Eòin sat on the edge of Niamh's bed watching candlelight dance across her sleeping face. His future wife was certainly a beauty. Smooth skin with rich earth tones covered the soft features of her face. Thick dark lashes framed the edges of her eyelids. She insisted on a satin pillowcase to "protect her hair" as she put it.
He still wasn't sure how she got her hair to be so soft to the touch. He heard Caitlan complaining about the purchase of some expensive accouterments. Something she referred to as shea butter. He didn't care how much the damn thing cost. So long as she kept it just this way, running like silk over his fingers.
His cock flexed between his legs as he focused on her lips. They were almost a perfect heart shape, with the bottom just a bit larger than the top. It stood apart, begging to be kissed and suckled. He would ensure that it was never left wanting. He couldn't get the vision of her lips wrapped around the girth of his cock out of his head. His inclination was to wake her and sheath his cock inside her deep as he could go. He wasn't sure how she did it but she stirred something in him that he'd never felt for another woman before.
He would see that she was well cared for and that she would want for naught but he could never love her. Not when his plan was to infiltrate the court of King James and confirm Richard Colville's involvement in his father's murder with the King's complicity. He would see them both dead. Even if the act cost him his life.
He would not permit her to suffer needlessly. Despite the fact that he didn't love her, he would not see any harm come to her. This indescribably maddening urge to protect her forced all his decisions and judgments to change drastically. They began to include her and how the outcome of each decision would affect her. It infuriated him to continually worry how his schemes might harm her. He never cared before about them harming anyone else, not even Allistor and Isobell.
He sighed deeply. His thoughts returned to her. His gaze found her lips again. After their first kiss, it became clear to him that she was no virgin. She'd obviously known and perhaps even enjoyed the touch of a man. The knowledge should unsettle him but instead, he found himself being relieved that she embraced her sexuality. Because of the backward thinking of modern society, too many women never knew the joys of intimacy or learned that part of themselves too late.
He would enjoy every delight with his wife. Perhaps, if his deal with Morgan became a success, he would see her bear his children. Morgan. He had not thought of her in some time. Just then Niamh's tattooed wrist slid from the bed dangling over the side.
Eòin's brows knitted as he studied first her wrist, then her forearm. He eventually went as far as he could without waking her. How had he not noticed? The feathers had begun to disappear. One fading right before his eyes.
They were much fewer in number than when she'd first arrived. He slipped her small fist into his palm as he puzzled. Perhaps, every day she was here a feather disappeared, like sand in an hourglass. It was the only explanation that made sense.
A sudden dread settled over him. If such was the case, he would lose her when the feathers ran out. The sinking feeling in his chest compelled internal discovery. What could this possibly mean? Why is the thought of her leaving feel like the end of the world?
"What are you doing?" Her throaty voice asked, staring at her hand in his. "You really came back for me to finish fucking you up for locking me in this room."
He dropped her hand abruptly. "No, I came to fetch you. We are bound for the chapel this morning. I have received the papal dispensation. We marry within the hour."
He stood stomping his way from her room with heavy boots.
"Wait. What?" Niamh asked sitting up in her bed with growing puzzlement.
He stopped to respond after pulling the door open. "The King has sent for you. You will not attend his court as Lady Godfrey but as Countess Douglas. But most importantly you will not attend without me on your arm."
The next few hours passed in a blur. Niamh did not so much as glance at the breakfast Caitlan so kindly served in her rooms. She and a few other servants spent the bulk of the morning slaving away on her wedding dress and hair.
She wore a hand-sewn satin gown in rich deep gold. Caitlan called it a cotehardie. The gown was form-fitting, floor-length, with an open neckline and full-length sleeves. It featured damask patterns on the bodice and skirt. Even she had to admit she looked beautiful despite not feeling like the typical bride on her wedding day. The finishing piece was a grey cloak lined with squirrel and ermine fur.
Niamh thought of Una as Caitlan took the time to style her hair. She gave her something like two interweaving goddess braids fitted with gold ribbon. Caitlan insisted on applying rouge to her cheeks despite Niamh's adamant refusal. But after seeing her reflection she had to admit that it suited her. She drew the line at their pale foundation made out of mercury.
"Milady," Another servant whose name she could not recall beckoned her.
"Yes," She answered using a smile to mask her anger. Getting married should be the happiest day of her life instead she felt like she was heading to a street fight. 'Maybe I should have let them kill me instead,' She contemplated briefly.
"Laird Douglas sends these." She opened an ornamented box to reveal a jewelry set. The set included a silk hip belt with sapphires, rubies, and pearls set to its length. Her attention was then drawn to a gold crown in the center of the box decorated lavishly yet intricately with as many precious metals and jewels as the belt. A matching neckless and rings sat in the center of the crown.
"Oh my," Caitlan whispered in awe. She put a hand over her lips as she stared at the box. "I never thought to see these again."
Curious Niamh asked, "Why? Who do these belong to?" She had hoped Eòin wasn't stupid enough to give her some other bitches jewelry or they'd have it out right now.
"These, Mistress, belonged to Laird Douglas' mother, Lady Ede Douglas. She was the finest woman I'd ever known. Definition of what it meant to be noble. Loved by all. Her death was a blow to all of us. Laird Douglas was ne'er the same after that. When the young Laird Douglas said he wanted these put away and refused to even let his betrothed have them I assumed we'd ne'er see them again." She took the box from the servant.
"Ye must be very dear to him indeed," Caitlan whispered as she draped the necklace around Niamh's neck.
Niamh pursed her lips, before replying dryly, "hmm..."
Fully dressed, she nervously descended the stairs in her golden gown. Eòin stood with a few of his servants at the bottom of the stairs in the foyer. She had begun her descent when she caught his eye. He couldn't help the slack-jawed, unblinking stare that focused on her.
Niamh scoffed to herself. 'I know I fucking look good,' she thought with an air of haughtiness.
"Are you going to just stand there and gawk?" She asked with a cocky half-smile.
He swallowed hard before simply answering with, "Yes."
Niamh gave a little chuckle, "Well, stop it. You look stupid."