“Even the most powerful Chrechte would make a poor mate for a man’s daughter, if he was not also a good man.”
It was an unlooked-for compliment and Eirik gave it the silent recognition it deserved. “You will send a messenger to inform Talorc of the mating?”
“Aye, that and the wedding.”
Eirik didn’t ask, “What wedding?” He was no idiot. But he did warn his mate’s uncle, “She’ll balk.”
“I’ve a way with reluctant brides.” Lachlan grinned.
Thinking of what he had heard of the other man’s own nuptials and that of his second-in-command, Eirik had to agree. The Balmoral knew how to handle a reluctant bride.
The laird proved himself as adept with a recalcitrant female as Eirik suspected a couple of hours later, when they found the women chatting in the solar after brief visits with the Éan that lived near or at the castle itself.
The Balmoral had announced the wedding was to take place before Ciara and Eirik could leave to find the elder, Boisin.
“What wedding?” Ciara asked, proving she was willing to play dumber than she was.
“The wedding between you and Eirik, lass.”
“But, Laird Lachlan—”
“’Tis Uncle Lachlan and well you know it.”
“Uncle Lachlan,” she said, drawing the name out with more sarcasm than a warrior would dare use on the commanding laird. “There is not going to be any wedding.”
“Of course there is, lass. The priest is here now to perform the rite.”
And indeed the human man had just entered the solar at a near run. He stopped in front of the Balmoral. “I was told there was an urgent matter for your family that needed my attention.”
“Aye.” The laird indicated Ciara and Eirik with a sweep of his arm. “These two are to be wed.”
“Now?” To his credit, the priest did not sound all that shocked by the demand of his laird, but obviously needing clarification.
There was no give in the Balmoral’s expression. “Aye, now.”
“No, not now,” Ciara inserted.
Her uncle turned to face her. “You would shame your parents, my own sister and brother by marriage by refusing to follow your mating with a proper wedding?”
Instead of answering him, Ciara spun to face Eirik. “You tattletale. Our mating is not a piece of gossip for two warriors to chew on.”
“Would you rather he believed I took your innocence without the benefit of our Chrechte vows?”
Ciara’s mouth opened and closed and opened again. “You did not have to tell him anything.”
“I can respect your obstinacy; ’tis almost charming. But do not play the role of fool. Your uncle was aware of what had transpired between us from the moment we arrived in the keep.”
“And whose fault is that?” she demanded with a glare.
“I am not sure, Ciara. I thought we shared equal blame. Are you claiming we do not?”
“You are saying the Éan prince forced his attentions on you?” the Balmoral asked with dangerous quiet.
All color drained from Ciara’s face as she gasped. “That is not what I said at all.”
“So, it was mutual?” the Balmoral pressed.
Blood surged back into Ciara’s cheeks and she turned her scowl on her uncle. “Yes,” she ground out.
“Then the wedding will commence.”
“No, wait. I…we can’t get married without my father’s approval.”
“He gave approval to the mating when he sent you on this journey with Eirik alone.”
“We are not alone.” Ciara’s gazed flitted to where Mairi now sat in a chair beside Caitriona and Lais once again stood sentinel behind her. “The eagle shifter and seer accompany us.”
She spoke freely in front of the priest, but then the man knew all the secrets of his flock. ’Twas to be expected.
Lachlan did not look impressed with her argument, however. “But if your father objected to Eirik as your mate, he would have come as well.”
“Or sent Niall,” Ciara said with dawning understanding and unwittingly echoing her uncle’s earlier words. She frowned. “My father expected this.”
“Aye, lass.”
“But I don’t want to get married.”
Chapter 20
Love is often the fruit of marriage.
—MOLIÈRE
“I didn’t, either, but it turned out well,” Caitriona said with a smile.
“For that matter, I had no intention of marrying Lachlan, but the man has a way with him.” Emily’s smile belied the spicy stories Eirik had heard about the couple’s volatile courtship and beginning of their marriage.
Ciara’s breath came out in panicked little gasps. “It’s not the same.”
“I am sending a messenger to your father.” The Balmoral crossed his arms over his massive chest and looked as movable as a rock. “He can carry news of your mating and wedding or