Page 18 of Marry the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #1)

CHAPTER 18

Conall looked up as the double doors opened and the bagpipes began to play. Oliver was a solid, reassuring presence by his right shoulder, with Emily a calm and collected presence on his left. All the same, his stomach twisted with something that could have been either nerves or excitement as the music started up and the room fell silent.

A small cluster of women appeared in the doorway, and Conall drew in a sharp breath, heat racing straight to his gut at the sight of Brigid. She was dressed in a pale green dress adorned with intricate knots, with flowers and ribbons in MacKane colors threaded through her hair. She was walking alongside her older sister, and she was radiant—there was simply no other word for it.

Her green eyes and tanned skin glowed in the light streaming through the windows, a perfect match for the shade of her dress. She was smiling as she made her way toward him, and Conall felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of her. His stomach clenched again with a nervousness he’d never felt—not even in the heat of battle.

Conall Barr was not a man given to nerves. But then again, this was not a situation he’d ever found himself in before, and it took a sharp nudge from Oliver for him to realize that his breathing had grown labored. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then stepped forward to offer his hand to his bride.

The bagpipes quieted, and the priest stepped forward, book in hand. The man intoned a short blessing, then raised his voice. “Who comes here today to be wed before God and these witnesses?”

Conall cleared his throat, the sound surprisingly loud in the hushed silence of the room.

“I, Conall Barr, Laird of Clan MacKane, come to be wed this day,” he said, as clearly as he could.

It was strange how hard it was to say the words. When he’d suggested marriage several days ago, it had all seemed so simple—a plan to thwart and frustrate his enemy, which he’d made without much thought as to how it would actually feel to be standing at the altar, preparing to wed. Now, he was here, and the words felt heavy and clumsy on his tongue, the weight of them apparent even as he spoke them.

Then, it was Brigid’s turn to speak, and Conall focused his attention on her, her presence like a lighthouse, guiding him.

“I, Brigid Blackwood, come to be wed this day.”

The priest nodded. “And who comes this day to stand as a witness for these two parties? To vouch for their character and their free and willing decision to come before this altar?”

Oliver spoke up, his voice strong and clear as if he’d never had a single doubt. “I, Oliver Barr, do stand as a witness for Conall Barr and vouch for his free choice to come here today.”

A moment of indecision struck Conall then, for how could Brigid’s sister say the same words? He’d all but forced Brigid to marry him. He’d made her choose between marriage and imprisonment, possibly death… It was hardly the ‘free choice’ Lily was about to testify to.

But before he could take this thought any further, Lily stepped forward, her voice ringing out strong and clear in the confines of the chamber. “I, Lily Blackwood, do stand as a witness for Brigid Blackwood and vouch for her free choice to come here today.”

“Let these two, Conall Barr and Brigid Blackwood, join hands and come to stand before me.”

At last, Conall allowed himself to breathe as Lily set Brigid’s small, soft hand in his, and all other thoughts he might have entertained disappeared at her touch.

The priest spoke another blessing over the two of them, but Conall paid little heed to the words as they washed over him. All the blessing he needed was the warmth of Brigid’s smile and the happiness in her brilliant green eyes.

The priest droned on, and Conall allowed his gaze to drift over Brigid, drinking in that smile, the curves of her hips and shoulders, and the swell of her breasts. He noticed, as if for the first time, the way the light shone in her hair and made the flowers glow softly, as if they were a crown of precious gems rather than mere flowers picked from the garden that morning.

“Speak yer vows,” the priest said, interrupting his thoughts.

It took a second for Conall to realize the man was speaking to him.

Ten days ago, he would have directed the priest to issue the standard vows. He would have agreed to them, whether he meant them or not, and that would have been the end of it. It would have been a contract, nothing more.

But his time with Brigid had left him desiring something with more meaning. Something that was his alone to offer, rather than rote words. He would not speak words that someone else had written for him. Everything he said to her would come from his heart and his heart alone.

Conall cleared his throat and opened his mouth. The words he’d rehearsed for so many days came, slow and uncertain but honest and true.

“Brigid Blackwood,” he began, turning to face his bride. “‘Tis true that I proposed to ye merely to secure a truce and protect my clan, but never think that I wed ye for just that. In the short time I’ve kenned ye, ye’ve come to mean much more to me than any truce, and I welcome ye into my life, and my clan, with more happiness than I ever thought possible. I swear, here and now, that I will protect ye, honor ye, and cherish ye through good days and bad, disaster and prosperity, sickness and health, for the rest of my days.”

He saw Brigid lick her lips nervously, but her voice was strong and full of conviction when she answered him.

“Conall Barr, I agreed to yer proposal for many reasons, but I wed ye for many more,” she said, her voice ringing out clearly. “I welcome the chance to share my life with ye with all my heart. I promise to support ye, honor ye, and cherish ye through good days and bad, disaster and prosperity, sickness and health, for the rest of my days.”

“And with these vows…”

Conall let the priest’s words wash over him once more.

Another short speech, and then Emily stepped forward to drape a sash in the colors of Clan MacKane around Brigid’s shoulders. The priest said another blessing, this time over the newly unified couple and their future life together. Then, finally, he uttered the words Conall had been waiting for since he’d seen Brigid walking down the aisle toward him.

“Ye may now kiss yer bride.”

Conall wrapped Brigid in his embrace and captured her mouth with his own, fully immersing himself in her. The scent of heather and flowers in her hair, the taste of honey and wine in her mouth, and the feel of her body against his threatened to set his blood aflame.

Brigid made a soft noise in the back of her throat, eager, accepting as his tongue delved deep into the warmth of her mouth. Her hands clutched at his arms, pulling him closer, pulling them together until her breasts and thighs were almost molded to his body.

