Page 33 of The Highlander’s Illicit Bride (Wicked Highland Lairds #1)

T hings moved fast after Isolde spoke to the Council and the day of the wedding had arrived.

Struan didn’t know how Isolde did it, but she had accessed parts of his mind and heart he never thought existed.

And she’d done it without even trying. There was just something about her that compelled Struan to be open with her.

Isolde filled him with wild and untamed energy.

It pushed him. Inspired him. But more than anything, it made him seek to be a better man.

To think of the whole rather than his specific wants or needs.

She had shown him a new way to see not just the world around him, but a new way to see himself too.

Struan’s mind continued to spin with everything going on as he searched the castle for Isolde. She hadn’t been in her bedchamber. She hadn’t been taking breakfast in the dining room or the great hall. And she wasn’t with Mairi. The more he searched, the more he began to worry.

Did somethin’ happen tae her? Did somebody take her?

The thought sent a white-hot bolt of fear straight through his heart.

Struan rushed to the front doors of the castle and turned to the guard who stood post. “Have ye seen Lady Isolde?” he asked, a note of panic tinging his voice. “Has she come out through these doors this mornin’?”

“Aye, me laird,” the guard replied. “She went out intae the stables about half an hour ago.”

The wave of relief that washed through his veins was instant and profound.

Of course she was in the stables. She was probably out with Skye, the mare he’d gifted her a few days back.

It was a way for him to show her how much he wanted to make her feel at home.

And the mare seemed very fond of her, they grew on each other almost instantly.

He gave the guard a nod. “Thank ye.”

“Of course, me laird.”

Struan walked down the stone steps and across the yard, heading toward the stables.

As he approached, he heard Isolde’s voice coming from deeper within.

He cocked his head, curious about who she might be speaking with.

Moving slowly and quietly, Struan stopped just inside the doorway and pressed his back to the wall, listening to her voice.

It took him but a moment to realize she wasn’t speaking to anybody but herself.

She’s rehearsing her vows fer the wedding.

The earnestness in her voice warmed his heart and brought a smile to his face. Struan decided to give Isolde some privacy and turned to leave, but bumped into a barrel behind him, sending the tools that sat on top clattering to the ground.

“Who’s there?” Isolde called.

“Bleedin’ hell,” he muttered to himself through gritted teeth.

Running a hand through his hair, he stepped out of his hiding spot and raised a hand to Isolde, a small grin on his lips.

She was three-quarters of the way down the rows of stalls, standing before Skye, as he’d thought.

And when Isolde saw that it was him, her face immediately grew bright red.

She cleared her throat and patted her hair.

“How long have ye been lurkin’ back there then, eh?” she asked.

“I wasnae lurkin’,” he said.

The look on her face told Struan she did not believe him. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him with a sour expression, but her cheeks continued to burn bright red.

“And how much did ye hear?” she asked.

“Nae much,” Struan said.

She threw her hands in the air and sighed, although he thought she sounded more embarrassed than furious. It made him smile wider, but he had to choke back the laugh that bubbled up in his throat. No sense in adding anger to the mix.

“What are ye daein’ out here, anyway?” he asked.

“As if ye dinnae ken already.”

Struan laughed and walked over to where she stood. He looked up at the big mare who stared back at him with what he thought looked like reproach on her face. Struan smiled and stroked the horse’s muzzle then turned back to Isolde. She planted her fists on her hips and stared at him.

“It sounded tae me like ye were practicin’ yer vows,” he finally said.

“Aye. I was,” she admitted, her cheeks bright scarlet.

“They sounded beautiful.”

“They didnae,” she huffed. “They sound terrible. Trite. I sound like a bairn playin’ at love instead of a woman about tae be married.”

Struan stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. She melted against him and turned her face up to him.

Her look nearly stopped his heart and the beauty of her sweet, kind face sent a shudder of pleasure running through him.

He leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on her lips then pulled back and stared into her eyes.

“Ye didnae sound like a bairn playin’ at love,” he told her as he put his hands on her waist. “Ye were eloquent.”

She scoffed but leaned into his touch. “Hardly.”

“’Tis true. Compared tae me, ye were brilliant.”

She rolled her eyes, and her right hand traced a path on his cheek that left fire in its wake. “Compared tae ye, a tree stump is downright loquacious.”

Struan laughed and moved even closer, stealing a taste of her lips. “Would ye like me tae help ye rehearse yer vows?”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Nae. Skye is daein’ just fine as me audience.”

