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T he morning dawned clear and bright over St. Agnes Abbey, and Ewan stood at the window of the guest chamber gazing at the blue sky.

She had said yes. After months of rejection, humiliation, and wondering if he would ever see this day, Lileas MacDonald had agreed to become his wife. The relief that flooded Ewan was so profound it left him weak-kneed.

He had barely slept, his mind replaying the moment when she had finally nodded her acceptance. That gave him hope for their future.

A soft knock at his door interrupted his thoughts, and Grant entered carrying a basin of steaming water and clean drying cloths.

"Time to make yerself presentable for yer bride, laird," Grant said, setting down the basin. "The good sisters have been bustling about since before dawn, preparing everything for the ceremony, and Patrick is readying the horses so we can leave soon afterwards."

Ewan nodded his thanks and moved away from the window. "Have ye seen her?"

"Aye, I caught a glimpse of yer betrothed in the garden with Sister Margaret." Grant's expression grew more serious. "Are ye certain about this, laird? Taking a wife who ran from ye once?"

"I'm certain," Ewan said without hesitation, beginning to wash with the thoroughness of a man preparing for the most important day of his life. "Whatever drove her to flee before, we'll work through it."

***

I N HER OWN CHAMBER across the abbey, Lileas stood perfectly still while Sister Margaret and two other nuns fussed over her appearance.

"Hold still," Sister Margaret said, working carefully to braid flowers into Lileas's freshly washed hair. "Ye'll be the most beautiful bride St. Agnes has ever seen."

"That's not saying much, considering how few weddings take place here," Lileas replied, trying to inject some humor into her voice despite the nervousness that made her hands shake slightly.

Abbess Bethóc, who had been quietly supervising the preparations, moved closer and took Lileas's hands in her own. "Are ye certain, my dear? Once the vows are spoken, there will be no turning back."

Lileas met the older woman's eyes steadily, drawing strength from the wisdom and compassion she found there. "I'm certain."

"Then ye have a solid foundation to build upon," the abbess said with a smile. "Many marriages have flourished from far less promising beginnings."

Sister Margaret stepped back to admire her handiwork. "There. Ye look presentable."

Lileas turned to examine herself in the small mirror the sisters had provided, and caught her breath at the transformation.

The sisters had drawn her a bath earlier that morning, and she had been allowed the luxury of steaming hot water and fine soap scented with lavender and rosemary.

Breathing in the lingering scent helped calm the butterflies in her stomach.

Her dark hair had been woven with white flowers and ribbons, and the dress the sisters had found for her was simple but beautiful, made of soft blue wool that brought out the color of her eyes.

"I look and feel... different," she said softly, barely recognizing the woman in the mirror.

"Ye look like a bride," Abbess Bethóc corrected gently. "Now come. Yer groom is waiting."

***

T HE ABBEY'S SMALL CHAPEL had been transformed for the occasion. Candles flickered, casting dancing shadows on the ancient stone walls, and the sisters had gathered wildflowers from the gardens, creating simple but beautiful arrangements.

Ewan stood at the altar beside Father Benedict, the elderly priest who had been summoned from the village.

He wore his finest doublet, made of deep green wool that matched his eyes, with his clan plaid displayed proudly across his chest. Grant flanked him, both men wearing expressions of solemn dignity.

When the chapel door opened and Lileas appeared, escorted by Abbess Bethóc, Ewan felt his breath catch in his throat.

She was more beautiful than he had ever imagined she could be, but it was more than just her appearance that struck him.

There was a quiet dignity in the way she carried herself, a calm acceptance that she would stand by her decision.

When Lileas reached him, her eyes met Ewan's and held. He saw nervousness there, yes, but also trust. The knowledge that she was placing her future in his hands, despite everything that had passed between them, humbled him.

Father Benedict began the ceremony that would bind them both for eternity.

When the time came for them to exchange vows, he spoke the ancient promises with a sincerity that surprised him.

"I, Ewan MacNeil, forsaking all others, take thee, Lileas MacDonald, to wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, to protect and cherish, till death us do part."

When Lileas spoke her own vows, her voice was clear and steady. "I, Lileas MacDonald, take thee, Ewan MacNeil, to husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, to cherish, and to obey, till death us do part."

The word 'obey' stuck slightly in her throat, but she forced it out, even as she silently vowed to herself that any obedience would have to be earned through respect and understanding.

Father Benedict blessed their union and pronounced them married.

Ewan turned to face his new wife, seeing the slight flush that colored her cheeks. Very gently, he reached up to cup her face in his hands.

"My lady wife," he said quietly, for her ears alone.

"My lord husband," she replied, the words feeling strange on her tongue but not unpleasant.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was chaste and gentle, lasting only a few heartbeats but carrying the weight of promises and possibilities. When they parted, Lileas's eyes were bright with wonder.

The small gathering erupted in congratulations and blessings.

***

T HE WEDDING REPAST was held in the abbey's refectory, a simple meal that the sisters had prepared with obvious care. There was fresh bread still warm from the ovens, roasted fowl with herbs from the garden, and bottles of the abbey's finest wine.

Lileas found herself seated beside her new husband, acutely aware of his presence in ways that were both thrilling and terrifying. Every time his hand brushed hers as they reached for food, every time he leaned close to speak quietly in her ear, she felt a jolt of awareness.

"The sisters have outdone themselves," Ewan said, raising his cup in a toast to their hosts.

"They are dear women," Lileas agreed, watching with affection as Sister Margaret bustled about ensuring everyone had enough to eat. "They've been so kind to me these past months."

