Dair’s eyes were on Fia as he replied, “Aye, I love her. More than life.”
“Then there’ll be a wedding within the hour, is that clear?” Donal waited for Dair to nod, then lowered the great sword. Fia threw herself into her father’s arms, kissed his cheek.
“Oh, Papa, I’m so happy,” she said. He hugged her back for a moment.
“Give the man back his shirt, lass, and go—I’ve things to discuss with the Sinclair, and I’ve no doubt your sisters are waiting to hear every detail while they help you dress.”
She stopped to kiss Alasdair Og before she hurried out, her face so radiant it almost brought tears to Donal’s eyes.
Her sisters were indeed waiting for her.
“Well?” Meggie asked eagerly.
“I’m a bride,” Fia managed before she burst into happy tears. Her sisters began to chatter like birds and bore her along to their chamber. The bathtub was already filled with scented, steaming water, and a beautiful blue silk gown hung over the door of the wardrobe, waiting for her.
Fia stared. She crossed the room and looked at the dress, ran her hand over the soft satin. It was lavishly embroidered with thistles and heather around the hem. “Papa chose the gown, Fia, ordered it aired out and made ready for you. He said something about fairy bells. What on earth does that mean?”
Fia smiled. She understood exactly what it meant. “It means I am the happiest, most fortunate—” She felt something bump against her shin and looked down to find Bel grinning up at her with a feline smile. She bent to lift him but he hurried away.
“Bel?”
“Angel had her kittens this morning,” Jennet said. “Five of them, all lasses. She chose the wardrobe as her nursery.”
Fia opened the door of the cupboard, and Bel stood by as Fia admired the kittens and patted their proud mother. “It looks like we all have something to celebrate today,” she said.
“We do indeed,” Isobel said. “Meggie told us everything. How romantic!”
Fia shot Meggie a look.Everything?Meggie grinned. “There’s no keeping a secret from a MacLeod lass.”
An hour later, Fia descended to the hall with her sisters. She almost stumbled on the last step, when she saw Dair waiting for her, and her father caught her just in time. Dair stood by the hearth with the Sinclair clansmen by his side—Ruari, Niall, Jock, and Angus. They grinned at the sight of the bride until Angus Mor wiped a tear from his eye, which started the others sniffling. Her father squeezed her hand. “Are you ready, lass?” he asked, his gaze soft, filled with love and pride. His grip on her fingers was warm and firm.
“Yes, Papa,” she whispered, and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. “You knew all along, didn’t you?”
“I’ve been married many times. I saw the way you looked at Sinclair, lass. You heard wee bells, didn’t you?”
“I heard them as clear as day.”
He reached up to tuck a flower more securely into her hair, his touch gentle. “Ach, you look like your mother the day I married her, and a more beautiful bride there never was—until now. Are you sure this is what you want? The claymore is right there by the wall . . .”
“Thank you, Papa. This is what I want.”
He tucked her arm under his. “Then we won’t wait.”
She looked into Dair’s eyes as she walked toward him. His clear gaze filled with love and joy, the rage, fear, and pain all gone. Her heart opened, and when her father placed her hand in Dair’s, his fingers closed over hers as if he’d never let her go. He wrapped two long strips of plaid over their joined hands, the MacLeod and the Sinclair setts, and they spoke their pledges to each other before God, the MacLeods, and the sobbing Sinclairs. And when Dair took her into his arms to kiss her, there were sighs and tears and shouts of joy, and fairy bells pealed for them both.
EPILOGUE
Moire woke in the night as the horses rode up to her cott. This time she was dressed and ready when the Sinclair clansmen threw back the cloth that covered the door and burst in.
“Ye’re needed.”
She scowled as their heads bumped against the herbs that hung from the roof beams, sending a shower of dry leaves to the earthen floor, but they were anxious, and she could forgive that. The scent of male sweat and whisky made the caged raven skitter and craw, fight the bit of linen that bound its broken wing. Moire fed the bird a strip of dried meat to quiet it and gathered her bundle.
The hands that lifted her onto the garron’s back were gentler than the last time. She held on as they hurried along the path to Carraig Brigh.
She heard the first scream as they passed through the great iron teeth of the gate and rode into the bailey. It echoed from the stones, high-pitched and filled with anguish. The men crossed themselves and looked at her anxiously.
“Naught to fear,” she said, and hoped she was right. English John lifted her from the garron’s back, hurried her into the keep.
