T he skies above the Highlands were clear, touched by a soft golden hue as the late sun filtered through the clouds. A hush fell over the gathered clans as Alexandra stood on the heather-strewn hilltop, her heart beating like a drum in her chest.
She wore a gown of deep ivory, the color of old parchment, with embroidered thistles stitched in silver thread along the hem and sleeves.
Her hair was half-plaited, woven with lavender and heather, and a soft woolen shawl of Sinclair tartan draped around her shoulders—a nod to the family she came from, and the one she was joining.
Nicholas stood waiting near the stone altar, his own tartan pinned across his shoulder with a brooch that bore the O’Donnell crest. His eyes never left her as she stepped toward him, each footfall as sure as the promise in her heart.
Charles stood beside him proudly, wearing a small version of the O’Donnell colors, beaming up at her with wide eyes.
The clan gathered in a wide circle, dressed in their finest, with the breeze carrying the scent of pine and earth as the clergyman lifted his hands.
“We gather here beneath sky and stone,” the old man began, his voice strong and rich with Highland rhythm, “to witness the joinin’ of Nicholas, son of O’Donnell, and Alexandra, daughter of Sinclair, in the sacred bond of matrimony.
Before kin and country, before wind and water, they pledge their hearts and fates to one another. ”
Nicholas took Alexandra’s hands, his calloused fingers warm and steady around hers. The clergyman draped a length of braided tartan—O’Donnell and Sinclair colors woven together—over their joined hands.
“This is the handfastin’,” he said. “A bond stronger than iron, softer than silk, and held together by love.”
Nicholas looked into her eyes, and his voice was rough with emotion.
“I pledge to stand by ye, through fire and frost, in laughter and sorrow. I will guard ye, cherish ye, and love ye, all the days of me life. Ye are me strength, me peace, and the beating of me heart.”
Tears welled in Alexandra’s eyes, but her voice held firm.
“I vow to walk beside ye, nae behind, nae before. I will share yer burdens and yer joys, and I will love ye as fiercely as the wild hills love the wind. Ye are me match, me shield, and the fire in me soul. And I vow to be yers now and always.”
The clergyman nodded solemnly and wrapped the tartan knot, binding their hands gently but firmly.
“Then by the old ways and the new, by earth, sky, and blood, I declare ye husband and wife. May yer days be long and yer love ever stronger.”
A cheer burst from the crowd, echoing across the hillside.
Nicholas pulled Alexandra to him without hesitation and kissed her, the crowd erupting with laughter and applause.
The kiss was firm and sure, the seal of a promise made with no doubts in either heart.
When they parted, Alexandra rested her brow to his, breathless with joy.
The pipes began to play then, and Charles ran to her, flinging his arms around her waist. “Maither,” he said proudly, eyes shining, and Alexandra knelt to hold him close.
“Aye, me sweet lad,” she said, her voice thick. “And I’m honored to be.”
Nicholas lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “Lady O’Donnell,” he whispered with a grin, “I’ll nae let a day pass where ye regret this.”
Alexandra laughed softly, standing tall beside him. “Ye could try, but I daresay ye’d fail.”
The handfasting cord still bound them, and neither was in a hurry to undo it. Nicholas and Alexandra lingered, suspended in that perfect moment between vows spoken and the rest of their lives unfolding. The Highland wind stirred her skirts and shawl, and the sun lit the golden edge of the hills.
It was a union not only of hearts, but of clans—and it would hold fast, just like the knot between their hands.
The laughter of kin and kinsmen warmed the air as Alexandra stood beneath the fluttering Sinclair and O’Donnell banners, the braided handfasting cord still looped loosely about her wrist.
Caelan approached first, his expression tight as always, though the stiffness in his jaw gave way to a crooked smile.
“Well, sister,” he said, clasping her forearm and then Nicholas’s, “ye’ve gone and done it, haven’t ye?”
Alexandra smiled, her heart full to bursting, and gave her brother a pointed glance. “Aye, and not a moment too soon. I had to fight for it, but I’ve never been more certain.”
Caelan gave Nicholas a look that was half warning, half reluctant approval. “Ye break her heart, O’Donnell, and I’ll be forced to remind ye that I’ve bested fiercer men in duels and debates both.”
"Understood, but ye have me word ye have nothin’ to worry about," Nicholas said.
