The kirk doors stood open, revealing a small gathering inside with her mother sitting in the front pew, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, whether from sadness or relief, Iris couldn’t tell. A few family retainers filled the other seats, witnesses to this forced union.
And there, at the altar, stood Elijah Craig. He’d changed from his traveling clothes into formal Highland dress: a kilt in deep green and blue, a white shirt open at the throat, and a plaid draped over one shoulder and pinned with a silver brooch. His dark hair was pulled back, revealing the strong lines of his face and those brown eyes that seemed to see everything. He was formidable and beautiful, all at once.
This is me husband.
The thought made her knees weak.
As she walked down the short aisle, his gaze never left her face. She couldn’t read his expression—it wasn’t cold exactly, but it wasn’t warm either. Calculating, perhaps. Assessing.
When she reached the altar, he stepped forward and offered his arm. His touch was warm through the silk of her sleeve, steady and sure.
“Ye look beautiful,” he said quietly, his voice pitched for her ears alone.
She looked up at him, searching for mockery or manipulation, but she found only simple truth. “Thank ye.”
The priest, a thin, nervous man who kept glancing between them like he expected violence to break out, cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God to join Laird Eliajh Craig and Lady Iris Douglas in holy matrimony...”
The words washed over her like sea currents. She heard them and understood their meaning, but they felt distant, unreal. This couldn’t be happening. Just last night she’d been helping Lydia prepare for her own wedding, and now...
“The couple will now exchange vows,” the priest announced.
Elijah turned to face her fully, taking both her hands in his. His palms were calloused, warm, completely engulfing hers. When he spoke, his voice carried clearly through the small kirk.
“I, Elijah Craig, take thee, Iris Douglas, to be me wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”
To love and to cherish.
The words sounded like a promise from his lips, not the empty ritual she knew they were paying lip service to.
Her own voice trembled as she repeated the vows. “I, Iris Douglas, take thee, Elijah Craig, to be me wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”
Till death do us part.
The finality of it hit her like a physical blow.
“Now for the handfastin’,” the priest said, producing a length of tartan rope. “This ancient ceremony binds ye together nae just in law but in spirit.”
Elijah released her hands, only to extend his right arm, palm up. “Give me yer hand, wife.”
Wife.
The word sent a shiver down her spine.
She placed her right hand in his, palm to palm, and the priest began winding the tartan around their joined hands. The fabric was soft, worn smooth by age and countless other ceremonies.
“This rope represents the bindin’ of yer lives,” the priest intoned. “Two souls becomin’ one, two paths convergin’ into a single journey, as yer hands are bound, so are yer fates intertwined.”
He wound the rope around their wrists, creating an intricate pattern that held their hands together; with each loop, Iris felt the weight of commitment settling around her like chains.
“The knot is tied,” the priest announced, securing the final loop. “And so yer lives are bound. What God has joined together, let nay man put asunder.”
Elijah’s thumb stroked across her knuckles, a surprisingly gentle touch that made her breath catch. When she looked up at him, she saw something flickering in those dark eyes. Heat, Intensity, something that made her stomach flutter with an emotion she didn’t want to name.
“Now,” the priest said with obvious relief, “ye may kiss yer bride.”
The words hung in the air like a challenge, and Iris’s heart hammered against her ribs as Elijah’s free hand came up to cup her cheek. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his palm warm against her skin.
“Easy, lass,” he murmured, so quietly only she could hear. “Just a kiss to seal the bargain.”
