Eithne laughed at her sister’s silly dramatics, but when she caught sight of herself in the looking glass, her own breath caught in her throat. Shedidlook beautiful. Even she had to admit it. She barely recognized the woman before her, with her waterfall of ebony hair circled by braids and decorated with flowers.
The dress itself was simple, but all that meant was that it accentuated her eyes, which were wide and shining with excitement, and the smile on her face. Around her waist was the blue and brown tartan of her fallen house. By keeping that sash, she felt like she could feel her late family close to her on this, the day of her wedding.
“Ye did a good job, Myrna,” she admitted after a moment. “Ye made me look like a princess.”
Myrna scoffed. “I did nae such thing,” she said. “Ye’ve always looked like that.”
The sisters embraced tightly; then there was a knock at the door. It opened a second later, and Jonah’s sister Betty popped her head in.
“It’s time,” she said.
“Are ye ready?” Myrna asked.
Eithne nodded, taking a breath. She’d never been more ready for anything in her entire life.
* * *
Ivor was dressed well in the sark that Eithne had brought for him and the tartan of the clan he’d almost forgotten he belonged to. He waited beside the minister, his heart pounding in his chest. Soon, very soon, he’d be married. He’d have Eithne as his bride, and she’d have him as her husband. He knew it – he’d known it for some time – and yet, for some reason, it was still hard to believe that he could ever be this lucky.
In the crowd, he saw his strange little family. Jonah sat there with his nephew in his lap, an empty seat on either side of him for his sister and for Myrna. On the other side of Myrna’s open seat sat Callum, who had – thankfully – been persuaded to leave Mossie inside for the day.
Further back, Ivor caught Sadie’s eye. She’d brought several of her orphans, enough to take up a full row of chairs, and she gave him a broad smile. Ivor smiled back, thanking her silently for being his friend through it all.
There was a whole row of seats on the other side of the aisle that had been left deliberately empty on Eithne’s request. They had little cards with the names of their occupants written instead.
Laird and Lady Kinnear. Killian Kinnear. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair. Iona Sinclair. Neal McAllister.
Ivor smiled faintly at the empty row as well. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Betty running back to her place, slipping into the seat that Jonah had spared for her.
Then the stringed instrument began to play, and Ivor’s attention was taken entirely by the most beautiful vision he’d ever seen. Myrna looked lovely, of course, but Ivor barely noticed her at all. She walked arm in arm with Eithne, who was smiling more broadly than he’d ever seen her smile before.
Ivor felt tears spring to his eyes. Perhaps it wasn’t the manliest reaction to his emotions, but it was a genuine one. His heart swelled at the sight of her and the knowledge that, no matter what happened next, they would be together.
The music ended, and she stood before him, smiling widely. It was so tempting to take her into his arms right away, and he could tell that she wasn’t far off wanting the same thing.
“Ye look stunning,” Eithne told him in an undertone. “I thought ye were already the most handsome man alive but turns out that ye could do better.”
Ivor chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to step up me efforts from now on. Especially with ye looking like some sort of spirit of beauty as ye stand before me now.”
She smiled, a smile that looked like sunshine all by itself, and then the minister began to speak. The wedding itself passed in a blur as they said their vows and promised their lives to one another. Ivor pinned a proper silver luckenbooth on her dress, and then the shawl of his clan was wrapped around both of their shoulders.
The moment that the minister declared them husband and wife, Eithne and Ivor fell into each other’s arms. They were barely aware of the cheering from the crowd, so intent were they both on exchanging their first kiss and embrace as husband and wife at last.
* * *
Eithne danced wildly with everyone who asked, swinging around in time with the beat of the ceilidh music, enjoying her wedding not only for herself but for her family that couldn’t be here.
As she joined hands with Callum, who insisted on dancing with her, she grinned up at the table. Ivor sat there, chatting with Jonah, both of them drinking whiskey and generally having a good time. Nearby, Myrna was twirling with an older man from amongst their soldiers, laughing and complimenting his white beard.
“Are ye having fun, Callum?” Eithne asked as they twirled together.
“Lots!” Callum said with his little eyes sparkling. “Are ye? Ye look like ye’re happy!”
“Ye ken, I think I am,” Eithne told him. “I really am.”
Callum grinned and held up his arm. Eithne crouched as low as she could to the ground, hurrying under it, so it made the boy think that he was swinging her around like the other men were with their partners.
They danced a little longer, then Ivor’s voice interrupted. “May I cut in, lad?”
