Edmund raised an eyebrow,curiosity piqued through the haze of ale. “And what might that be?” he asked, still grinning, though a faint tremor of uncertainty passed over him.
Jaxon met his gaze steadily.“A bride has been chosen for ye,” he said, “and yer weddin’ date is set.”
Edmund froze,the grin faltering, his glassy eyes widening slightly. Pale color replaced flush, and a quiet settled over him that had not been there before.
“Well… ‘tis about time,”he said, with forced cheer in his tone, though it sounded hollow.
Jaxon watched him carefully,noting every flicker of doubt and hesitation, the careful mask his brother tried to hold.
“I needye to take this seriously, Edmund,” Jaxon said, voice low, calm, and edged with steel.
Edmund swallowed,laughter caught somewhere in his throat, and tried again, “Aye… aye, tis grand, truly… I mean… I’ll… I’ll be a fine husband, of course.”
Jaxon’s expressiondid not soften. “Ye will honor her and the house, as any man of McMillan blood must,” he said. “Do ye kenhow lucky ye are to nae have me duties laid upon yer shoulders?” Jaxon asked, voice low but commanding. “Well do ye?”
Edmund hesitated,throat dry, then nodded. “Aye… I ken,” he admitted quietly.
2
“Faither,” Gracie asked softly, turning to Andrew, “why are we nae at Castle McMillan for me weddin’?”
The carriage jolted slightlyas it rolled over the cobbled road, and Gracie clutched the edge of the seat, her fingers curling in the folds of her gown. She looked out the window at the morning mist curling over the hills between Clan McDougal and Clan McMillan lands.
Andrew replied,“A compromise, lass. The two clans agreed to hold the weddin’ at a kirk near the middle of our territories, so nay one may quarrel over who hosts.” He gave a brief, wry smile. “The ceilidh is set for the morrow at Castle McMillan, so there’ll be merriment soon enough.”
Gracie nodded,a small smile tugging at her lips. “That’s a good idea,” she murmured, relief threading through her nerves. The thought of a neutral place, neither home nor entirely strange,eased the tightness in her chest. She leaned back and let the carriage sway beneath her.
The horses slowed,hooves clattering against flagstones, and the carriage came to a gentle stop in front of the simple stone kirk. Gracie drew a deep breath, tasting the crisp morning air.
Me new life starts now.I will leave me own clan and become part of Clan McMillan. Am I ready?
Gracie felther mother squeeze her hand in reassurance, while her handmaid, April, gave her a soft smile and a nod of the head.
Andrew and Margaretstepped down first, offering their arms, and Gracie followed. She gazed about the kirk, taking in the modest decorations: garlands of wildflowers draped along the wooden pews, ribbons fluttering in the light, and candles set in iron sconces along the walls. Members of both clans milled about, their voices hushed with anticipation, eyes flicking toward the carriage as Gracie descended. All eyes turned to her now, and a quiet hush fell.
Her chest tightenedat the sudden focus.
So many eyes…Am I too plump to be seen in a gown such as this?
Her gown,green with delicate lace along the low neckline and sleeves, felt heavy, adorned with small buttons running downthe back. A gentle train pooled at her feet, and the bodice, fitted to her form, pressed slightly against her curves.
Her fingers rose instinctivelyto the small mole over her right eye, and she touched it lightly, self-conscious, as though it might draw their attention. She swallowed, wishing she could vanish and reappear closer to safety. The flicker of doubt gnawed at her, making her heart pound like a drum.
Margaret stepped closerand brushed a stray curl from Gracie’s forehead, smoothing it tenderly. “Nay need to be nervous, me love,” she said softly, voice steady and warm. “Tis only a ceremony, and ye look so very bonnie.”
Gracie gavea small nod and whispered, “Thank ye, Mama,” feeling a touch of courage bloom in her chest.
Andrew’sstrong hand rested lightly on her elbow, and he said, “Aye, bonnie indeed. Ye are a bride of beauty. Now, let’s get ye to the altar, shall we?”
Gracie’s handstightened around his arm, and together with Margaret they moved toward the kirk doors. The minister waited at the altar, robes dark against the pale light spilling from the windows.
Gracie’s pulsequickened as she stepped onto the aisle, each footfall echoing softly against the stone. Faces from both clans watched her passage, some smiling, some solemn, all attentive. The lace of her sleeves tickled her wrists, the pearls along herback glinting faintly in the morning sun. She drew another breath, trying to steady herself.
I can do this.I will do this.
The minister inclinedhis head politely as she approached, voice gentle in greeting.
“Miss Gracie McDougal,”he nodded, tone even and calm.
