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Beside him, Emilia gasped loudly. “Faither, apologies. I didnae recognize ye.”

The old man gave her a gentle smile. “Child, I didnae expect ye tae ken who I am. The years have changed us both.”

Arran felt his knees turning to jelly and he clutched the back of his chair to prevent himself from stumbling.

Haldor’s men had found the priest!

And he was there.

Now, at last, there was nothing standing between him and the lairdship of Clan Mackinnon. And once the Council installed him as their rightful laird, he would have every right to present himself as a possible husband for milady Dahlia Mackinnon.

He shook his head, slowly taking in this shattering news, his heart singing with joy.

At that moment, the door swung open and several serving-men entered the solar carrying platters of cold chicken, cheese, bannocks and flagons of ale, which they placed at the center of the table.

Still standing while the others sat, Arran raised a tankard. “I thank ye Haldor and Ivar fer what ye’ve done on me behalf.Slàinte mhath.”

The others raised their tankards in salute. “Slàinte mhath.”

Haldor unbuckled the leather satchel he’d been carrying and withdrew several sheets of parchment which he placed on the table in front of Arran.

The first of these sheets was easily recognizable for the scrawled signatures and the date of the wedding. Arran held it aloft. “This is all I need fer the Council. We meet on the morrow and once they have this,” he turned to the old priest, “and have heard ye swear tae the truth of it, they will declare me Laird of the Mackinnons.”

The second parchment was folded, and he saw at once it carried King Robert’s seal. He picked it up, suddenly aware that his hands were trembling slightly. When he broke the seal and opened the parchment, it took moments for his head and heart to align. This was everything he could have hoped for. He read aloud:

Me desire tae see the MacLeod and Mackinnon clans in peaceful alignmentis as strong as ever. Tae this end, and in light of the unfortunate, recent demise of Bairre Mackinnon I continue me existing decree – that there should be a marriage between the two clans.

Arran looked up to see Haldor grinning at him.

“The king sent me the same message. If we are tae retain the king’s goodwill, it seems me sister Dahlia will, once again, beforcedtae contemplate taking a Mackinnon as her lawful, wedded husband.”

The atmosphere in the great hall was buzzing and lively. Arran’s guest were all seated by the time he stepped into the hall andhe waited a moment listing to the thrum of friendly voices and laughter. Several members of his council along with Haldor’s accompanying guards were also present and he allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sight of the Mackinnon and MacLeod tartans side-by-side, bright splashes of vibrant color and pattern amongst the more somber colors worn by the servants.

As he made his way to the high table, a hush fell over the gathering. His men rose to their feet as he walked through the central passage, acknowledging the company with a quick salute, and then the hubbub of voices resumed.

Scanning his guests, his eyes came to rest on Dahlia, seated at the end of the table beside Ivar’s wife, Catalina. Tonight, she was not clad in blue silk as she had been for her betrothal to Bairre, but was wearing a rose-colored velvet gown, the low neckline displaying the rise of her creamy breasts trimmed with gold embroidery and white fur cuffing the long, elegant sleeves. Her eyes sparkling, she was as bonny a sight as he’d ever beheld.

As he caught her eye, she smiled at him and his spirits soared in anticipation of what he planned for this evening’s celebrations.

He walked to where she sat and she stood to greet him, bobbing a deep curtsy.

“Good evening me Lord Arran,” she said, dipping her head.

Without further delay, and in the full sight of the assembled crowd he knelt before her on one knee.

Looking deep into her blue eyes, he took her hand in his.

“Dahlia MacLeod, ye’ve more than I ever dreamed of. Ye make me the happiest man on earth and I’ll spend the rest of me days trying tae make ye just as happy. Would ye dae me the great honor of consenting tae marry me?”

A hush descended over the diners, and the bustling servants came to a standstill. The serving of food came to a halt as every eye in the hall turned to Dahlia and Arran, waiting with Arran for her response.

“I gladly give me consent. It will make me the happiest lass in Scotland tae be wed with ye, me dearest love.”

They laughed together, tears of happiness moistening Dahlia’s cheeks as Arran seized her in his arms and twirled her about, her skirt flying, while an almighty cheer rang through the great hall from MacLeods and Mackinnons alike.

But there’s more…