation was enough to make MacKay aware she was more of a reluctant bride than he’d been led to believe. Annoyance
     had him moving closer to her so that her right hand slid down over his, his thumb locking her there. The flowers she carried
     drooped between them.
    Morrigan was out of breath and off balance. She didn’t know why MacKay had such an effect, but she knew it was he who’d caused
     it. All at once her modish raiment felt mussy, uncomfortable, lumpy. Each and every step had to be handled with care for her
     limbs had become like softened wax.
    It was more than awkward to try to traverse the glen, manage the train of her gown and the heaviness of the bliaut, with her
     arms lifted to the limbs of two haughty men. To make it more cumbersome, the chin guard of her headdress began slipping up
     and covering her mouth. She took a deep breath and wished for the long trek to the altar to be over, when just short minutes
     past she’d wanted it to go on forever. What a paradox. She needed an ending that she sorely didn’t want.
    Her two escorts paused at the foot of the platform. As quickly and quietly as she could she pushed and pulled at her raiment,
     trying to keep it in order.
    The king preceded the bride and the laird upward. He held up his hands to the crowd, accepting their huzzahs, ignoring their
     boos.
    Morrigan looked up the short steps to the platform and sighed. Too steep. Were they rickety as well? Surely she’d fall from
     them and break her neck. That might solve the problem. She lifted one foot.
    MacKay bent toward her, eyes alight. “Let me assist you, milady.” He scooped her up to thunderous applause.
    “Fool! Would you have them scorn us?” Morrigan felt dizzy, disoriented. She clutched at him. Never had she felt anything but
     a need to handle her own destiny. In one quick swoop MacKay had rendered her helpless. It was not a wholly unsatisfying sensation,
     though unseemly. She was surely going mad! Not minding being held by a Scot! Ridiculous.
    “They dare not,” he answered her shocked query.
    Why did he look at her so? He seemed taken aback. Did she repulse him?
    “Surely your flashing emerald eyes would tell them they are in the presence of a queen.”
    “Surely not, since I’m a princess,” she shot back, more shaken by his touch than she’d ever been. No other living person had
     wielded such potency over her. Black magic,