"Ye'll miss them," Ewan observed, and there was understanding in his voice rather than criticism.

"Aye, I will. But..." She paused, then looked at him directly. "I'm ready to see what lies beyond these walls."

"Then I look forward to showing ye."

As the meal progressed, Lileas found herself relaxing in his company. He was intelligent and well-spoken, with a dry sense of humor that matched her own.

***

T HE TIME CAME TO DEPART far too soon for Lileas's comfort. Sister Margaret had helped her pack what few possessions she had at the abbey, but it was a pitifully small collection compared to the workshop she had left behind at her father's keep.

"I hate leaving with so little," she confessed to Ewan as they prepared to mount their horses. "All my notes, my drawings, my equipment... it's all at MacDonald Keep."

"We'll manage," he assured her, helping her mount the gentle mare the abbey had provided for her use.

As they prepared to ride away from the abbey that had been her sanctuary for three months, Lileas felt a pang of loss that was sharper than she had expected.

"Thank ye," she said to Abbess Bethóc, who had come to see them off. "For everything."

"May God bless ye, lass," the abbess replied.

Ewan also thanked the abbess for her hospitality and slipped her a heavy pouch of coins. The abbess accepted it with grace and wished them well.

As their small party rode away from the abbey, Ewan noticed the thoughtful silence that had settled over his new wife. "Regretting yer decision?" he asked gently.

"No," she said after a moment. "Just... thinking about what comes next."

They had been riding for several hours when Ewan called a halt to rest the horses. As they sat beside a small stream, sharing bread and cheese that the sisters had packed for their journey, Ewan noticed the nervous tension that had been building in Lileas's posture.

"Lileas," he said quietly, moving to sit beside her on a fallen log. "I want ye to ken something."

She looked at him expectantly, her hands fidgeting with her skirts.

"I will not... that is, I have no intention of claiming my husbandly rights until we are properly settled in my keep. In our bed." His voice was gentle but firm. "Ye need have no fear about the coming nights on the road."

The relief that flooded her features was immediate and obvious, followed quickly by a blush that spread from her cheeks down to the neckline of her dress. "I... thank ye. That is... considerate of ye."

"Moreover," he continued, wanting to be completely clear, "We will not consummate the marriage until ye ask me to."

The blush deepened, but she met his eyes directly. "Ye would wait for me to ask?"

"I would wait as long as necessary," he said simply. "Marriage vows spoken in haste and fear are one thing. The intimacy between husband and wife should be something else entirely."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Lileas said softly, "Ye're not what I expected."

"Nor are ye, lass. Nor are ye."

***

A S THEY RESUMED THEIR journey, the atmosphere between them had shifted subtly.

The formal politeness of new acquaintances was gradually giving way to something warmer, more natural.

Ewan rode beside her when the path allowed, pointing out landmarks and telling her stories about the history of the region.

Patrick, riding slightly ahead of them, proved to be a cheerful companion. "Ye'll like it there, mistress," he assured her. "The keep is old but well-maintained, and the views from the towers are the finest in all of Alba. On a clear day, ye can see for miles."

"And what of the people?" Lileas asked. "Will they welcome a MacDonald bride?"

Patrick's enthusiasm dimmed slightly, and he glanced back at Grant, who had been riding in pointed silence since they left the abbey.

Grant, seeing the look, urged his horse closer to theirs.

"Our laird is a good man," he said without preamble, his face serious.

"He has sacrificed much for us all, and ye paid him a slight by refusing to marry.

So ye'll not be in all their graces yet, mistress.

For that reason alone, some may snub ye. "

"Grant," Ewan's voice carried a warning, but the man continued.

"I dinnae mean to cause offense," Lileas said carefully, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment. "But I also had a life in my clan. I did not want to give it up without understanding what I would be gaining in return."

"Be that as it may, ye left him high and dry when he needed ye most. There's much work ye need to do to mend those fences with our people."

Lileas straightened in her saddle, meeting his challenging gaze directly. "Then I'll do it. Whatever it takes to earn their respect, I'll do it."

"See that ye do," Grant said with a grudging nod of approval. "Our laird deserves a wife who'll stand by him, not one who runs at the first sign of trouble."

"Enough, Grant," Ewan said sharply, his eyes flashing with anger. "My wife has made her choice and spoken her vows. She deserves yer respect."

Grant nodded, but his expression remained doubtful. Lileas appreciated Ewan's defense of her, but she also understood that Grant's concerns were not entirely unfounded. She would indeed have much to prove to her new clan.

As the day wore on, Lileas found herself studying her new husband when she thought he wasn't looking. He sat his horse with the easy grace of a born rider, and there was something about his profile that made her pulse quicken in ways she didn't want to examine too closely.

When he caught her looking, he would smile, and she would feel that strange flutter in her stomach that had everything to do with a growing awareness of him as a man rather than simply an unwanted obligation.

***

H IDDEN AMONG THE ROCKS and bracken, a small group of men tracked their progress.

"There she is," murmured Dugald Ferguson to his companions, his eyes fixed on the small figure riding beside the MacNeil laird. "The clever lass who can brew liquid gold. Our laird will be well pleased when we bring her to him."

"She's married now," pointed out one of his men uneasily. "Taking her will mean war with the MacNeils."

"Let MacNeil weep for his bride," Dugald replied callously. "Our laird has greater need of her skills. Besides, what's one more feud in the Highlands?"

They withdrew deeper into the hills, following the small party at a distance, waiting for the right moment to make their move. The Ferguson clan had been watching and waiting for weeks, ever since word had reached them of the brewster responsible for the abbey's increased production.

***