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Over and over her mind replayed their brief encounter. She’d admired him. Was it a sign? Would he be kind? Would he accept her with all her flaws, including her opinionated comments that constantly irritated her mother?
    The priest stopped and nodded to Lord Glenorchy—Colin. His right hand had no gauntlets, only a black leather glove. A man standing next to him handed him the ring. Colin turned to her, his face incredibly handsome, yet unreadable. He slid the band over her finger. Margaret only had enough time to glance at the stone—a sapphire set in silver—then he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

Chapter Five
     
     
    Stirling Palace 8 th October, 1455
    Colin couldn’t bring himself to look at Margaret through the entire ceremony. Yesterday, if he’d known the king had chosen the lass with the penetrating green eyes, he would have called off the wedding at once. Colin thought he’d been clear, requested a matronly woman who could tend Duncan’s needs. A widow would have suited well. But this woman was fresh as a raspberry on the vine, ready to be plucked—right up to her expertly rouged lips.
    Her gown was exquisite. Of course, he’d expect no less from Lord Struan’s daughter. Any woman would present a vision wrapped in red velvet—lips drawn into the shape of Cupid’s bow. But did she have to look at him like that? Her jade-green eyes were so intense, he swore she could expose his darkest secrets. Oh no, he mustn’t encourage her to look upon him at all.
    He’d meant it when he vowed not to allow himself heartfelt yearnings for any woman. He would not give his heart again, no matter if she did have eyebrows arched over almond-shaped eyes the color of moss. He could not allow her to tempt him. He would resist silken skin and hair the color of polished autumn chestnuts. Colin would have none of it. He’d perform his duty as a husband and involve his heart no more.
    Demonstrating his resolve right there in front of God and the high priest, he kissed her forehead. No lovesick mouth-kissing for him.
    The crowd mumbled their approval. At once, he swiftly escorted her out the door and into the great hall. The tables were arranged around the perimeter of the room, the center later to be filled with dancers. Colin walked at a steady pace, expecting her to keep up regardless of her folds upon folds of heavy velvet skirts. He led her to the dais and pulled out a chair, gesturing for her to be seated. “My lady.”
    Margaret’s gaze met his for an instant. His gut clenched—merely an attack of jitters, similar to the queasiness a man feels before going into battle. She glanced to the green upholstered seat and bit her lip, as if she needed to contemplate what to do. “Are we not to remain standing until the king and queen make their entrance?”
    Colin didn’t care to be second-guessed by anyone—though she was probably right. He peered through the tapestry-lined hall—guests were pouring in, though no one had yet taken a seat. Before he could reply, trumpets on the balcony blared the announcement of the royal couple’s advance.
    He offered Margaret a thin-lipped nod, and they stood until the king and queen made their way to the dais, with Lord and Lady Struan following closely behind. Margaret grasped the edges of her skirts and curtseyed while Colin bowed, hovering over her silken white shoulder. Damn her succulent smell. Colin licked his lips. By God, with what fragrance did the woman use to bathe? He’d have to make a point of insisting on something more practical and less feminine. He absolutely could not tolerate her distracting him every time she came within an arm’s length of his person.
    Of course, he wouldn’t have to worry about that once he returned to Rome.
    The royal party sat in their respective thrones, and Colin again gestured to the chair. Margaret smiled. “Thank you, m’lord.”
    King James caught his eye. “I must say, the queen offered up quite a suitable solution to