Gracie’s handstightened instinctively in front of her, and her eyes flicked toward her parents. They nodded encouragingly, and she swallowed, feeling a knot of nerves begin to unwind just slightly.
She glancedtoward the gathered crowd, all eyes still fixed upon her, and tried to remember her mother’s words.
Ye are bonnie.Tis only a ceremony.
The kirk seemed suddenly lessdaunting, the sun filtering through the narrow windows warming her face. Each step brought her closer to wed a man she had not yet truly met, yet with every heartbeat, she felt herself taking hold of her new life.
Gracie lifted her chin,forcing her shoulders back despite the tremble in her legs. The minister’s eyes were kind, steady, and patient, guiding her forward.
Gracie realizedthat Edmund was not in the kirk yet. Her hands trembled at her sides as the minutes stretched into eternity.
Where is he?
The kirk,bright with garlands and expectant faces, seemed to close in around her. She felt every eye upon her, waiting, and her heart thudded like a drum in her chest. The silence grew heavy, punctuated only by the quiet shifting of feet and the rustle of silk and lace as some turned toward the door searching for the groom.
A young servantappeared from outside in a panic.
Gracie’s brows furrowed,confusion tightening her stomach. She glanced toward her mother, searching for reassurance, but Margaret’s face mirrored her own worry, lips pressed tight. The minister raised his hands, his voice ringing clear through the hall.
“Lairds and ladies,”the servant said, “it appears that the groom, Edmund Doyle, is nowhere to be found.”
The words fell like stones,and a sudden weight pressed on Gracie’s chest. Her vision blurred at the edges, lightheadedness sweeping over her in a dizzying wave.
He has leftme at the altar…
Silence claimed her for a heartbeat,then the cruel words of childhood whispered in her ears, each one sharp and bitter.
Too plump…too plain… nay one could ever love me.
She feltherself shrink beneath the gaze of hundreds of strangers, her cheeks burning crimson. She could hear the minister murmur something, but the words barely reached her ears.
Voices erupted around her,loud and chaotic.
“Where is he?”a man shouted, pointing toward the kirk doors.
“He cannae be serious!”another cried, hands thrown skyward.
“This isa disgrace to Clan McDougal by the McMillan clan!”
“She’s left standin’there for naught!” a woman hissed.
“Imagine, all this plannin’wasted!” another added, muttering in disbelief.
“Who would dare draga bonnie lass to such humiliation?” someone else exclaimed, the murmurs growing into a tide of anger and gossip.
Gracie’s stomachknotted further as whispers became louder, sharper, crueler.
Her mother stepped forward.Margaret’s hand found Gracie’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. Gracie barely felt her, so consumed was she by the horror of being abandoned. Her mind spun, trying to grasp how any man could vanish in such a moment.
Chaos swelled in the kirk,voices clashing in accusation and disbelief.
“Fetch the guards!”someone shouted. “I’ll have him brought here, by God!” another barked. “He’ll nae sully the name of the McDougals or the kirk!”
Through the din,Gracie spotted her father, Andrew, rising from his seat. His tall frame seemed to fill the room, shoulders squared and jaw tight with fury.
He strode forward,voice booming like thunder, cutting through the clamor.
“What is this all about?”he demanded, eyes blazing. “Clan McMillan drag us here only to humiliate us?”
