Page 20 of Married to the Scarred Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #4)

20

A s the morning light crept into Laura’s bedchamber, she awoke to the sound of footsteps in the sitting room. She sat up as a quiet knock echoed through the space, followed by the loud creak of the door.

Freya stepped around it, beaming at her with an energy that Laura could hardly understand. “Ye look like ye hardly slept!” she teased, sitting on the edge of her bed.

Laura shot her twin a sleepy glare and rolled her eyes. “How are ye already dressed?” she grumbled into the blankets.

“Cold feet?”

She scoffed, rubbing her face. “Hardly. I doubt I’d get far before someone”—she glanced at the door as another knock sounded—“dragged me back.”

Mairead smiled warmly, curtsying before entering the room. She began laying out Laura’s dress and other items to prepare her for the wedding.

“How many have already arrived?” Freya asked.

“They started comin’ in last night, Me Lady. Several arrived in the wee hours of the morning.”

Freya moved to the window, and a giggle sounded from the sitting room. Laura’s heart melted as Fraser toddled in, Kenna close behind.

“Yaya!” he squealed, brandishing an oat cake like a weapon.

Freya flashed him a wide grin and extended her hands toward him. “Good morning, mo chridhe ,” she murmured.

She lifted him into her arms and balanced him on her hip.

Fraser babbled incoherently and stuffed another bite of cake in his mouth.

Laura watched as they both looked out the window.

“See here, young lad?” Freya pointed at something beyond the glass panes. “See the tents?”

Fraser pointed at the glass with his aunt, and Laura climbed out of bed to stand next to them. Beyond the courtyard, tents had been erected across the open field, the banners of visiting clans fluttering in the breeze. Fires crackled, games were being played, and the hum of distant voices carried. The sight of it stole her breath away.

“More people than I expected,” she murmured, her hands tightening on the sill.

“That’s because ye’re marryin’ a laird .”

Laura turned, arching an eyebrow expectantly.

Freya exhaled, tilting her head in thought. “Tales of his scars and his temper have traveled even to the Lowlands, Sister. His faither?—”

“He’s a fair laird, and the clan is thrivin’ under his rule.”

Freya nodded thoughtfully before responding, her tone somehow more gentle than before. “He’s a hard man, aye, but ye dinnae need a gentle man. Ye need someone who understands ye and who can handle ye.”

Heat crept up Laura’s neck as she thought about their encounter the night before, and just how well he handled her. “He’s… nae what I expected.”

“That’s a good thing, is it nae?”

Laura hesitated but finally admitted, “Aye. It is.”

Her sister studied her for a moment. “Ye truly want this?”

Laura glanced out the window again, at the people who had gathered, and thought about the life waiting for her with Ciaran.

He gave me a choice. I chose this… and I would again.

“Aye,” she whispered. “I truly want this, Freya.”

Freya bounced Fraser on her hip as she smiled widely. “Then let’s get ye married.”

Nodding once, Mairead made her way around them to leave the room, and Freya followed with Fraser.

“Clean up, Sis. Ye smell like ye’ve rolled around in the stables with yer intended,” Freya said with a wink and then closed the door behind her.

“Shite!” Laura said, quickly moving to the bath that Mairead had prepared.

Steam curled over the water, beckoning her to slide into the fragrant water. As she did, the heat enveloped her muscles, washing away last night’s tryst and the morning’s jitters.

She let her head rest against the edge of the tub, her fingers skimming the water’s surface. Her mind, despite her feeble attempt to control it, wandered to Ciaran. She thought about the last few days and how careful he was with her. But it was not out of pity—it was out of respect.

He was thoughtful, and he admired her independence. In these few weeks, not once had she thought about not being the keep’s healer, and he had given no indication of her doing so either. It had become her identity, and he knew it well.

Laura stilled.

I care for him.

The thought was as daunting as it was true. He was harsh and unyielding, but steady. He had given her a home, safety, and something she had never thought she’d have again—a choice.

Her fingers drifted over her lips, recalling the way he had kissed her the first time, how he had claimed her with his mouth… with his hands.

This was deeper, though. This wasn’t just a need out of necessity. This wasn’t just yearning out of lust.

Was it?

The thought sent a shiver through her, and she let herself slip under the milky surface, submerging her entire body in the deliciously fragrant water. When she emerged, gasping, Mairead stood just inside the door with a towel in her hand.

“It’s warmed, Miss,” the maid said softly.

Laura stepped out of the tub and into the towel.

Her wedding dress was laid out on the foot of her bed, a breathtaking piece of soft ivory linen and delicate lace. The sleeves and hem were embroidered with intricate knots, the stitches were elegant, the bodice was well-fitted, and the skirts flowed around her body.

“Made for a lass who cannae sit still,” Mairead said. “That’s what Lady MacAitken used to say about Lady Ersie.”

“Ye were here before the fire?” Laura heard herself ask before she could think.

“Aye. I was Lady Ersie’d maid, in fact.”

“How lovely, and have ye been able to reconnect with her now that she’s returned?”

“Aye, she requested me specifically—almost as if the uprising ne’er happened… though it did, of course,” the maid said, a bashful blush painting her cheeks. “Pardon, Miss. I didnae mean to be too forward.”

“Nonsense. I asked ye, Mairead.”

The girl helped Laura into the dress, and Laura smoothed her hands over the fabric, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

The last time I thought of marriage was with James. Will Ciaran leave me as well? Surely nae. Surely… right?

His rough voice echoed in her mind, stroking her spine. “ I’ll see ye at the wedding, lass. Dinnae forget—it’s tomorrow.”

A smile spread across her lips and then slightly faltered as a small, silver brooch caught the light at her hip. It was a delicate pin, shaped like a thistle entwined with ivy, with a tiny sapphire in the center.

Mairead caught Laura’s hesitation and smiled. “That was Lady MacAitken’s. The Laird asked me to pin it to yer dress.”

Laura’s breath hitched.

Ciaran hardly ever spoke about his parents, and she knew that bringing up his mother was always hard for him. He carried the scars on his body as a reminder of the day she’d died. That he had chosen to share something of hers with Laura, on this day, meant more than she could put into words.

Could he care for me as much as I care for him?

Laura ran her fingers over the trinket, feeling the cool metal against her heated skin. “He did, did he nae?” she murmured.

Mairead nodded. “Aye. Lady MacAitken used to always wear it, he said.”

A warmth spread through Laura’s chest, deeper than gratitude and heavier than sentiment.

This is real.

She turned around and met her twin’s gaze. Freya had returned with Fraser. Laura’s heart was pounding against her ribs.

A slow, steadying breath escaped her lips. “I’m ready.”