Page 29 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire (Kilted Kisses #2)

One month later…

The sun was shining brightly, the heather and the flowers of the garden in full bloom. Even the gray-washed stones of MacTavish Keep shone brighter in the late spring-early summer sunlight. Ewan watched the sunlight from the window of his study.

“Tis a lovely day.” Ewan turned as Alistair joined him at the window. “Are ye ready?”

Ewan smiled wryly. He was wearing a new shirt, white linen decorated with bands of MacTavish color. His kilt and sash were MacTavish colors as well, and around his neck, he wore the torc of his newly appointed lairdship.

As of a fortnight ago, he was officially Laird MacTavish. Alistair’s equal now, until the day he perished. He was still getting used to the idea that he was a laird, and no longer a MacDuff.

And soon, within the next two candle-marks, he would also be a married man. “I dinnae ken if I’m ready, but I welcome the change.”

Alistair chuckled. “Aye. I felt the same way the day I married Niamh.”

Ewan sipped at the drink Alistair handed him. “How is Niamh?”

“Ready tae deliver the babe any day, according tae her. She’s nae in any great temper, but between yer betrothed, Catriona, and Sorcha MacBeth, she’s more comfortable than she might be.” Alistair paused. “Yer lady seems tae be quite friendly with Sorcha MacBeth.”

“Aye.” Ewan agreed.

Grace’s friendship with the witch of MacDuff Clan had come as a surprise to Ewan, and yet, he couldn’t deny the benefits of it. Sorcha had begun teaching Grace herb lore, legends and various crafts of her trade, and under her teaching, Grace had blossomed. The friendship had also drawn Sorcha out of her isolation.

She would always be mysterious and otherworldly, and perhaps slightly frightening so far as Ewan was concerned, but he could also see the warmth that lay beneath the veneer of the power Sorcha MacBeth carried.

There was a knock on the door, and Devlin walked in. “M’lairds, the priest is here, and the musicians as well. We’re almost ready tae perform the ceremony.”

Ewan felt his mouth go dry. He sipped the drink in his hand, then drained the rest of it, grimacing at the burn of whisky in his throat. Alistair laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on braither. ‘Tis time.”

Ewan followed his brother down to the well-lit hall that was decorated to serve as the place for the wedding ceremony to take place. He and Grace had considered holding the ceremony out in the garden, but Grace had wanted to make sure Niamh was as comfortable as possible. The Lady MacDuff was over seven moons pregnant, and unable to stand very long or walk very far. She and Alistair had actually come using a modified carriage, rather than on horseback.

Grace’s uncle, on the other hand, had outright refused. Grace hadn’t shared the letter her uncle had sent in reply to her announcement that she was marrying a Highland laird, but Ewan knew the man had refused to attend his niece’s wedding. Grace had been sad, but when he’d asked, she’d smiled and kissed his cheek, and said it mattered very little to her.

Ewan took a deep breath and walked up to the altar to stand beside the priest who would perform the ceremony. Alistair, Devlin and Malcolm came to stand beside him as his witnesses. On the other side of the carpet, Niamh waited by a chair placed so she could sit whenever she needed to do so. The bagpipes began to play, and Ewan turned toward the door, his heart hammering in anticipation.

Then Grace appeared, and Ewan forgot to breathe.

Grace surveyed the fit of the dress she, Sorcha, and Niamh had made. It was soft, cream-colored linen, decorated with embroidery of MacTavish colors and small tracings of symbols in purple.

Purple, the color of mysticism. A color Sorcha said she was gifted enough to wear. She would never be as powerful as the witch of MacDuff Clan, but she had her own gifts of intuition and healing.

She wondered what her uncle would have thought of such things. The thought brought a pang of sadness, as it had ever since she’d received her uncle’s reply to her letter telling him of her plans to wed Ewan.

Her uncle had not only refused to come to the wedding, but had declared that she was officially disinherited, cast out from the Lancaster family. She might have regretted it more, but she was too full of joy for what had come afterward, and for what she was walking toward.

Niamh had claimed her for Clan Cameron. She would walk down the aisle as Clan Cameron’s adopted daughter, and then into her new life as Lady MacTavish, wife of Laird Ewan MacTavish, formally MacDuff. Knowing that, her uncle’s rejection did not sting as sharply as it might have otherwise.

“Are ye ready?” Sorcha’s melodious voice made her turn. She’d originally hoped that Niamh would walk beside her, but her friend was so large with child, Grace had suggested she wait with the officiant instead.

Catriona joined them, standing as Grace’s third witness. She had been helping Sorcha teach Grace healing, and in the process, the four ladies had formed what promised to be a strong friendship. To Grace’s delight, Sorcha had begun to join them, not only at her cottage in the wooded glen where she lived, but also at MacDuff Castle and MacTavish Keep.

