A hush remained, and Jemma realized that she was the cause of it. The staff was waiting to see what sort of woman she was. No one wanted to be the one who chattered too much and gained the displeasure of the new mistress. Everything felt as if it was rushing too quickly toward the moment when she would be expected to make her choice.

You’ve already made it and you know it, she told herself.

Knowing that didn’t ease the tension. It tightened and filled her with anxiety while Ula brushed her hair until it shone. The dress was a soft blue silk with velvet edging. The neckline was square and the sleeve had thick cuffs that turned back to lay against her forearms. Ula looked at the hat that came with it but shook her head. It was a style once favored by Catherine of Aragon, built high to represent the desire to achieve heaven’s favor.

“I don’t understand the court fashions at times, but ye do nae need a hat since it is yer wedding day. It’s a pity there is no ivy left, everything has turned to color now.”

“I don’t need decorations.”

Ula nodded approvingly, and the housekeeper raised her voice just a bit when she answered so that every maid in the chamber was sure to hear.

“A wise thing that is, knowing that decorations are naught but a waste of resources.”

The last thing set out for her was a pair of silk slippers. Jemma stared at them for they appeared too fragile to be anything but a figment of her imagination. But she stopped before stepping into them.

“Gordon took my shoes away.” Saying the words awoke her temper—she was still quite displeased with the manner in which the man had tried to keep her inside his fortress. But her cheeks also heated with a blush as she recalled just what had happened when he took her boots off.

“I wouldn’t be calling these shoes, they are more slippers, and pretty as they might be, they are quite useless for much more than supping and dancing.”

Of course, court ladies would have slid their slipper-clad feet into over-shoes that kept the delicate silk creations from being soiled on the way to their banquets. Costly Persian carpets would have been rolled out to cover the hallways so that they might step out of their over-shoes and onto carpet that would not mar their pretty slippers.

She wasn’t going to wear them.

Turning around, she walked toward the table and picked up a hand mirror that lay there.

Was she pretty? She really had never contemplated the question. Her father had told her she was fair beyond all others, but he was her father.

“Ye will please the laird.” Ula spoke in a soft tone.

“Hmmm . . . perhaps.” Jemma placed the mirror carefully back on the table. “But will he please me?”

There was a collective gasp from everyone in the room except for Ula. The housekeeper held her silence for one long moment before erupting with laughter. She slapped the top of her skirts and continued to shake with amusement.

“I do believe the laird may have met his match. ’Tis a grand day indeed.”

Gordon couldn’t recall when he’d been so nervous in the past. His shoulders tingled with the strain, every muscle tight with anticipation. Would she come? He debated the alternatives if she didn’t appear.

But the truth was, he wanted Jemma to walk down to their wedding of her own free will. Part of him needed it more than he wanted to admit. Trying to tell himself she was a logical choice for a bride didn’t change the fact that he yearned to see her submitting by choice.

That was something too many men didn’t understand the value of. It was something that they failed to see in their own mistresses. Part of what drew them away from their marriage beds was the freely given affection a mistress offered. She embraced a man because she wanted to, not because of some contract. Many would tell him he was insane to want that from a wife, and there was a possibility that they were correct, but that wouldn’t keep him from hoping. He looked toward the door and sighed when it remained empty.

He ground his teeth against each other and moved down the aisle. He wasn’t abandoning his ideas, but he would have her tonight.

Even if that was outside the bonds of matrimony.

Jemma took a deep breath and tried not to turn and look at all the women watching her. She could feel their eyes on the back on her head, but she kept her pace slow and steady as she crossed the courtyard.

Gordon suddenly appeared at the doorway of the church, his face a mask of disgruntlement. She stopped, staring at that expression and trying to decide what to do next. Her firm decisions didn’t hold up well against that dark expression. She stood in place, trying to recall what her reasons were for joining him.

