A cheer went up from the MacGregors. The King waited for it to die down before continuing. “This man is responsible for saving the Royal coffers enough to fund this war against the English.
“With God on our side our nation will remain free and for that Eddard MacGregor has my personal thanks. As a token of our appreciation, I make this decree. No taxes for the next fifty years.”
The roar that went up was deafening. The Laird beamed and Eddard smiled too, not because of what the King had said, but because when he said it, Morag’s hand slipped into his underneath the table.
“Told you,” she whispered in his ear, kissing him on the cheek a moment later.
“Eddard, will you stand?” the King asked.
Eddard did so, feeling the eyes of the room upon him.
“I thank you for what you did for me, for the clan, and for the Highlands.”
The King bent a knee and a whisper went around the room. The King never bent a knee. It was unheard of.
Eddard nodded in response as the King sat and the meal resumed. He thumped his tankard on the table and the noise died down once more. “While I am standing, there is something I want to say.”
He turned to face Morag. “The King of Scotland bends the knee to me but I bend my knee to you.” He did so, pulling a small velvet bag from his pocket. “Morag MacGregor, I love you. Will you do me the honor of being my bride?”
She looked shocked, taking the ring from the bag and examining it as if it might disappear in a puff of smoke. “You’re not serious?”
“Is that a yes?” the King shouted across.
“Yes!” she yelled, throwing her arms around Eddard and kissing him over and over. “Of course, yes. Yes with all my heart and soul.”
Another cheer, the loudest noise coming from the King.
The meal went on around them once more but Eddard and Morag paid it no heed. They only had eyes for each other.
Epilogue
The monk was standing on top of a barrel, the only way he could make sure everyone could see him. The clouds had been dark for days before the wedding but that morning they had parted.
“It is as if God himself wishes to observe and bless this union,” he said when he arrived at the castle a little after ten.
Morag didn’t hear her brother’s kind words. She was too busy trying to keep calm. Behind her Caroline was helping with preparing her hair. The tradition was for it to be wrapped up and hidden away for the wedding but it was resisting all attempts.
Many a muttered word was said while her unruly tresses were crammed into the coif, the barbette slipping from under her chin for what felt like the hundredth time. “It will go in,” Caroline said. “Just keep still.”
Morag did her best but it wasn’t easy. At last she was given permission to stand up. She looked into the polished glass that served as a mirror. The reflection was hazy and indistinct but she could tell her hair was out of sight. “Do I look okay?” she asked.
“You look perfect,” Rachel said from the doorway. “You remind me of me on my wedding day.”
“Did you need to pee every eight minutes as well?”
“That’s just nerves. You’ll be fine.”
By noon the last of the preparations were done. Morag made her way out into the courtyard. Fresh rushes had been laid down to protect her dress.
The gathered members of the clan stood aside to let her pass through them. All work had halted. Only the guards remained at their posts. Everyone else was there to watch the ceremony.
Caroline held her left hand, Rachel her right. They stopped halfway across the courtyard. “Hold,” Cam shouted, a second after his cue. He marched over. “I demand to ken where my daughter is going in such finery.”
“To be wed,” Rachel replied, reciting the lines they’d rehearsed every day for a month. “She is to be wed to a good man and any who wish to protest have had three weeks to do so.”
“Then I shall take her henceforth,” Cam said, falling into step beside Morag, taking his wife’s place. “As Laird of the clan, it is my duty.”
They walked slowly the rest of the way, passing out of the gate and toward the chapel that lay a little way to the south. Abbot James was there, watching Philip climb onto a barrel. In front of him, Eddard stood resplendent in a new baldric, the colors of the tartan as bright as they would ever be.