Together, the three of them gathered their small bouquets of heather and fresh flowers, then made their way to the meeting hall that had been decorated with more heather and flowers as the ceremony chapel. Anne, serving as one of the door watchers, knocked on the door. On the other side, bagpipes began to play, and the door opened.

Grace began to walk toward the altar, but her eyes were drawn to one figure. Ewan, resplendent in the colors of MacTavish clan, the torc of a laird gleaming at his throat. His brother stood beside him, along with Devlin and Malcolm.

Ewan’s eyes widened when he saw her, and Grace blushed when she saw Alistair prod his brother in the ribs. A smile blossomed across her face as she realized he was staring at her, as entranced by her as she was by him.

Then she was at the altar, and Ewan held out his hand to take hers, and the music faded away.

Ewan took Grace’s slim hand in his own, his heart hammering. The music faded into silence, and the priest cleared his throat. “Who comes this day tae be wed?”

Ewan cleared his throat in turn. “I, Laird Ewan MacDuff-MacTavish, dae come this day tae be wed.”

Grace tipped her head up to meet his gaze, her smile brilliant and warm. “I, Grace Lancaster Cameron, dae come this day tae be wed.”

“And who comes tae stand as witness fer each o’ these persons?”

Alistair stepped forward. “I, Laird Alistair MacDuff, stand fer Laird Ewan MacDuff-MacTavish, who is me braither.”

Niamh stood and hobbled forward. “I, Niamh MacDuff, stand fer Lady Grace Cameron, who is me sister in heart.”

“Then I bid ye join hands, Grace and Ewan, as ye wish tae be joined in bonds o’ marriage here taeday.” Ewan tightened his grip around Grace’s fingers.

The priest began to intone a prayer. Ewan tried to stay focused on the words, but his attention kept straying to the radiant woman at his side.

Words were spoken. The witnesses attested to their character. Another prayer was intoned. Then “Laird MacDuff-MacTavish, ye may recite yer vows.”

Ewan took a deep breath. “Grace Lancaster Cameron, I love ye. Ye are the sun in the sky, and there’s nay one I would rather spend the rest o’ me days with. I promise tae serve as yer shield, yer sword, tae stand with ye in love, laughter, joy and sorrow, sickness and health, wealth and poverty, from now until beyond the veil o’ death.”

“Lady Grace, ye may recite yer vows.”

Grace inhaled, smiling into his eyes. “Ewan MacDuff-MacTavish, I love ye. Ye are the sun in the sky, and there’s none I would rather spend the rest o’ my days with. I promise to be the hearth for you to return to, to stand with you in love, laughter, joy and sorrow, sickness and health, wealth and poverty, from now until beyond the veil o’ death.”

The priest blessed both of them.

Then the words he had been waiting eagerly to hear. “By the power vested in me by all the Greater Powers that exist in this world and the next, I pronounce ye husband and wife. Laird MacDuff-MacTavish, ye may seal yer bond with a kiss.”

He leaned forward and claimed Grace’s lips with his own.

The ceremony passed in a bit of a blur. Grace managed to focus enough to recite her vows at the proper time, but the rest of the time, her attention was focused on Ewan.

He was so handsome, and he looked so regal dressed in MacTavish colors, the torc of lairdship around his neck. Her heart felt light, filled with love and joy. She scarcely noticed as her sash of Cameron colors was replaced with one of MacTavish colors, to match her dress.

Then the priest spoke again. “Laird MacDuff-MacTavish, ye may seal yer bond with a kiss.”

Ewan’s lips claimed hers, tasting of whisky and warmth. His mouth was strong and sure, and his kiss made her body sing, heat flooding her veins as she leaned close to deepen the kiss. She could happily have melted into his arms, had Niamh not coughed to remind her that there were witnesses.

She stepped back, cheeks glowing with joy and laughter. “I suppose we must stop scandalizing our guests.”

“I suppose we must.” Ewan chuckled. “An’ the priest.”

“Aye.” Grace grinned smugly at her ability to speak with the proper Highland accent. “An’ the priest.”

Together, they two of them turned to face their witnesses, and the council, who had come to celebrate their laird’s marriage. A small distance from Niamh, Elspeth MacTavish stood with her son. Both were wearing new clothing, and over the past moon, they’d both become much less quiet and timid.

And, if Grace’s intuition was correct, there might even be a budding romance between Malcolm and Gael’s former wife. With her husband in the king’s gaol, Elspeth MacTavish was free to seek another’s arms. Grace hoped with all her heart that the woman would find happiness, and her son would find a man to look up to, whether it was Malcolm or another.

“Assembled witnesses o’ MacTavish and allied clans, I give ye the Laird and Lady MacTavish.”

Ewan offered her his arm, and together, the two of them strode from the chapel, amid the cheers of the assembled clan-folk. To one side, Grace saw Sorcha smiling in satisfaction, and knew, without a shred of doubt, that she had found the destiny the witch had spoken of.

After so long searching and avoiding her uncle’s machinations, Grace knew she’d finally come home.

But there’s more…