But his eyes suddenly lit with joy. There was no other way to describe it. The emotion erupted clearly in those blue centers before his lips parted and his teeth flashed at her in welcome. He held out a hand with his palm up in invitation. Jemma took a step forward and frowned when she lowered her foot onto a sharp stone. His smile faded but not completely as he closed the distance between them.

“Are ye losing yer courage now when ye are so close? Where’s the spirit that got ye this far, Jemma?”

“It is annoyed by being barefoot.” She kept her voice low so that her words did not drift to those watching. The men along the curtain wall had turned to witness the moment, and the priests filled in the doorway to the church while the nuns peeked through the stained glass windows.

Gordon’s eyes filled with wicked merriment, something that she was beginning to understand was a major facet of his nature.

“Brides used to wed in their shifts to demonstrate their submission to their groom.”

His hand was still out, and she placed hers in it before digging her fingernails into his skin. He choked on his amusement.

“Well, I suppose that if you see naught wrong with every man seeing my body through the thin fabric of my chemise . . . I believe the light is just right to shine through and show every curve I have.”

“Barefoot is submissive enough.”

“Too much for me.”

His hand closed around her, and his expression became pensive. “Then why did ye come, Jemma? Somehow, I doubt it was my promise to return to yer bed even if I believe that ye know I mean to do exactly as I said.”

She raised her face and stared at the joy that was still glittering in his eyes. Her heart absorbed that single emotion and cradled it close.

“You are correct that I am not here because you promised to take my innocence tonight. Maybe I am here because you left me a virgin last night.” She offered him a guarded look. “It is possible that I do trust you even if I detest the idea of wedding you barefoot.”

“I rather like the notion.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “It means I’ll be able to undress ye so much faster.”

She dug her fingernails into his skin once again, but the priest narrowed his eyes at them both.

“Are ye ready, lass?”

“As ready as I am ever going to be, I believe.”

Gordon took the first step, leading her by their joined hands toward the church and the priest waiting to bless their union. She forbade herself to think, trapping her emotions down beneath all the reasons why taking her vows was the correct thing to do.

And in an impossibly short amount of time, she was wed.

Chapter Seven

The Barras clan was waiting for them when they made their way out of the church. Jemma was astounded at the number of people crowded into the yard. They were straining to see her and Gordon, fathers lifting their sons up to sit on their shoulders while rows of children stood on the few wagons dotting the area. A cheer rose when they followed the priest out of the sanctuary. There had not been one inch of pew space left inside, either. The small procession that preceded them included the altar boys; one held up a crucifix and one held a small painting of the Virgin Mary. The priest followed while swinging the incense burner to spread the fragrant herbs over those who came to see their laird wed.

They were led all the way to the great hall and then inside. The priest remained until she and Gordon sat at the high table. The man gave a final blessing, and the hall erupted into cheers. Jemma couldn’t contain her smile because there was just too much merriment surrounding her. The cheering died down and the music became louder, and her toe began tapping beneath the silk skirt of her dress.

“Ah, something that pleases ye.” Gordon reached out to capture her hand beneath the table. He gave it a soft squeeze. “I’ll have to be remembering that.”

Large platters were brought toward them from the long tables in front of the hearths. The cook was turning back linens draped over the food to decide the order it was to be served in.

It was far more effort than she had anticipated. While she had been bathing, there must have been a flurry of activity in the kitchen.

Gordon squeezed her hand once again, and she turned to discover him watching her.

“Did ye think I’d just take ye upstairs straightaway without celebrating?”

Her cheeks heated because she had been completely focused on the next important part of marrying.

The consummation. Her mind offered up the fact that tonight she would do far more than feel his cock. She could expect her groom to remove his clothing. That idea deepened her blush, and the warm fingers clasping hers gently stroked her fingers.

“As much as I’m eager for that, lass, ’twould be a blackguard that did nae offer ye a wedding feast.”

“But there was so little time.”

He leaned in so that his words remained between them. “Aye, there was indeed, but look, Jemma, it seems that everyone is very eager to lend their effort to making tonight special for us.”