Free Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] by Border Wedding

followed them, he deduced, was their sister, Rosalie.
    Meeting the child’s impertinent gaze, he decided he was even luckier than he had thought not to have to take her back to Rankilburn with him.
    His gaze shifted back to the pair preceding her, flicking over the lady Amalie to the lady Margaret. He had expected her to wear a much more elegant gown as a bride than she’d had on earlier, and to be sure, she did look less like a servant. But the flimsy blue kirtle and long gray mantle she wore now were no more suitable for riding than the earlier gown had been and no more becoming to her either.
    He nearly winced at the ugly white crimped and fluted headdress concealing her hair, and as his experienced gaze took in her bodice’s unfashionably tight lacing and low girdle, he tried to imagine her in finer clothing. But his mind balked at trying to imagine her as his wife. She was too thin to be a cozy armful for a man, certainly. Sakes, but she seemed to have no breasts at all.
    Although he had heard men talk of her lack of beauty, and her mouth was as wide, even as large, as Sym had said it was, her walk was graceful. She carried herself well, and her lips looked as soft and—
    His thoughts stopped when her mouth quirked wryly. Meeting her direct gaze, he realized belatedly that she was watching him watch her.
    Meg wondered what he was thinking. She knew she was no great beauty, but beauty was rarely the first thing men looked for in a wife. Plainer women than she married every day, but although Sir Iagan was wealthy and his many alliances had kept them safe so far, Elishaw’s position remained tenuous in unsettled times. Her duty, she knew, was to see that her marriage provided yet another strong alliance.
    Sir Walter stood calmly beside her father, apparently no longer so violently opposed to marrying her. He looked tidier, too, and much handsomer. His cheeks had flushed when she caught his eye, and they were still pink.
    “Art ready, Meg?” Lady Murray said.
    Meg nodded.
    About to accept a reluctant bridegroom without so much as a penny-dowry to placate him, she told herself that if she was not to be miserable for the rest of her life, she had better think how she could show him he had not made a bad bargain.
    Now, however, she could not seem to think at all. She stood beside Sir Walter as the friar said a brief prayer and then asked him if he would promise to take her as his wedded wife, to have and to hold from that time forward.
    Meg held her breath.
    “I will,” the young man beside her said firmly.
    “Have you a ring to give her, sir?” the friar asked.
    “Nay, for I do not wear one.”
    “’Tis of no consequence, as the only thing that matters is your promise before God,” the friar said.
    He turned then to Meg. “Lady Margaret, do you plight your troth to take Sir Walter as your wedded husband, to have him and to hold him through all the ills and pleasures that life brings you, to obey his commands, and to be bonlich and buxom in bed and at board till death parts you from him?”
    “I do,” Meg said, pleased that her voice sounded as firm as Sir Walter’s.
    With those words and another brief prayer, the ceremony was over.
    Meg thought it sadly flat. A wedding, she decided, ought to have more to it.
    “Well, that’s done,” Sir Iagan announced with satisfaction. “Next, we’ll see to the bedding, and then we can eat.”
    The thought of what lay ahead shot a bolt of panic through Meg, but Lady Murray said calmly, “Forgive me, my lord, but mayhap I misunderstood you. Believing your intent was that our midday meal be their wedding feast, I ordered it served as close to the usual time as possible. It is ready now to serve.”
    “Aye, well, that’s a—”
    “I do hope you are not vexed,” she added. “I did not expect these men to stand idly by whilst our daughter and Sir Walter consummate their marriage. Or is it required that we ask them to bear witness to it?”
    “Nay, we