Beside him, Rosaline stepped forward and kissed Alexandra’s cheek, her hands soft and warm as she whispered, “Ye’ve chosen well, lass. He’ll love ye fiercely.”
Erica was next, appearing beside them with that easy grace she had, her long braid whipping slightly in the Highland breeze. Her face, still bearing the softness of youth but now touched with the solemn weight of leadership, beamed with joy.
“Och, look at the two of ye,” she said, pulling Alexandra into a hug before doing the same to Nicholas.
Alexandra felt her throat tighten and could barely speak as she clutched her friend close. “Thank ye, Erica,” she whispered. “Or should I say, Lady McLaren.”
Erica laughed and gave her a wink. “I think I prefer Erica when it’s ye sayin’ it. But I’m proud to stand here with ye today, and I ken the Highlands will be safer and stronger with the two of ye united.”
Nicholas patted Erica on the back and nodded with sincere respect. “We’re honored to stand beside ye, Lady or nae.”
Alexandra’s gaze was drawn toward Nicholas then, just as he bent and swept his young son off the ground, hoisting him up with practiced ease onto his broad shoulders.
Charles squealed with laughter, gripping his father’s head like reins as his legs swung about.
“Maither! Da’ says I can ride like a knight now!” the boy called down to her, and Alexandra burst into a rich, warm laugh.
“Then I expect ye to defend yer clan well, Charles,” she teased, reaching up to ruffle his leg affectionately as Nicholas grinned down at her.
The procession from the ceremony hill to the castle courtyard had begun, and the sound of fiddle and pipes swelled in the background.
Kilted men and gowned women followed behind, tossing flower petals and calling blessings as they went.
The clans had become one now—one path, one bloodline, one future.
The air was alive with song and laughter, children skipping along the path, elders walking arm in arm.
Alexandra’s cheeks were flushed from the chill and joy alike, and her heart beat steadily with a happiness she hadn’t dared dream of months before.
She glanced sideways at Nicholas, who was walking with the ease of a man at peace, one hand on her back and the other steadying Charles on his shoulders.
His strength, his presence—it anchored her.
For a moment, Alexandra let herself drift inward, carried by the quiet hum beneath the music.
She had known pain, fear, and the weight of duty worn like a stone around her neck.
But now, as she walked beside the man she loved, with her brother at her back, her people surrounding her, and a future shining bright ahead, she felt something she’d almost forgotten as a captive.
I'm free.
She blinked against sudden tears, not of sorrow but of overwhelming gratitude.
She had not imagined this joy for herself—not when she was betrothed to Leo, not when she was taken to O’Donnell lands, not even in the moments she first realized she loved Nicholas.
But here it was, as real as the soil beneath her feet and the hand that held hers.
She was Alexandra Sinclair no more—she was a wife, a mother, and a Highland lass who had chosen her own fate.
They reached the castle gates amid cheers, and the courtyard was strewn with garlands and banners, food and drink already waiting. But before the feast began, before another song rose in the air, Nicholas leaned close to her ear.
“Happy, lass?” he murmured, his voice low and rough.
“Aye,” she whispered back, her lips brushing his jaw. “More than I ever thought I could be.”
The castle courtyard had been transformed into a Highland dream, bursting with color, laughter, and the clamor of celebration.
Tartans from both the O’Donnell and Sinclair clans fluttered overhead, strung like banners from post to post. Long tables, polished and groaning under the weight of roasted meats, oat cakes, bannocks, wheels of cheese, and sweet berry tarts, stretched beneath the canopy of lanterns swaying in the breeze.
Children darted between the tables with sticky fingers, women danced in circles with laughter on their tongues, and the air smelled of pine, spiced ale, and meat fresh off the spit.
Alexandra walked beside Nicholas, her hand still looped in his as they took in the joy of their people.
Clanfolk clapped them on the back, pressed cups of mead into their hands, and shouted blessings as they passed.
Charles skipped ahead, his small kilt bouncing around his knees, his smile stretching from ear to ear.
He turned suddenly and looked up at Alexandra with wide, hopeful eyes.
“Maither, may I have an oatcake now?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he glanced from her to his father.
Alexandra’s heart swelled as she knelt before him and pulled him into her arms. “Aye, love,” she said warmly, pressing a kiss to his head. “I love hearin’ ye call me maither. It would make me very happy to hear ye call me that every day from now until the end of days.”
