"Hold still, or I'll stab ye with this pin."
Magnus stood rigid as Torvald fussed with the clasp on his formal cloak—heavy wool dyed deep blue, edged with silver thread that marked him as jarl of Barra.
The fabric felt too tight across his shoulders, too confining. Or maybe that was just the weight of what that day meant.
"There," Torvald said, stepping back. "Ye look almost civilized."
"I look like I'm goin' tae me own execution."
"Some would say marriage and execution arenae so different." Torvald's grin faded when Magnus didn't respond. "That was a jest."
"I ken that."
"Then why dae ye look like ye're about tae face down an army?"
Magnus moved to the narrow window, stared out at the courtyard below. Guests were already gathering—islanders from across Barra, the other jarls and their retinues, Brian and his royal guards. Too many witnesses. Too many people watching to see if this marriage would hold or shatter like his first one had.
"I'm fine," Magnus said.
"Ye're nae fine. Ye've been pacin' yer chamber since dawn." Torvald moved to stand beside him. "Talk tae me."
"There's naethin' to say. I marry Ada, we consummate the marriage, Brian reports tae the king, and the Pact holds. Simple."
"If it were simple, ye wouldnae look like that."
Magnus's jaw tightened. "I dinnae want tae fail her."
The words came out quiet. Honest.
Torvald was silent for a moment. "Ye think ye failed Freydis."
"Ididfail Freydis. I gave her everything—protection, a home, me name—and it wasnae enough. She still—" Magnus stopped. "I willnae fail Ada the same way."
"Ada's nae Freydis."
"I ken that."
Ada had proven herself. Had shown loyalty, competence, courage. Everything he'd thought he'd wanted in a wife.
But wanting her and trusting her were two different things. And Magnus didn't know if he was capable of trust anymore.
"It's time," Torvald said quietly. "The ceremony's about tae start."
Magnus nodded once. Straightened his shoulders. Became the jarl his people expected—cold, controlled, unshakable.
And tried very hard not to think about the fact that in less than an hour, Ada MacTavish would be his wife.
The ceremony was held in the great hall, with Father Domnall presiding.
Magnus stood at the front, flanked by Torvald and the other jarls. Brian watched from the side, his expression carefully neutral. The hall was packed—every bench filled, people standing along the walls, craning to see.
Then the doors opened, and Ada appeared.
Magnus's breath caught.
She wore a gown of deep green wool, the color bringing out the hazel in her eyes. Her blonde hair was braided back with silver ribbons woven through, and someone—Claricia, probably—had lent her a necklace of polished amber. She looked like a Highland lady, proud and proper.
But her hands trembled slightly as she walked down the aisle.