“I’m sure she is,” he replied with a laugh. “But I’d like tae hear yer vows.”

“And ye will. Just nae yet,” she said and pressed her head to his chest as she gripped the front of his tunic. “I just want everythin’ tae go right today.”

“Well, one thing has already gone right fer ye already.”

She turned her face up to him. “And what’s that?”

He flashed her a crooked grin. “Ye chose the right man tae wed.”

Her laughter was like music. No, it was more like magic as it rang in his ears. The way she shined never failed to lift his heart to heights he never knew it could reach. It was truly magic. He was entranced by her. Bewitched. And nothing in the entire world could have made him happier.

“Ye need tae go now and let me finish me work,” she said.

Struan grinned and turned to the horse, who stood with her head over the stall door. “Ye make sure she’s nae late fer our weddin’ or we’ll be havin’ roasted horse fer our banquet.”

Isolde squealed with laughter and slapped his arm as Skye stamped her hoof and snorted.

Struan grinned at her then pulled her to him again.

He leaned down and kissed her again, slipping his tongue past her teeth and reveling in the warmth and wetness of her mouth.

The fires inside of him burned hotter and as she leaned into him, Struan felt himself growing aroused.

She finally pulled back, staring at him like she’d been dazed. It was a feeling he knew all too well. He yearned to be with her again. To feel her naked flesh pressed to his. He longed to be deep inside of her, feeling her warm, wet sex clenched tight around him.

“Ye should go,” she said, her voice trembling. “I really want tae finish.”

“Aye,” he said.

Her blue eyes cut straight through to Struan’s heart, sending an electric jolt like lightning through him. He smiled and gave her another quick peck then turned and headed out of the stable, searching for a bucket of cold water to dunk his head into.

“This dress is beautiful,” Isolde said reverently as she gently touched the lace collar.

“A beautiful dress fer a beautiful bride,” Mairi said as she buttoned up the back of it.

“How was it made so quickly?”

“We have very talented seamstresses.”

Isolde stared at herself in the looking glass in awe. The silk and lace gown clung to her form enticingly. It was beautiful, more than any gown she ever imagined she would wear. And the fact that it had been made so swiftly made it all the more incredible. She shook her head and smiled.

Mairi finished buttoning her into the gown, then checked her hair before stepping back and giving her a long, appraising look.

“What dae ye think?” Isolde asked.

“I think ye look perfect,” she replied. “And I think me braither made a fine choice fer a bride.”

Isolde’s cheeks colored as warmth exploded in her cheeks. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

“Are ye ready?”

“As ready as I’m ever goin’ tae be.”

With a broad smile, Mairi took her hand and together, they left her bedchamber.

Half a dozen chambermaids, all dressed in simple but beautiful dresses accompanied them down the corridor and to the family dining hall.

Isolde thought the smaller size and intimacy of the chamber made it the perfect choice to hold their wedding in.

She also thought being married there, in the presence of all their ancestors—most especially his cherished sister Rhona—would be good for him.

The doors opened as they approached and the chambermaids spread out as they entered.

The table they’d shared meals at had been removed and had been replaced by enough chairs to seat the Council, who all turned to her and stood as she entered.

They all wore pleasant smiles and gave her a respectful bow.

Struan stood at the far end of the aisle, just below the portrait of his sister, that had been hung there for the occasion. Ewan stood beside Struan, both in their finest kilts and tartans and a priest stood on a small dais behind him.

“Come,” Mairi said gently.

She took Isolde’s hand and walked her down the aisle.

All the while, Isolde felt physically incapable of taking her eyes off Struan.

He was clean shaven, his hair tied back, beautiful with all the traits Isolde had ever wanted in a man when she considered marriage as a lass.

She was tempted to pinch herself, just to make sure it was all true and not some fever dream.

They reached the head of the aisle and Mairi let go of her hand and stepped aside, leaving Isolde standing before him. Struan reached out and took her hands in his, a smile curling the corners of his mouth.

The clan’s priest cleared his throat. “We have gathered today tae celebrate thae bonds of love and marriage. Tae celebrate this union between Struan Cameron and Isolde Mackintosh,” he intoned. “Are ye both ready tae commit yer lives tae one another?”

Never taking his eyes from hers, Struan nodded. “Aye. I am.”

Isolde smiled. “Aye.”

“Good,” the priest said and smiled. “Then let’s begin.”