Adjusting her plaid around her shoulders, she made her way down the stairs to where Kayden was waiting by the carriage. He looked resplendent in full Highland regalia, his dark tartan kilt falling in neat pleats to his knees and putting his magnificent calves on display.
The fabric was patterned with the bold colors of Clan McGill, and Lilliana could not help but beam with pride to see it. A richlyadorned sporran hung at his waist, its silver clasp gleaming in the firelight, while a crisp white sark and tailored waistcoat accentuated the strong lines of his broad shoulders.
Over one shoulder, he draped a tartan plaid fastened with a silver brooch, and his thick woolen hose disappeared into sturdy leather shoes. His brown hair was neatly tied back, and a feathered bonnet perched atop his head.
He looked simply magnificent. Her heart swelled with pride to see him with his head held high and a slight smile on his face. He turned, his eyes lighting up when he spotted her.
He made a leg. “May I say how lovely ye look, me love?”
She smiled shyly, shifting from one foot to another in a way that had her brown satin gown shimmering softly in the sunset. “Thank you, kind sir. You look quite handsome yourself.”
He held out his hand to help her into the carriage. She took it, showing her colors.
“Thank you,” she murmured as he climbed in beside her.
The ride to the village was spent mostly in silence, but he held her hand the whole way, and it was all she could do to keep her smile contained.
The village square was alive with the vibrant spirit of a true Highland cèilidh as they arrived just as the sun disappeared and the moon began to rise.
Beneath the vast, starlit sky, a bonfire crackled at the center, casting warm light over the gathering villagers. There were fiddlers and pipers playing reels and jigs accompanied by the tapping of feet and soaring of hearts.
Moira held court near the food tables, speaking animatedly to several villagers. Lilliana gave her a wave before turning to watch the dancers. To her surprise, she saw Jacob twirling Betsy about on the dance floor and could not help laughing out loud.
She bathed in the wonder of it, turning to Kayden with wide eyes.
“Let’s go and join them,” she said with excitement.
He laughed, taking her hand and helping her down from the carriage. “By all means, Me Lady.”
Fiddles sang into the night sky, the bowstrings moving so fast they blurred in the torchlight. A bodhrán thudded beneath it, steady as a heartbeat, and boots struck the stone floor in an echoing rhythm. The scent of roasting lamb, fresh bannocks, and spiced ale drifted through the air.
For weeks, the village had known only whispers and watchfulness. Tonight, it roared.
Kayden stood near the high table, tankard in hand, surveying the hall. Men who had looked hollow and worried now grinned wide enough to split their faces. Women who had once clutched feverish children now spun freely beneath the lanterns.
The illness had vanished. The wells were sealed. The stranger was gone.
And at the center of it all was Lilliana.
She was not dressed in London silk tonight, but in a deep green gown Moira had insisted on, dyed with Highland moss and stitched to fit her new station. Her hair, usually braided or pinned in neat English fashion, fell in loose waves down her back, woven with a thin strip of tartan.
She threw her head back and laughed as Betsy pulled her into the circle.
“She looks like she belongs,” Jacob said at Kayden’s elbow.
“She does belong,” Kayden replied evenly.
Jacob smirked. “Aye. I meant with ye.”
Kayden ignored him, though his gaze did not leave his wife.
Lilliana stumbled once during a particularly fast reel, and two older women caught her by the arms before she could fall.Instead of scolding her, they laughed and pulled her back into step.
She did not shrink from it. She adapted to it.
That was the thing about her.
The song ended to thunderous applause. A young lad leapt onto a bench and shouted, “A toast!”
