Page 82 of Ensnaring the Dove

She quickened her step, circling past the crowd of citizens who now camped out in the heart of the market square, and headed to the street that would take her to Aedan.

However, up ahead, she spied a familiar figure.

A tall man with wavy light-auburn hair walked toward her.

Like her father, Aedan was blood spattered. Yet he walked with a warrior’s loose-limbed stride.

Colombia’s heart leaped, and she broke into a run. “Aedan!”

He saw her then, his sea-blue eyes widening. He halted and opened his arms, letting her fly into them.

She clung to him as he swung her around. Her arms linked around his neck, and she turned her face up to his, even as her vision swam with tears.

“Colombia,” he gasped. “What are you doing out here?”

She hiccoughed a laugh. “Paterhas given us his blessing. He told me to go to you.”

His breathing hitched. “He did?”

Colombia smiled up at him, even as tears trickled down her cheeks. “We can be together now. No one will try to stop us.”

Aedan stared down at her, swallowing hard.

An instant later, he bent his head and claimed her mouth in a bruising kiss that stole her breath away.

Colombia arched into him, not caring that he was filthy and covered in blood and gore, not caring that they would be drawing stares from those around them.

All that mattered was that she was in Aedan’s arms.

She was home.

When they eventually drew apart, both panting, Aedan’s eyes glittered. “Colombia,” he breathed. “My heart is yours, little dove.”

Reaching up, she cupped his cheek. “And mine is yours, Aedan,” she replied huskily. “My brave warrior.”

Watching as the druid held out his hand, a smooth stone upon his palm, Colombia’s pulse fluttered.

This was happening.

She and Aedan were getting married.

It wasn’t the ceremony she’d always envisaged though—one where she’d wear a white dress, holding hands with her husband-to-be in a temple, before a priest. Instead, she and Aedan stood outdoors, a few miles south of the fort—at the edge of an ancient oakwood, on the banks of a burn. The day was clear and bright, yet cold. Even so, they were both barefoot, as was the druid.

Instead of the traditional white Roman wedding dress, she wore a simple pale-yellow tunic, trimmed with gold. And around her neck, she wore a gleaming bronze torc—a gift from Keir for their wedding. It had belonged to his wife. Aedan wore bracae made of soft leather and a cream-colored tunic. His light-auburn hair fell in waves around his face.

He’d never looked so handsome, and she’d never felt so proud.

Wordlessly, Colombia and Aedan placed their hands upon the ‘oathing stone’, hers under his.

The elderly druid named Ultan—clad in black robes, his face tattooed in blue swirls—finished tying their hands together. His intense gaze swept over their faces then, and he murmured a few words.

Before the ceremony, Aedan had told her the druid would speak a blessing—and that they would repeat the words of their vows after him.

Colombia did her best, although she was sure she stumbled through the vows.

Even so, Aedan had explained to her what the words meant.

You are blood of my blood, bone of my bone. I give you my body, that we might be one.