Page 107 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

They sat in silence for a beat, fingers interlaced. The weight of the day settled around them, soft and solemn.

A bell tolled outside.

Agnes startled, heart stuttering. "That’s the first."

Constance grinned. "Come on then, bride. Time to go make history."

Paisley fussed over the final touches—fastening a tiny pearl clasp at the nape of Agnes’s neck, tucking a white thistle into her braid.

"There," she said, stepping back. "Ye’re ready."

Agnes rose slowly, her breath catching in her chest. The weight of the moment settled in like a crown.

Another knock sounded at the door.

"Agnes?"

Her father’s voice. She turned just as the door creaked open.

Ewan Kerr stepped inside, his face caught between pride and grief. He looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time—and maybe he was. He wore his best formal tartan, and his beard had been freshly trimmed. His eyes shone with emotion he didn’t dare speak aloud.

"Faither," she whispered.

He blinked hard. "Ye look beautiful, lass. So like yer maither."

Agnes felt a lump rise in her throat. She stepped forward and took his hand.

He looked down at her fingers wrapped around his. "Ready?"

"I think so."

He offered his arm. "Then let’s take ye tae yer future."

Agnes looped her arm through his. Constance stepped just behind, Paisley beside her, forming the quiet procession.

They walked out into the corridor. Light poured through the stained glass in soft patterns, gold and blue washing over the flagstones. Every step echoed. Every breath felt sacred.

The walk from the garden to the chapel was brief, but Agnes knew she would remember every step for the rest of her life. Her father's arm steady beneath her hand and the distant music already drifting from inside the church. It all felt like something out of a story she hadn’t dared hope was hers. Each step was a breath closer to the rest of her life with Tav. And though her heart thundered with nerves, what anchored her was the thought of Tav waiting at the end of that aisle, looking at her like she was all that mattered.

Her father paused at the heavy chapel doors, one hand resting on the iron latch. He glanced down at her with a grin that didn’t quite mask the emotion in his eyes.

"Still time tae change yer mind, lass," he said, trying for levity. "We can tell Tav ye got cold feet. I’ll take the blame."

Agnes laughed, breathless, nerves and affection mingling in her chest. "Nice try, Da. But I think I’m right where I’m meant tae be."

He nodded once, proud. "Aye. Ye are."

And then the doors opened. The church was hushed as they stepped in.

Agnes stepped into the entryway on her father’s arm, and instantly the air shifted. All around them, the guests rose to their feet, the rustle of fabric and the soft scrape of shoes against stone breaking the silence. Sunlight streamed in from the high windows, gilding the pews and casting halos across the shoulders of those gathered.

She could see them all. Laird Caithness, seated in the front row, gave her a small nod, his smile quiet and proud. She smiled back, heart tightening with something too vast to name. And then Tav’s brother Bane, who was married to Constance, and their sister Fia, who she had finally had the pleasure to meet, with her husband, Laird Knox. Beyond them were faces from both Kerr and Armstrong lands. Some she knew. Some she didn’t. But they all looked at her with reverence, with hope. Their presence felt like a shared benediction, like this moment meant something not just for her, but for them all.

And then she looked forward.

Tav.

Her heart stopped. The breath caught in her throat.