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

needna—”
    “Doubtless, you are hungry yourself and just striving to do the thing properly. Still, I suspect you would prefer us all to eat first, so Sir Walter’s men can load the sumpter ponies whilst he and his bride enjoy a brief respite before they must depart.”
    Meg glanced at the man who was now her husband but found naught to reassure her in the way his lips pressed tightly together. A muscle in his jaw twitched, just as the one in Amalie’s jaw did when she was angry or frustrated but believed she would do better to hold her tongue than to speak.
    Wat would have liked to strangle Sir Iagan Murray, because had the man plotted and schemed to destroy a marriage before ever it had begun, he could not have done better. The only thing that could make it worse would be if the old devil did insist on letting everyone watch the consummation.
    He had heard of fathers who did allow it, to prevent the bridegroom from complaining later that the bride had not been a maiden. So he continued to watch Murray in trepidation, praying that he would not dig in his heels and do just that.
    However, Lady Murray was giving orders to the servants, and residents of Elishaw who had not come to watch the ceremony were hurrying into the lower hall now to take their places at the trestle tables.
    In what seemed to be no time at all, Wat stood beside his father-in-law at the high table with the friar on his right. Lady Murray and her daughters lined up on Murray’s left, so the bride stood in what was doubtless her usual spot, three places away from Wat, between her mother and the lady Amalie. Rosalie was at the end.
    At other wedding feasts Wat had attended, the bride and groom had occupied the central seats at the high table. But evidently Murray or his lady, or both, had decided to prevent any discourse between him and his bride. Realizing he would soon find himself bedding a woman whose only words to him thus far had been her declaration that she had no more wish to marry him than he had to marry her, Wat wondered if when the time came he would be able to perform his duty.
    As soon as the friar had said the grace-before-meat and they had taken their seats, Murray said heartily, “Well, now, lad, how does it feel to be a married man? I warrant ye’re fair straining at the leash to have at her, are ye no?”
    Meeting the older man’s taunting gaze, Wat said with feigned interest, “Is that how it was with you, sir? Were you straining at the leash on your day of days?”
    Hearing a hastily smothered noise beyond his host, he leaned forward and looked past him.
    Lady Murray’s attention was on her trencher. If she had heard the exchange—and Wat was certain she must have—she gave no sign. Beyond her, the lady Margaret held a hand over her mouth and stared intently at the table before her.
    Wat heard Murray chuckle but watched Margaret until she turned her head enough for him to see her almond-shaped eyes dancing beneath lush dark lashes. He was able to discern enough of their color to guess that they were gray or a soft blue.
    Before, he had always seemed to see her mouth first. Now, with it covered, her eyes commanded attention. He wished she would look right at him as she had earlier, but even as the thought stirred, she looked back down at the table.
    “Bless us, lad,” Sir Iagan said, startling him out of his brief reverie and still chortling as he gestured to his carver to begin carving the roast. “Ye’ve recalled that me own marriage were arranged for me just as I’ve arranged yours for you. Och, though, not precisely as I’ve done it,” he amended with another laugh. “Still, if ye can do as well wi’ your lady as I’ve done wi’ mine, ye’ll be content. Five sturdy bairns mine has given me, and four more that died young. See if ye can do as well.”
    “I’ll do my best, sir.” Nodding to the gillie offering to ladle hare soup from a basin to a wooden bowl, and to another about to fill his mug from the ale