The Bard (Highland Heroes #5) - Maeve Greyson Page 0,31

thought to scoop her up and carry her, then decided against it. Nay, when the lass finally shook free of her shock, there’d be hell to pay if he did that. Best to handle this a bit more delicately. With a steady pull, he looped her arm through his and, inch by inch, led her off the dais and around the table to stand in front of the priest.

Father Stephen leaned forward, peering closer at Sorcha. “Ye’ve gone whiter than the milk in the buckets, lass. Be ye about to fall dead away? Need ye some wine or whiskey to stand ye through yer vows?”

She jerked her head from side to side and tightened her hold on Sutherland’s arm.

The priest’s bushy brows arched higher on his forehead. With a nod in Sorcha’s direction, he turned to Sutherland. “Best hold tight to her, lad. I’ll speak the words fast, so we get them said before she hits the floor.”

Sutherland freed her death grip on his arm and wrapped it around her waist. He held tight to her hand for good measure. A belated realization hit him as Father Stephen pulled his worn Bible from an inner pocket of his robe. A ring. He had no ring to put upon her finger. Damn it all to hell and back. Sorcha deserved the finest of rings. Still holding her steady, he sidled forward and whispered to the priest, “I have no ring for my lady.”

“A ring isna what makes a marriage whole and strong,” the priest admonished while opening his Bible. After licking his finger and thumb, he flipped through the pages. Still squinting, he glanced up from his book and nodded. “Gift her with a ring of gold upon yer first anniversary, ye ken?”

“She’ll deserve a chest of gold if she doesna kill him by then,” Magnus said as he appeared at Sutherland’s side.

“I dinna need a ring,” Sorcha said loud and clear, her chin lifted proudly.

Sutherland smiled. His lady had found her courage. “Ye may not need a ring, but ye deserve one, m’love.”

“Do as Da did for Mama,” she said, her voice falling to almost a whisper. “Give me a ring upon the birth of our first child.”

“And so I shall,” he promised, squeezing her hand, then giving it a quick kiss.

“Well, then.” The priest cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Now that we’ve settled the matter of the ring, let us be getting on with it so we can all eat. I smell roasted boar and smoked salmon, and dinna fancy either of them when they’ve sat long enough to grow cold. Both are best good and hot from the pits.” He wrinkled his nose, peered closer at the yellowed pages of his book, then glanced first at Sutherland, then at Sorcha. “When I pause and look at ye, say yer full Christian names. I canna for the life of me remember those long strings of names anymore. So, take care of that yerselves, aye? Ye know yer own names much better than I.” Without waiting for either of them to agree, Father Stephen turned and glared at a corner of the room still rumbling with quiet mutterings. “And if all here will mind their manners and stop their yammering, we’ll get on with it.”

If not for the heightened sense of what he was about to do scaring the living hell out of him, Sutherland would’ve laughed. Instead, he swallowed hard and concentrated on appearing relaxed, not just for Sorcha’s sake but for his own as well. Maybe if he appeared relaxed, he might start to feel such.

Father Stephen rolled his narrow shoulders and stood as tall as his bent frame allowed. He pinned a fierce scowl on Sutherland. “Do ye…” he paused.

“Sutherland Islay Fenn MacCoinnich,” Sutherland supplied.

“Merciful saints, I wouldha never remembered that mouthful,” the priest muttered. “Aye, do ye take…” he halted again and shot a raised brow in Sorcha’s direction.

“Sorcha Elaine Greyloch,” she said in a voice so soft, everyone leaned forward to hear her.

Father Stephen nodded his approval. “Aye, do the two of ye take one for the other, swearing yer oath here in the presence of God Almighty and both kith and kin? Do ye swear love, fealty, and faithfulness to each other, forsaking any and all others who might tempt ye to stray and make ye forget that ye now be one rather than two?”

“Aye,” Sorcha squeaked, her voice cracking. “I do.”

“I do so swear to love this woman wholly and without