Page 138 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"Faither," she breathed, already moving toward him.

Kathleen caught her arm. "Wait. Let him come tae ye. He wants tae walk ye down the aisle properly."

"He shouldnae be out of bed."

"Try telling him that. He threatened tae disinherit me when I did."

Angus made his way slowly across the courtyard, leaning heavily on a carved walking stick. People parted for him, bowing respectfully. When he reached Maighread, his eyes were bright with emotion.

"Me bonnie lass," he said, his voice rough but strong. "Ye're a vision."

"How are ye Faither? Dae ye need tae rest?"

"I'll rest when I'm dead, and that willnae be today." He extended his free arm. "Will ye let yer old faither walk ye tae yer husband? Properly this time?"

Tears stung her eyes. "Aye. I'd be honored."

She took his arm carefully, mindful of his weakness. Together they walked toward the center of the courtyard where the priest waited. The crowd fell silent, watching.

Tavish stood beside the priest, and Maighread's heart stuttered at the sight of him. He wore formal MacBain colors, dark green and black, his hair tied back, his face clean-shaven. But his eyes blazed with the same fierce devotion she'd seen in the garden, in their private chamber, in every moment since he'd first claimed her as his.

As they approached, Tavish's gaze never left her face. She saw him swallow hard, saw his hands flex at his sides like he was restraining himself from reaching for her.

When they reached the dais, Angus stopped. He turned to Maighread, cupping her face with one weathered hand.

"Be happy, lass. That's all I've ever wanted fer ye."

"I am, Faither. I promise."

He kissed her forehead, then turned to Tavish. "Take care of her. She's stubborn and willful and magnificent. Dinnae ever try tae dim that fire."

"Never, sir. I love her exactly as she is."

Angus clasped Tavish's shoulder briefly, then stepped back. Greg materialized at his side, offering an arm to help him to a seat. Angus settled onto a cushioned chair with obvious relief, but his smile never wavered.

Maighread took Tavish's extended hand. His fingers closed around hers, warm and sure.

"Ready?" he murmured.

"We've already done this once."

"Aye, but this time everyone gets tae watch me make ye mine."

Heat flooded her cheeks. "Ye're incorrigible."

"And ye love it."

The priest cleared his throat pointedly. "Shall we begin?"

The ceremony was longer than the private one had been. More ritual, more formality. The priest spoke about marriage and duty and partnership. He blessed them with holy water and recited prayers in Latin that Maighread only half understood.

But when it came time for vows, the words were the same ones they'd spoken days ago in the quiet chapel.

"Dae ye, Tavish MacBain, take this woman as yer lawful wife, tae have and tae hold, in sickness and in health, fer richer or poorer, until death parts ye?"

"I dae." Tavish's voice rang clear across the courtyard. "Before all these witnesses, I claim Maighread as me wife, me partner, me equal. I vow tae stand beside her, tae protect her, tae honor her choices, and tae love her with everything I am fer all me days."

The priest turned to Maighread. "And dae ye, Maighread MacEwan, take this man as yer lawful husband?"