A cough and a boot delivered with cautious force to his calf reminded Conall that they were not alone. Reluctantly, he released Brigid. She stared up at him, dazed, her lips reddened and her cheeks flushed with their shared passion. Then, she blinked, and her cheeks reddened further as she came to the same realization.

“Och…”

“Later,” Conall whispered in a hoarse voice, then turned to face the assembled witnesses and offered her his arm.

“I give ye Laird and Lady MacKane!” the priest said from behind them.

Conall stepped forward with Brigid’s arm in his and his heart lighter than it had ever been.

Brigid felt as though she was drifting in a dream. Conall’s kiss at the altar had cast a pleasant haze over everything, and she almost thought she was floating as they walked toward the Great Hall, where the wedding feast would be held.

Lady MacKane. She was Lady MacKane. She had a husband. But more than that, for the first time in her life, she had a clan—an identity beyond Brigid Blackwood, the pirate’s daughter. A clan that might claim her sisters as well and grant them protection for the first time in their lives.

It was a heady thought, and one she felt sure she would never get used to.

No more trying to smile while villagers mocked her and berated her for her father’s reputation. No more wariness, afraid that at any time, they might be attacked. Her sisters would no longer have to fend for themselves, alone against the rest of the Highlands.

Conall led her into the hall, then pulled back her seat for her. “Ye look happy,” he said, his eyes soft as he looked down at her.

“I am.” She smiled up at him, her heart nearly overflowing at the sight of him. Her husband.

The words seemed so surreal. And yet she wore a sash made of MacKane tartan—proof that she was awake and not dreaming, that she belonged to someone at last.

Once the last member of the High Table was seated, maids brought pitchers and poured drinks—wine in goblets for the ladies and ale in tankards for the men. When all the drinks were poured, Oliver stood up to give the traditional first toast.

Brigid watched as Conall’s brother rose from his seat, her stomach twisting with nerves at what he might say.

Although Oliver’s eyes flicked in her direction, there was none of the antagonism he usually showed her in them. Instead, he turned to the crowded hall and raised his tankard.

“To the health and prosperity of Laird MacKane and his bride,” he said.

A simple toast that was, nevertheless, followed immediately by a resounding cheer that filled the air, punctuated by the clanking of tankards and the softer, more delicate chime of wine goblets. It was followed by a moment of silence as everyone drank. Then, servants began to bring in the food, and the wedding feast began.

Brigid thought she’d become accustomed to the larger meals at MacKane Castle, which were so different from the family meals she was accustomed to, but the wedding feast was beyond anything she’d ever imagined.

Baskets of freshly baked bread, accompanied by smaller plates of smooth-churned butter. Wheels of cheese in multiple varieties were dotted here and there along the table, between the baskets of bread. There were large tureens of leek, herb, and potato stew, and bowls filled with watercress and freshly washed greens. Other shallow trays were filled with roasted vegetables and seasoned potatoes.

The main platters on each table held roasted pig and sliced venison roasts. Smaller trays and platters held chickens and pheasants, stuffed with breading and chestnuts and seasonings. Between the trays of meat stood small pitchers filled with rich, dark gravy that made Brigid’s mouth water.

The tables groaned under the weight of the food, leaving the servants to carry pitchers and bottles to the wedding party and the guests. There was wine and tea for the ladies, ale and mead for the men, and cordial for the young lads and lasses from the village, and the other castle residents who were attending the feast.

Brigid had scarcely begun to consider what was offered when Conall handed her a bowl of the soup, then took her plate and began to fill it for her. Bread, some of each meat, but more of the chicken and roast pig—far rarer on her family’s table than game meat—and a little of each cheese. Plenty of roast vegetables and potatoes.

“He certainly takes care of ye,” Lily murmured approvingly from her other side. “’Tis good to see.”

“He does that.” Brigid smiled at her sister, then took the plate Conall offered her. “Thank ye.”

The food was delicious, and Brigid enjoyed it to the fullest, glad to see that her sisters were enjoying the meal as well. It was the first time they had ever attended such a feast, and they laughed and chattered together merrily.

The hall was filled with the low hum of voices, broken by the higher tones of laughing children and the sounds of adult merriment. Brigid watched the people at the lower tables, marveling at the fact that they were her people now—her clan.

The candles burned, sending up smoke scented with cedar, heather, and sage. The platters, bowls, and baskets slowly emptied. Finally, when most of the food was gone, servants began to move the lower tables, making space for dancing. Several individuals collected instruments and prepared to play music.

Brigid felt her heart pounding in anticipation. Her mother had taught them how to dance—she remembered that much from her childhood—but neither she nor her sisters had ever had much occasion to do so, outside of occasional family celebrations. No one ever invited them to village dances, and even at the seasonal festivals, they were rarely able to join in.

The last of the tables were moved, and the rushes were swept. Brigid shared a glance with Conall, who shook his head and then smiled at her sisters. The four of them rose from their seats, smiling in happy anticipation of the evening to come.

Before they could move toward the area that had been cleared for dancing, however, the doors to the Great Hall opened with a bang, and three men strode into the room, their stern expressions suggesting that this was no social visit and that they were certainly not there to pay their respects to the bride and groom.

All at once, the atmosphere in the hall changed from one of celebration and merriment to one of fear and anger.

Brigid tensed up as she heard the wave of angry muttering that accompanied the appearance of the men. Conall stiffened beside her. Then, with a shock that made her feel sick to the stomach, she recognized the older man in the lead.

Laird Auchter came to a stop directly in front of Brigid and Conall and offered them a mocking bow and a sardonic smile. “Laird MacKane. Lady MacKane. I’ve come to offer ye my congratulations on yer wedding.”