A very unorthodox ceremony to be sure. The village boasted only one small hotel, which was really nothing more than a house that was larger than the others. A room had already been arranged so it took only a few minutes for the couple to be alone in the bedroom. ‘You’ll be hanged for this, Donald McLachlan,’ Catherine shouted. ‘And is that what you really want to see, my bonny wee wife.’ He moved towards her. She backed away, although there wasn’t very far for her to go. ‘Yes, it is,’ she snapped. ‘I’ll be at the front of the crowd, cheering on the hangman.’ ‘No doubt you’ll even put the noose around my neck yourself,’ said Donald softly. He came close to her. ‘Yes, I will, and get pleasure from doing it.’ He took her into his arms. ‘There’s other ways of getting pleasure.’ ‘Not with you,’ spat Catherine, struggling against his embrace. He gripped the back of her head and forced her lips to his. Unable to speak she mumbled unintelligibly, though her meaning was clear. No matter how. Even if he could, he didn't think hisaunt's gutters would be able to support his weight during a climb to theground. And hypothetically speaking, if he did accomplish these things,then where to next? The circus?The fact that he was actually deliberating all this scared him to death.Really - what the hell was he going to do?Teeth grit in his anxiety, Ryan grabbed a wifebeater off his dresser andpulled it on, struggling to force it over his massive mounds, but themoment he finally succeeded, it tore right down the middle, unwilling toaccommodate his girth. Hissing a curse, Ryan managed to pull on atanktop instead, stretched taut against the globes and threatening tospill out of it in the meantime. His cleavage was flushed, sweaty,flawless.And none of it made any sense.Tense in frustration, Ryan climbed into his bed and curled up, his bodynuzzling his bloated bosom. He somehow managed to drift off for a coupleof hours, at least until he was awoken by a presence in the room.Groggily, he.
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