Binding Vows(61)
Husband? Did I miss the wedding? Her breath started to come in waves, her fingers tingled. Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!
She saw Duncan’s image swim in front of her, his face blurred a bit. The sun overhead made her eyes squint. It felt good to shut them. So very good to shut them...
Duncan caught her before she went down. His men cheered.
“Ah Duncan, ’tis just like ye to have the woman fall at your feet.”
“I thought it would be ye hitting the dirt.”
Gregor’s boast had the men laughing.
He took her to the main hall, laid her on a couch. Lora followed him in, sending servants to fetch water and a towel.
Tara’s eyes fluttered open almost the minute he set her down. Duncan leaned over her, stroking the hair out of her eyes.
“I fainted, didn’t I?”
“Aye, love, that you did.”
It came back to her in a hurry. “What was that all about, Duncan? What did your father do?”
“He handfasted us.” He watched for a reaction, saw none. “As Laird of the Keep it is within his right to do so for all who dwell on his land.”
“Why?”
“Here.” He helped her sit up and brought the water to her mouth, encouraged her to drink it.
“Are you well, Tara?” Lora asked.
“No. Yes, Oh God! Can one of you explain why the men acted as though we’re married?” She looked 180
Binding Vows
to Lora and Duncan, who both exchanged glances.
“Handfasting is equal to marriage in this time.”
Lora told her. “The men will look at you as Duncan’s wife from this day forward.”
“What?” Tara moved to stand up, only to have Duncan hold her in her seat.
“Try and understand, the men will assume you and I, that we...” His words choked on themselves in the presence of his mother. “If a child were to come, its legitimacy will never be in question.”
“Oh.”
“I can see by your expressions, Ian was right in doing this,” Lora said, eyeing them both.
“Mrs. MacCoinnich, may I speak with your son in private please?”
“Of course.” She kissed Tara’s cheeks. “Welcome to the family.”
Tara took a long drink from the glass of water, wishing for something stronger. “You saw this coming? Didn’t you?”
“When he asked if I was speaking for you, I knew.”
“So they all think we’re married? But we’re not really? Right?”
He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it. “Duncan?”
“Well...”
“Duncan?”
“To everyone, we are married, Tara. Vows given before God are all that need to come.” He looked at her now, into her.
“Don’t we have any say in this?”
“My father gave me say. I chose you.”
“What about me? Don’t I have any say in any of this?” She took a small breath, his words sank in.
“You chose me?” She stopped, took a breath and smiled. “Really?”
He nodded.
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“I should have some say. Don’t you think? I mean, I’m from the future, your dad knows that. In my time, we have a fifty, fifty say in marriage.” She stood up and started to pace. “Shouldn’t I have some say in whether or not I’m married to another person?
Well?”
“Aye, love.”
“Good. We agree. I should have a say.”
“Do you know you’re beautiful when you rant?”
She waved off his compliment. “Don’t distract me. It’s nice to know you’re not pigheaded like your father, I mean...”
“Would you choose me, if you had a choice?”
“Of course I’d choose you. Didn’t I already do that?” She rolled her eyes and flipped her hair back.
She’d given him her virginity for goodness sake and he held a big clump of her heart in his hands. “Still, a woman should be asked. Given a choice. It’s supposed to be the most defining moment in a woman’s life. Well, maybe not mine. But then again how many women go back in time six or so centuries? Huh?”
“Tara?” He stood in front of her, stopping her pacing.
“What?” Her ranting had almost run out.
“Will you marry me?”
“...six centuries is a long time to... What?” Oh God, did she miss it? Her head started to clear.
Duncan stood holding her hands, looking in her eyes. “Will you marry me, Tara? Will you take me and my name and all it holds? Will you give any child that may even now be forming or any future children my name?” He placed his hand on her flat stomach. “Will you be my wife?”
She melted. Putty. A big fat pile of goo all over the floor in a sixteenth century castle in the middle of Scotland. “What?”