Page 22 of Most Ardently (Return to Culloden Moor #5)
In the village of Brigadunn, the arched doorway of the small church was transformed by fat bundles of white heather. Sunlight spilled through stained glass windows, casting jewel-toned patterns across walls and faces alike. To Violet, standing on the threshold, it was a magical moment in a magical place, which she would remember for always.
Alder Cottsweather, her eldest brother who had traveled from Edinburgh upon receiving the news, offered her his arm, to escort her down the aisle. He took his duty seriously, as he did most matters, but he gave her a smile and a wink to reiterate his approval of her impending nuptials.
“Father would be proud,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion. “Not for the treasure you found, but for the woman you are.”
Violet squeezed his arm gratefully. She wore a gown of pale green silk—one of Mercy's gifts, subtly altered by her mother's skilled hands. Instead of diamonds or pearls, her sisters had woven violets and heather into her hair, a crown more meaningful than any jewels could ever be.
The sanctuary held only family and their closest friends. Marigold, Primrose, Iris, and Mother watched from the front pew, dabbing discreetly at their eyes with lace handkerchiefs saved from better days.
Lord and Lady Ashmoore sat nearby, their presence a testament to the transformation in their relationship with the Cottsweather family. Connor and Mercy Grey sat beside North and Livvy. Harcourt and Henley with Stanley and Georgetta.
Violet saw only Louis as she moved down the aisle. He stood tall beside the vicar, his eyes never leaving her face as she approached. The formal morning coat emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, but it was the quiet certainty in his expression that made her heart quicken. This was no practical arrangement, no marriage of convenience—this was a union forged through adventure, cemented by trust, and anchored in love.
Rochester had been right. She was a lucky woman.
The ceremony was brief but wonderful. When Louis spoke his vows, his voice carried through the small church with unwavering conviction. Violet's response was equally steady, her promise made not in haste or desperation, but with clear-eyed certainty.
“I, Louis Alexander Condiff, Baron Astley, take thee, Violet Eleanor Cottsweather...”
As their hands joined, Violet felt the ornate key's imprint in her memory—that first discovery that had unlocked not just a hidden box, but a pathway to Louis's heart. How fitting that a key had been the beginning of their journey, opening doors both literal and metaphorical.
When the vicar pronounced them husband and wife, Louis's kiss was like a promise sealed, a covenant made sure. The gathered company erupted in applause. Stanley shouted, “Well done, Astley!” Harcourt whistled sharply enough to make Henley swat his arm.
The wedding breakfast that followed at Durrafair transformed the once-shabby great hall into a scene of modest splendor. The discovery of the treasure had already begun to restore the estate—the roof no longer leaked, the gardens were being tamed, and the kitchen now produced meals that Mrs. Cottsweather proudly served to her distinguished guests.
North approached the newly married couple with a happy smile. “You found your treasure twice over, Lady Astley,” he said, raising his glass. “Most hunt their entire lives and find neither gold nor true companionship. You've secured both. Well done, indeed.”
When the time came for their departure, Violet and Louis stepped out into the golden afternoon sunshine to find their carriage decorated with ribbons and wildflowers, a small spectacle arranged by Violet's sisters.
“Where shall we go first?” Violet asked as Louis handed her into the carriage. Their wedding journey would take them through the Highlands before they settled in Edinburgh, but the specifics had been left to Louis's discretion.
“Wherever you wish,” he replied, taking the seat beside her. “The Highlands, the islands, the borders—all of Scotland awaits.”
The carriage began to move, gravel crunching beneath its wheels as they pulled away from Durrafair. Violet glanced back at the old stone house with its newly repaired roof. It would be waiting for their return, no longer a symbol of decay but a repository of both past treasures and future possibilities.
“I have something for you,” Louis said, drawing her attention back to him. From his coat, he produced a small package. “A wedding gift.”
Violet opened it carefully to find a journal bound in blue leather, its pages blank and waiting. Inside the cover, Louis had inscribed a single line in his precise handwriting: For the next chapter of our adventure.
“For recording our own tale,” Louis explained, his voice soft with emotion. “May it prove even more remarkable than buried treasure.”
Violet traced the smooth leather with her fingertips, remembering her father's journals, his careful notes, his unwavering belief in treasures yet unfound. “Our story thus far would already fill many pages.”
“And we have only just begun,” Louis replied, taking her hand in his.
She opened the journal to its first empty page, her fingers smoothing over the pristine paper.
“What shall you write first?” Louis asked, watching her with quiet affection.
Violet smiled, a gleam of mischief in her eyes. “Perhaps a tale about a knight in gleaming armor who mistakes a lady for a servant, pursues her through the corridors of a great house, and still somehow convinces her to marry him?”
“A most improbable story,” Louis agreed with a laugh. “Though I find I prefer our true tale, with all its imperfections and unexpected turns.”
“As do I,” Violet replied, closing the journal and leaning against his shoulder. “But sometimes, Louis, the old stories have more truth in them than we first imagine.”
The carriage topped a rise in the road, and Durrafair fell from view behind them. Ahead stretched the hills and lochs of Scotland, painted in shades of emerald and amethyst beneath the summer sky. Violet rested her head against Louis's shoulder, contentment flowing through her like warm honey.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“For what?”
“For seeing me. Truly seeing me, even when I was disguised as someone else.”
Louis's arm tightened around her. “I believe I began to love you the moment you stood in that corridor, refusing to be intimidated despite being caught where you shouldn't be.”
“And I you,” Violet admitted, “when you chose to help rather than expose me.”
The carriage continued northward, carrying them toward the Highlands and the future they would write together, one page at a time. Behind them, Durrafair stood sentinel on its gentle rise, its ancient rafters—once keepers of tangible treasure—now guardians of something far more precious: the memory of two people who had found in each other what they never knew to seek.
A treasure beyond gold, beyond titles, beyond measure.
A treasure called home.