The next day…
I’m sitting in the MacTavish Dowager House, which is like a mother-in-law suite in America except this is… not like that at all. This is an only slightly smaller version of the massive Georgian-style house across the gardens where the MacTavish Clan lives on an estate just outside of Edinburgh.
I haven’t seen the inside of the main building because MacTavish custom states the bride-to-be stays in the Dowager House before being properly married. I have no idea if this is accurate but Cormac’s mother has stated it and as near as I can tell upon a (very) short acquaintance, Elspeth MacTavish’s word is law.
I’m in a magnificent suite of rooms that don’t look like the decor has changed since the 1800’s, but everything is beautiful; silk-covered chairs and couches in shades of blue, a crystal chandelier that looms above us, and an antique dressing table with a huge mirror where I can picture the lady of the manor powdering her nose, or whatever they powdered back then.
I can hear the murmur of staff setting up the enormous stretch of lawn behind the house, two white tents are already erected and catering trucks are parked close by. There’s a harried florist shouting directions to his assistants who are setting up an arch and wiring dozens of flowers to it.
“How long has your mother been planning this?” I ask, flinching as the stylist named Doris vigorously brushes my hair.
Sorcha is the beloved sister and baby of the family, and she’s currently lounging on the couch, enjoying the commotion. “Um, I believe since midnight?”
They laced me into this dress too tightly, that’s it. That’s why I can’t breathe.
“Midnight?” I wheeze, “Cormac told your parents that he was getting married fourteen hours ago?”
She grins, pouring another glass of champagne. “You look like you need this.”
“No!” I wave my hand, dislodging a scatter of hairpins. “Sorry,” I say quickly. “Water. Give me water. Actually, just give me a minute, period.”
Doris, who is just trying to do my hair freezes, curling iron in hand. “Do you mean me?”
“Yes. Yes, please.” I press my hand against my stomach. “I… this…”
Rolling to her feet, Sorcha is pounding on my back in some misguided attempt at support and calling Cormac at the same time. “Brother? You should get your arse up here right now. Your bride’s gettin’ the shakes. I’d hate to see her do a runner.”
“I’m good.” I’m not. “I just… this is a lot.”
The door bursts open, making Doris squawk like a startled pigeon.
“Everybody out,” Cormac says, staring at me. ‘Everybody’ is his sister and poor Doris, but they instantly absent themselves and he shuts and locks the door.
I’m leaning on the silk damask couch, trying to catch my breath.
With a sigh, he turns me around and deftly unzips my wedding dress to find the corset laced tightly beneath it. “Has mankind learned nothing over the last three hundred years?” he growls, his long fingers quickly loosening the strings. “You have a tiny waist, lass. Why are they strapping you into this torture device?”
Sucking in a deep breath, I sigh gratefully. “Don’t askme.Other than saying yes to your proposal, I’ve been pretty much out of the loop on everything in the last forty-eight hours.”
Lifting me easily, he sets me on his lap. “I had intended to make this a quick and simple ceremony and then we’d have some time to get to know each other before I took over Clan MacTavish. I had forgotten the force of nature that is my mother.” Taking my hand, he kisses my ring. “Don’t let this put you off a future with me.”
“How many chairs have they set up?”
He cranes his neck to look out the window. “It looks to be close to a hundred or so.”
I start wheezing again.
“Shh… little fox, I have you. That would be just enough chairs for my immediate family, not the full clan, not to worry,” he says soothingly, “inducting us as head of the clan is a different ceremony.”
“You’re not helping,” I gasp out. “Your entire family has somehow managed to scramble into place in fourteen hours and…” Why are my eyes wet?
His rough thumb carefully wipes away a tear before it can run down my cheek. “You’re missing your brother and your ma, aren’t you? I canna bring them back, I’m sorry. But your side of the aisle will not be empty. And I don’t just mean your father and the… what did you call your brother?”
“The Dick,” I supply.
“Ach, that works,” he agrees. “You will not be alone. You will never be alone again.”
Cupping his face, I kiss him. With gratitude, and relief, with hope. “Thank you. For everything, thank you.”
