The door gave another whine. Mrs. Dingwall, as fierce and unsmiling as ever, marched inside, followed by Evie’s maids. They made their way to the front pew, then turned and looked back.
Quinn patted the pocket of his surcoat for the hundredth time, ensuring the ring still rested safely in its depths. Whether instinct or leeriness had stayed his hand, he would never know, but he had declined to offer Annag his mother’s ring. And as it turned out, had been wise not to do so. But with Evie, he would share the precious memento and felt clear to his bones it the proper thing to do.
Then she appeared in the doorway, bright and welcome as the rising sun after a long dark night. God help him, he couldn’t take his eyes from her, nor could he wait for her to join him at the altar. He charged down the aisle until close enough to feel her warmth and bask in her sweet fragrance. Without a word, he offered his arm to this captivating woman who, with each passing moment, made herself more impossible to live without.
“Weren’t you supposed to wait up there?” she whispered, clutching his arm so tightly her fear pulsed through him like a heartbeat.
“I couldna wait for ye, my precious love.” And there it was. He might not know her, but he did know he would come to love her if she would but allow it. Maybe he already did. “Ye are a beauty to behold, dear one. Stole my breath away.”
She lowered her gaze in a failed attempt at hiding a shy smile. “Thank you. Your people worked very hard to make sure you would be pleased.”
“It wouldna matter how much effort they gave if the loveliness wasna there to begin with.”
As they walked slowly up the aisle, Quinn noticed the heather trembling in the small bundle she carried. “It will be all right, m’love.” He didn’t understand all her fears, but he supposed he understood some of her reservations. After all, they had no history together. Silently, he made an oath that she would never regret this choice.
By the time they reached the altar, all color had drained from her face. Her wee flowers shook so badly, petals broke free and fluttered to the floor. The leaves of ivy and stems of heather rustled as loud as bushes shaken by hunters.
Father Gabriel caught his eye, arched a brow, and gave the slightest tip of his head toward the rattling nosegay.
“Allow me, m’lady.” Quinn gently pried the flowers out of her clenched hand and tossed them to Mrs. Dingwall. Turning back, he gave the priest a nod.
The holy man stood as tall as his short frame allowed, giving all in the chapel a long, slow, serious look. He cleared his throat and flipped to a page marked by a frayed red ribbon. “We gather here this day to unite this man and woman in holy matrimony.”
Quinn stole a sideways glance at Evie while the priest talked. She had her attention so fixed on the man that she didn’t blink. Her breathing made her delectable expanse of bare chest rise and fall at such a rapid rate that concern soon replaced his admiration. The poor lass was about to swoon. He held up a hand. “Stop, Father.”
Father Gabriel halted mid-sentence, his mouth ajar.
Ever so carefully, Quinn turned Evie to face him. “I worry for ye, lass. Are ye certain this is what ye wish?”
She didn’t speak. Just caught her bottom lip between her teeth and managed a quick nod.
He read uncertainty and fear in her eyes. Fear? Why in Heaven’s name would she fear him? A fierce need to ease her every doubt filled him. With the greatest care, he pulled the ring from his pocket and held it between them. A deep green emerald surrounded by golden leaves of ivy. He remembered every word his mother had told him about this favorite gift from his father. Ivy. The symbol for eternity, fidelity, and loving attachment. Emerald for love and protection.
“This was the ring my father gave to my mother on the day they married. I have shared this ring with no other woman.” He kept his gaze locked with hers as he took her left hand and lifted it higher. “No other woman deserved to wear it.” He slid it onto her ring finger, smiling at the perfect fit. A prosperous omen, indeed. “No other woman deserved to wear it ’til now.” Gently, so as not to frighten her, he cradled her face in his hand. “As long as I draw breath, I swear to protect ye, cherish ye, and make certain ye never regret this day. For better or worse. Richer or poorer. As God is my witness.”
Her tears welled, then overflowed, tumbling down her pale cheeks, but the sweetest smile graced her mouth. She touched his chest, flattening her palm over his heart. “I fear I cannot wax as poetic as you, my fine Scotsman, but I will say, I am ever so thankful you are the one I discovered at the waterfall.” She paused, almost wincing as if what she wished to say pained her. “I cannot promise to always be the wife you wanted, but I swear to be the best wife I can be. Faithful. Loyal.” Her smile grew as she added, “Stubborn and opinionated. I pledge myself to you and you alone, and I shall do my best to make you happy. As God is my witness.”
With an irritated snort, Father Gabriel snapped his book shut. “Well then—by the power vested in me by the Church and Scotland, I pronounce the two of ye are now as one. Man and wife. Let no man put asunder what God Himself hath joined.” He waved them toward each other. “Go on then. Time for the kiss.”
Quinn brushed his mouth across hers, then kissed the saltiness of her tears from her cheeks. “No tears, m’wee hen,” he whispered. “Lest they be happy ones, aye?”
Evie nodded. “Aye.”
“Well done!” Dugan boomed and clapped a hand to Quinn’s shoulder with a resounding pop.
Father Gabriel shot the man a harsh glare and aimed his Bible at him. “Ten Hail Mary’s for shouting in the church and startling the daylights out of me! Now!”
“Aye, Father.” Dugan bowed his head, his lips moving as he began muttering his penance. The large man rocked back and forth with the rhythm of the prayer.
Rosstan and Kendric thumped Quinn on the back and winked but didn’t say a word. Neither was fond of reciting prayers nor wished to incur Father Gabriel’s wrath.
Quinn offered his arm to Evie. “Come, my lovely bride. Let us go to our seats in the great hall, so ye might meet yer clan properly.”
She didn’t answer. Just gave a nervous dip of her chin. Her tense smile had returned.
He halted and gently touched her hand where it rested in the crook of his elbow. “Would ye prefer to sit in the quiet of the garden until the feast is ready? We can do that instead if ye wish.”
By the set of her shoulders and the renewed hope in her eyes, he felt sure she was about to accept his offer, but then she shook her head. “No. We should go to the hall.”
