Page 47 of The Laird’s Dangerous Prize (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #1)

"Ye look beautiful, sister," Aileen said softly, adjusting the folds of the arisaid. Her youngest sister had recovered well from their ordeal, though shadows still sometimes crossed her eyes.

Clan members had gathered from across the Highlands for the wedding of Isolde MacAlpin and Ciaran MacCraith. It had been a month since Wallace's defeat, time enough for the wounded to heal and for proper wedding preparations to be made according to ancient Highland tradition.

In the castle's great hall, Isolde stood before her sisters as they helped her dress.

The wedding gown had belonged to her mother—cream-colored silk with intricate Celtic knotwork embroidered in gold thread around the bodice and sleeves.

Over it, she would wear the MacAlpin arisaid, the great plaid of her clan, pinned at the shoulder with the ancient brooch that had been worn by MacAlpin brides for generations.

"Like a queen," added Isla, her auburn hair gleaming as she wove white heather into Isolde's dark locks. "Ciaran MacCraith is the luckiest man in all of Scotland."

Lorna, ever the artist, stepped back to survey their work with a critical eye. "Perfect. Though I still say ye should let me paint yer portrait before the ceremony."

"There'll be time fer that later," Isolde said, though her voice was tight with emotion.

In all the preparations, the joy, there was still an empty space where Rhona should have been.

Her wild-hearted sister remained missing, taken by raiders months ago, and though they'd searched everywhere, no trace had been found.

"She would have wanted ye tae be happy," Aileen said gently, reading her thoughts. "Wherever she is."

A knock at the door interrupted them. "Me ladies," came a maid’s voice from the corridor, "it's time."

In the courtyard below, the wedding party had assembled according to ancient custom.

Laird Alistair MacAlpin stood proud in his ceremonial plaid, the silver threads in his beard catching the morning light.

Beside him waited Fenella MacCraith, Ciaran's formidable aunt, her grey eyes bright with approval as she surveyed the gathered clans.

"A fine match," she murmured to Alistair. "Me nephew has chosen well."

"As has me daughter," Alistair replied. "Ciaran MacCraith is a man of honor."

The pipers began to play, their haunting melody echoing off the stone walls as the wedding procession formed.

Finlay, resplendent in MacCraith colors, stood as groomsman beside Ciaran, who wore his finest plaid of green and blue with the ceremonial dirk at his side.

His dark hair was bound back with a leather cord, and his green eyes never left the castle entrance where his bride would appear.

Tavish MacAlpin, the clan's war leader, carried the ceremonial sword that would be used in the handfasting, while Duncan MacLeod bore the ancient cup from which the couple would drink.

Other familiar faces filled the courtyard whose lives had been touched by the alliance between MacCraith and MacAlpin.

Then the great doors opened, and Isolde appeared.

A collective intake of breath rippled through the assembled crowd. She moved with regal grace, her sisters flanking her as she made her way to where Ciaran waited. The MacAlpin plaid flowed behind her like water, and the ancient silver circlet on her brow caught the light with each step.

When she reached him, Ciaran's face transformed with wonder and love. " Mo chridhe ," he whispered, taking her hands in his.

Father McKenzie, the elderly priest who'd served for decades, stepped forward to begin the ceremony. But first came the ancient Highland traditions that bound not just the couple, but their clans.

"We gather taeday," the priest intoned, his voice carrying clearly across the courtyard, "nay merely tae witness the joining of two hearts, but the forging of an alliance between two great clans. Let all who stand here bear witness tae this union."

Laird Alistair stepped forward, the MacAlpin ceremonial sword in his hands. "I give me daughter Isolde tae Clan MacCraith, that she may find happiness and bring honor tae both our houses."

The priest from MacCraith clan answered in kind. "And I welcome her tae our clan, that she may be daughter, sister, and eventually mother tae MacCraiths yet tae come."

The pipe music swelled as Ciaran and Isolde moved to the center of the circle.

Following tradition, they each took a strip of their clan's plaid—his of MacCraith green and blue, hers of MacAlpin red and gold.

Father McKenzie bound their hands together with both pieces of cloth, the colors intertwining like their lives would from this day forward.

"By the binding of these plaids," the priest declared, "so are ye bound together. Let nay man put asunder what God and clan have joined."

Ciaran's voice was strong and clear as he spoke his vows. "I, Ciaran MacCraith, take ye, Isolde MacAlpin, tae be me wife before God and clan. I pledge tae protect ye, tae provide fer ye, tae honor ye above all others. Me sword is yers, me lands are yers, me heart is yers until the day I die."

