He took her hands and squeezed them tenderly.
“I want to ken that love,” he confessed, making her stomach flutter. “The one only ye have shown me. I want to feel it, always.”
He drew in a deep breath, as though his words had risen from the depths of his heart. And they really did. Sorcha felt it, heard it, saw it. In his touch. In his words. In his gaze.
“I want ye to give me a chance,” he went on. “I want ye to give me yer forever, me Lady.”
Sorcha blinked rapidly with surprise. She would have clapped her hands over her mouth to suppress a cry if he hadn’t been holding them. Still, her vision blurred.
“I want ye to make me the happiest man alive,” William finished, his voice barely steady, “by marrying me.”
Her heart soared. Yet she wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly. She had been proposed to before, but none had felt like this. It was a proposal born not of duty, not of necessity, but of love.
She gave a wet laugh. Tears slid down her cheeks, and she shook her head. She had never imagined this, never believed she could have it all without the fear of the curse following her. But there it was.
William was her soulmate. She felt it as surely as she felt her own heartbeat.
“Of course,” she breathed. “I will marry ye, William.”
His expression faltered, giving way to radiant joy. He leaned in to kiss her cheek, his lips tasting the salt of her tears. Then, his mouth moved to her ear.
“I love ye, Sorcha,” he whispered. “From the very first moment I laid eyes on ye, I’ve loved ye.”
She wasn’t even sure what to do or say. All she could think of was wrapping her arms around him and holding him tight.
And as he held her, she knew it—his embrace was everything she had ever needed.
EPILOGUE
A FEW MONTHS LATER
Happiness, Sorcha discovered, could be found in anything. It could be found on the snow blanketing the earth. Soft, breathless, and terrifying in its beauty.
The chapel bells had rung earlier in the morning. She remembered it all. Remembered the white ribbons that had adorned the pillars and pews. How the morning air had smelled of winter and something sweeter—hope.
The morning was special because she had gotten married to William.
The memory flashed through her mind.
The MacLean sisters had giggled behind their gloved hands, unable to contain their mirth. Avery’s eyes had gleamed with mischief as she leaned in to whisper to Rhea, while Poppy had pretended not to listen at all.
And then there was William. He had stood beside her, his eyes glimmering with emotions he couldn’t hide. After the priest had pronounced them man and wife, he had kissed her deeply. Right in front of the whole clan, he had claimed her lips unapologetically, his hands steady on her waist.
Applause had followed. Laughter. Joy had rung louder than the bells themselves.
I do.
She had said those words.
It had been a wedding born of love and not fear. It had felt like the first time her life truly belonged to her. She had finally put the past behind her, burning it to ashes. Gregor’s execution the day before had only sealed it.
She was starting anew, something so close to a fairytale.
Now, she stood in the center of her chamber, in her wedding gown. Her fingers traced the silk idly.
The gown was perfect, hugging her curves as though it had been made for her alone. Wearing it had made her feel like the girl she had once dreamed of becoming.
Reluctantly, she walked toward the bathing chamber. The scent of herbs and steam filled the air, replacing the winter chill.
