“I dinnae think Oliver has ever seen me like this,” Sorcha thought aloud.
Aila came up behind her, smirking in the mirror.
“I doubt he will be able to keep his eyes off ye. Or his hands.”
Laughter eclipsed the sound of knocking at the door that quickly became insistent.
“Lachlan,” Aila greeted, letting him in the room through a crack in the door. “Arran, Christopher. Is everyone ready?”
“We were ready half an hour ago, my love,” Lachlan admitted, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “If Sorcha does nae get down there soon, there is sure to be a riot. I have never seen the Great Hall so full. It is fit to burst with men and women hungry for a feast and ale.”
“We better go down then,” Aila said calmly. “Come along, Elsie.”
“Here, Sorcha.” Christopher thrust out a bouquet of wildflowers, bursting with color and the smell of summer.
“We picked them for ye,” Arran told her, rising to press a kiss to her cheek.
“Thank ye.”
It was her turn to blink tears out of her eyes now.
“Let’s go find our seats,” Aila said, ushering the children and their Laird out of the room.
“Uncle Loch,” Elsie called, slipping her hand into his, “why will Uncle Oliver nay be able to keep his hands off Sorcha?”
Lachlan blushed as Aila and Taryn let out a bark of a laugh.
“Er… Well, I, uh…”
“I will explain when ye are older,” Aila promised, saving Lachlan from any more stuttering.
Sorcha took one last look at the mirror, admiring the picture she made. Isobel and Laura had spent the past two weeks sewing an entire new wardrobe, claiming Sorcha would need it to be fit for her role as an English noble. The thought had brought a scowl to her face, but she was grateful for their efforts now as her fingers danced over the gold embroidered hem of her green gown. The linen corset draped beautifully over her figure, sporting the same flower embroidery motif as her pleated skirts. With a strand of pearls, a wedding gift from Oliver, wrapped around her neck, Sorcha had to admit that she agreed with Aila’s prediction.
Pulling back her shoulders, Sorcha turned and followed her family to the Great Hall. Aila and Taryn walked the children to their seats at the front of the makeshift aisle, while Lachlan waited just outside the doors to escort Sorcha down.
Bagpipes, proud and moving, sounded her arrival and carried her through the hall to where Oliver awaited. Had her hand not been tucked into the crook of Lachlan’s arm, she might have floated to him.
There were so many eyes on her that she would have thought she might have been nervous. The McGregors who had followed Taryn and James to the Kincaid Clan sat, mixed in with the Kincaid villagers as if they had always belonged there. McKenzie and Fraser tartans were equally mingled, Iona and Finn sitting at a table of honor near the front. Having decided to stay these past two weeks in wait for today, they had all become fast friends with their new allies. Sorcha felt a certain kinship with Iona andwas already dreading having to tell the woman goodbye in the morning.
Sitting at the table opposite of them were Aila and the children. James and Taryn clung to each other while Laura was nestled in between her parents, Isobel and Graham, as she often was. Sporting her own tartan, Oliver’s mother sat proudly, beaming at Sorcha as she strode towards her son. Nanny Edith and Mary, both held handkerchiefs to their noses, wiping away any signs of emotion before they were caught.
But as Sorcha laid eyes on Oliver, all other thoughts vanished.
His dark hair gleamed, standing out with the black coat and shining gold buttons of his doublet. His waistcoat, cleverly embroidered with the same flowers as on her dress but in a matching green thread, stood out against his crisp white shirt and cravat. Even his boots, tall up his strong legs, had been polished until they shone. He was every bit the proud Englishman, a nobleman through and through. She did not miss the fact that he too had wrapped a piece of his mother’s tartan over one shoulder, pinning it with a broach.
Though he was dashingly handsome, it was not his attire or the wave in his hair that stole her breath. It was the look in his eyes, amber and so full of love, that made her steps falter.
Taryn had been right. Today was a momentous day. And as she walked closer to her future, closer to making those iron vows of love and loyalty, Sorcha could not have been happier.
Another roundof glasses clinking echoed through the Great Hall. Sorcha blushed and giggled when Oliver pulled her in, obliging the room for their request to see the couple kiss.
“That is the seventh time they have done that and the meal has only just finished,” Sorcha whispered into his ear.
He chuckled, unbothered. In fact, he seemed almost a little pleased with himself.
“Are you trying to tell me that you do not want to kiss me, wife?”
His eyebrow rose in mischief.
