Chapter 23
The wind whisperedover the hilltop, rustling the long grass and carrying the scent of heather through the air. The windmill, newly finished, stood tall against the bright blue sky, its sails unmoving in the still afternoon air. The wooden platform before it had been decorated with wildflowers, and the gathered guests—clad in their finest tartans—watched in hushed anticipation.
Charlotte stood at the foot of the aisle. Excitement and nerves tangled in her belly. A warm hand settled over hers.
“Are ye ready, lass?” Joseph murmured, his voice gruff but kind. He looked uncharacteristically polished in his fine plaid.
She nodded. “I am.”
With that, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her forward.
Niall stood at the altar, the sun catching the copper glints in his sandy hair. His plaid was draped proudly over his shoulder, his shirt fitted to his broad frame. He looked devastatingly handsome, but that wasn’t what made her breath catch. It was the way he looked at her. Like she was the only thing in the world. Like he still couldn’t believe she was here, standing before him. Choosing him.
Next to him, Bryce stood as his best man, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the sentiment of it all. But when he caught Charlie’s eye, he gave her a small nod of approval. That, more than anything, made her smile.
As they reached the altar, Joseph placed her hand in Niall’s and stepped back. “Take care of her,” he said.
“I will,” Niall promised, his voice steady, his grip firm around her fingers.
She glanced around the gathered faces—Flora, grinning tearfully, Knox watching with arms crossed, Glennoch’s people who had come to celebrate. They had all become her family now.
She let out a breath, squeezing Niall’s hand.
The priest’s voice rang clear in the open air as he began reciting the ancient vows that would bind them together. Niall said his vows first, his voice deep and unwavering.
“I, Niall Campbell, take ye, Charlotte Douglas, to be my wife. I swear before God and these witnesses that I shall love ye, honor ye, and protect ye for all my days.”
Her throat tightened as she repeated the words in return.
“I, Charlotte Douglas, take you, Niall Campbell, to be my husband. I swear before God and these witnesses that I shall love you, honor you, and stand beside you for all my days.”
Their hands were bound together with a strip of the Campbell tartan, the symbol of their union. As the priest finished his blessing, Niall lifted her hand to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers.
“Ye may kiss yer bride,” the priest announced.
Niall didn’t hesitate. His hands framed her face, and then his lips claimed hers—firm, warm, reverent. The crowd erupted into cheers, letting out triumphant shouts, and Charlie melted into him, knowing in her soul that this was exactly where she belonged.
As they pulled apart, she found Bryce standing beside them, arms crossed, shaking his head in amusement. “Well, ye’ve gone and done it now.”
Niall smirked. “Aye, we really have, havenae we?”
The feast stretched long into the evening, with laughter, music, and endless toasts in their honor and Charlie was more than a little tipsy by the time she and Niall were able to make their escape. But now, at last, Charlie stood in their chambers, her breath shallow as she gazed out at the moonlit landscape beyond the window.
She heard the door close behind her.
A shiver ran through her as she turned to find Niall leaning against it, his gaze dark and heated. His linen shirt was open at the collar, his plaid still wrapped around his hips.
Neither of them spoke. The night, the vows, the journey that had brought them here settled between them.
Then Niall moved. Slowly. Deliberately. He came to stand before her, reaching out to run his fingers over the lace of her gown. “I canna believe ye’re mine,” he murmured.
Charlie smiled. “I’ve always been yours. I just didn’t realize it at first.”
