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“And a fine one at that. But how did you know the wedding would be delayed?”

“I didn’t,” she said. “In fact, I thought they would likely miss the ceremony, but I suspected they’d want to know . . . that you would be overjoyed to see them even if they arrived after the wedding.”

“Thank you,” he said again as they approached the table where Toren and Alex Kerr and their wives sat with the older couple. After a quick welcome to the others, he stood back as Adam and Cora rose from the table to greet them.

“Adam. Cora. It seems you’ve met my wife.” Neill could tell he grinned like a boy with his first sword every time he used that word. “Kathryn, Sir Adam Dayne and Lady Cora Maxwell.”

“Of Clan Maxwell?” Kathryn asked. “I meant to ask you about it last eve.”

“Aye, the same. But please do not judge me for it.”

Her clan had been one of the first to boycott the Day of Truce more than thirty years earlier. A fierce lot of warriors Neill knew she loved dearly. Though it had taken some years, she confessed, for her Scottish family to accept her English husband.

“I met a man once, Fergus Maxwell, at The Wild Boar.”

“My cousin,” she said, giving her a wide smile. “So you’ve been to The Wild Boar? I was only there once. Do you remember, Adam?”

“Aye, I do,” he said to her. “But wish that I could forget.”

Adam turned back to Kathryn. “But that is a story for another day, as is yours. This day is for celebration, but I do hope we will have time to share stories before Cora and I must leave.”

“We will ensure it,” she said.

Knowing Kathryn would not do so, he pardoned them to the head table, where finally they sat.

Surrounded by family and friends and next to the woman he loved, Neill could think of no happier day. If his parents had been here to see it, they would have been well pleased. Even though Bryce taunted their sister, and Emma looked very much as if she were planning some nefarious deed, they would be proud.

Making them proud, wherever they were, had long been his goal, and he took a minute to savor the sensation.

“What are you thinking?” Kathryn asked, and he told her. They spoke of their parents then, and of the days that had brought them to this one.

They drank and laughed at Geoffrey’s tales of his young ones, warning the newly wed couple of how wee ones made a man turn into “nothing more than a simpering child” as they came into the world.

And Neill tried not to look at the ample cleavage Kathryn’s gown displayed.

Tried not to remember her soft moans from a few nights past, on the eve they’d decided not to be alone in her bedchamber again if they wanted to have a wedding night in truth.

Neill tried, and failed, not to imagine his wife, fully unclothed, underneath him as she would be that night.

“What are you thinking?” Kathryn licked a bit of cake from her finger.

“I’m thinking—” he leaned toward her, ensuring his words were only for her to hear, “—I’ve been dreaming of slipping inside of you for so long that I fear I may not be able to control myself when I do.”

“I . . .” Her lips parted and Neill watched as she thought more carefully on his words. “I look forward to . . .” Though she didn’t finish, his suddenly shy wife did not need to say the words. He knew what she wanted.

He should not tempt fate, but would anyway. Knowing he tortured them both, Neill leaned in even closer.

“And I will give it to you. This night and every night, my lady.”

“Can we leave our own wedding feast?”

He laughed, loudly enough to garner looks from those around them. Neill lifted his goblet in response, and their guests did the same.

There would be singing and dancing, a long night ahead.

But not for the newly married couple.

“Aye,” he said. “We can.”