Isolde's voice rang just as clearly across the courtyard.

"I, Isolde MacAlpin, take ye, Ciaran MacCraith, tae be me husband before God and clan.

I pledge tae stand beside ye, tae support ye, tae love ye through all trials.

Me loyalty is yers, me strength is yers, me heart is yers until the day I die. "

Finlay stepped forward with the ceremonial cup, filled with wine from both clans' cellars mixed together. Ciaran drank first, then passed it to Isolde, the ancient ritual symbolizing their willingness to share all things, bitter and sweet alike.

"By the power vested in me by God and the Holy Kirk," Father McKenzie proclaimed, "I pronounce ye husband and wife. May yer union bring peace tae yer clans and joy tae yer hearts."

The cheer that rose from the assembled crowd could probably be heard in the next valley. Pipes skirled, drums beat, and voices raised in celebration as Ciaran pulled Isolde into his arms for their first kiss as husband and wife.

"I love ye, Lady MacCraith," he murmured against her lips.

"And I love ye, me laird, me husband," she replied, her heart so full she thought it might burst.

As the formal ceremony concluded, the celebration moved to the great hall, which had been transformed for the wedding feast. Long tables groaned under the weight of roasted venison, fresh salmon, bannocks, and honeyed cakes.

Ale and whisky flowed freely, and the hall rang with laughter, music, and the ancient toasts of the Highland clans.

Finlay rose to give the first toast, his cup raised high. "Tae Ciaran and Isolde MacCraith! May their marriage be blessed with love, their lands with prosperity, and their union with many fine children!"

" Sláinte !" came the rousing response from every throat.

As the evening wore on, Isolde found herself swept up in the joy of it all. She danced with her new husband, with her father, with Finlay and Tavish and all the men who'd fought beside them. Her sisters laughed and sang, their faces bright with happiness despite Rhona's absence.

During a quiet moment, Elspeth approached her new mistress. "Welcome tae the family, lass," she said warmly. "Ye've made an old servant very happy. Now me laird will be happy at last. I can see the love between ye two—it shines like a beacon."

"Thank ye fer accepting me," Isolde replied. "I know I'm gaining nae just a husband, but a whole new family."

"Aye, and we're the richer fer it." Elspeth's eyes twinkled. "Now, about grandchildren..."

Isolde laughed, her cheeks coloring. "We've only just been wed!"

"Details," Elspeth waved dismissively. "Mark me words, by next year's harvest festival, there'll be a new MacCraith bairn tae spoil. When ye're settled, I have some herbs ready fer ye."

As the night deepened and the celebration continued, Ciaran found his bride on the castle's battlements, looking out over the moonlit Highland landscape. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, and she leaned back against his chest.

"Are ye happy, mo chridhe ?" he asked softly.

"Happier than I ever dared dream," she replied. "Although I canne be fully happy until we find Rhona."

"We'll find her," Ciaran promised. "We'll bring her home."

"Aye," Isolde agreed, then turned in his arms to face him. "But taenight is fer us. Fer our beginning."

"Our beginning," he echoed, before claiming her lips in a kiss that tasted of wine and promises and all the love that would carry them through whatever the future might bring.

Below them, the celebration continued, the ancient halls of MacAlpin castle ringing with joy as two clans became one, and two hearts became whole.

One Year Later

The first pain hit Isolde, doubling her over in the castle's great hall. She gripped the edge of the oak table, her knuckles white as the contraction seized her.

"Me lady!" Martha, one of the serving women, rushed to her side. "Is it time?"

Isolde couldn't speak through the pain. When it finally eased, she straightened slowly, one hand pressed to her swollen belly. "Fetch me husband. And send fer hot water and fresh linens."

But even as the girl hurried away, another pain struck—stronger, more urgent. Isolde's water broke in a rush, soaking her skirts and the stone floor beneath her feet.

"Christ," she whispered, panic fluttering in her chest. This was happening too fast.

Ciaran found her doubled over again, fighting not to cry out. "Isolde!" He was at her side instantly, his strong arms supporting her. "How long?"

"Just started," she gasped. "But something's wrong. It's too quick—" Another contraction cut off her words, and this time she couldn't hold back a groan.

"The healer?" Ciaran asked as he helped her toward the stairs.

"In the village with old Daniel’s wife—she's been laboring fer two days." Isolde panted, leaning heavily against him. "There's nay time, Ciaran. The baby's coming now."