Almost Like Being in Love: A Novella by Sariah Wilson

Author:Sariah Wilson [Wilson, Sariah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Montlake
Published: 2023-11-13T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

Admittedly, I had never actually experienced a hallucination before. What I was seeing felt so real, as if it had already happened.

Not as if it were something that would happen.

It was like a memory.

Weren’t visions meant to be for the future? Because it would have to be my future as it hadn’t happened yet.

Or maybe it had, because Highglen was four hundred years behind the rest of the world.

This time-loop thing was weird and obviously messing with my brain. I shook my head, forcing myself to come back to reality.

Niamh was radiant, beaming at everyone. She carried a bouquet that matched the garland—holly, ivy, evergreen boughs, and dried white heather, which I guessed was for luck, like nearly every other tradition I’d come across.

I only looked at her for a moment, though, because she was being escorted by Duncan. I could see how pleased he was with this day, that he was happy for and proud of his sister, and then his gaze was on me, and everything else melted away.

Duncan passed Niamh over to Robert, and then he came to stand close to me. His fingers brushed against mine, and I wished that I could hold his hand. It was enough to be standing close to him, though.

The minister told everyone to gather round in a circle. “I welcome you, Robert and Niamh, into the circle of your people. Your clan, your family, your neighbors, all gathered round to support and love you both.”

The ceremony passed by quickly. The minister spoke about love and commitment, the sacredness of marriage, quoted some Bible verses. Vows were said, and they were familiar, so similar to the things people said in my time.

But then things veered off in a direction I was unfamiliar with.

“Take your bride by the hand, Robert,” the minister said.

Robert smiled at Niamh and took her by the right hand. The priest picked up a piece of cloth. It was tartan, the same blue and green that Duncan and his men wore. The priest tied it in a knot around Robert’s and Niamh’s joined wrists.

“They’re literally tying the knot,” I mused to myself.

Duncan overheard. “Aye. ’Tis called handfasting.”

That sounded romantic.

The minister told them what to say, and they repeated his words.

“I, Niamh Campbell, take thee, Robert Milligan, to be my husband and thereto plight thee my troth.”

“I, Robert Milligan, take thee, Niamh Campbell, to be my wife and thereto plight thee my troth.”

The minister smiled at them and said, “As your hands are now bound together, so, too, are your lives bound together as one. Hold tight to one another, and let no one unbind it. May this knot remain tied for as long as you both shall live, drawing you close, remembering that the threads represent the support and strength of your clan and loved ones and your hopes and dreams for a happy life together.”

“You’re crying,” Duncan murmured.

I reached up to my face in surprise. I was crying, and I hadn’t even realized it. “This is so beautiful.

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