Charles grinned, wrapping his arms tight about her neck.
Not far off, Erica raised a cup in their direction and winked, prompting Alexandra to stand and walk toward her.
Erica was resplendent in deep green, the McLaren crest pinned proudly to her shoulder.
They clinked cups and drank, and for a moment, the world felt calm despite the bustle and merriment around them.
Alexandra touched Erica’s arm and gave her a knowing smile.
“Can ye believe how far we’ve come?” Alexandra asked softly. “Seems like just yesterday we were in the garden at Sinclair Castle speakin’ on what freedom meant to us.”
Erica laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Och, I remember that day well. I’d nearly burst keepin’ me secret from ye. I hinted at it, aye, but I couldnae say the truth of who I was.”
“I would have kept yer secret safe,” Alexandra said, her tone earnest.
“I ken that,” Erica replied, lowering her voice. “But it was too risky then. If anyone had overheard—one wrong whisper and Leo would’ve twisted the truth and declared war on Sinclair. He’d have said yer clan stole me or spun some tale to start a blood feud.”
Alexandra nodded solemnly. “Then I’m glad ye kept it to yerself. In the long run… it all worked out, did it nae?”
“It did,” Erica said with a soft smile. “For us… and for three clans besides.”
They raised their cups again, the firelight catching the rims as they drank.
The sound of fiddles rang out again, and somewhere behind them, someone shouted for the bride and groom to dance.
But for a moment longer, the two women stood together in quiet understanding, wrapped in friendship forged by truth, trial, and triumph.
The music rose with a lilt that swept through the courtyard like a Highland wind, warm and full of joy.
Alexandra turned as Nicholas stepped toward her, his dark eyes gleaming with affection and mischief.
He held out his hand with a slight bow, palm open, waiting.
Her heart fluttered as she placed her fingers in his.
A cheer erupted from the courtyard as the clansfolk clapped and hooted, raising their cups high.
The musicians picked up their pace, fiddles quickening, drums thumping like a heartbeat.
Nicholas pulled Alexandra close, his other hand finding the small of her back, guiding her easily across the cobbled stones.
Her dress swirled about her legs as they moved, the tartan ribbon at her waist fluttering like a flame.
“I dinnae think I’d ever see a day like this when I took ye from yer carriage,” Nicholas murmured, his voice low, meant only for her.
She smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed, breath catching. “Nor did I,” she whispered. “But now that I have… I cannae imagine a life without it.”
He spun her gently, the crowd parting to give them space as the bride and groom danced in the center of their clans’ celebration.
Alexandra’s laughter bubbled free, light and unguarded, and Nicholas grinned like a man who had waited a lifetime for this joy.
The torches flickered above them, casting golden halos across their skin.
She could feel the beat of his heart through his chest, steady and strong, like a promise.
As the music softened into something slower, more intimate, Nicholas drew her even closer, their foreheads nearly touching. “Alexandra,” he said, her name a vow on his tongue, “I love ye.”
She stilled in his arms, eyes searching his. The words came freely, without doubt. “I love ye too, Nicholas. More than I ever thought I could.”
A hush seemed to fall around them despite the lingering revelry, as if the stars themselves leaned in to listen. His fingers traced the line of her jaw, rough thumb brushing against her cheek. “Ye’ve made a home in me heart, lass,” he whispered. “I nay longer feel cursed.”
Her throat tightened, full of feeling. “I am glad to hear it. Ye are nae cursed, me love. I never wanted a man to own me,” she said gently, “but somehow… ye’ve become part of me, like breath, that is nay a curse but fate.”
Nicholas’s arms tightened around her, and he kissed her then—not with hunger or urgency, but with depth and warmth that wrapped around her like a Highland mist. Around them, the courtyard erupted again in applause and laughter, cups raised, feet stomping, voices crying out for another tune. But Alexandra hardly heard them.
All she knew in that moment was Nicholas, the weight of his love settling into her bones like something she’d long hungered for.
Their hands remained entwined as they swayed gently, the world moving around them but no longer within them.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she leaned into his chest, safe.
“I’ll spend every day earnin’ yer love, Alexandra,” he vowed.
She looked up, eyes shining. “And I’ll spend every day givin’ it freely.”
The music rose again, and they danced on—husband and wife, laird and lady, but more than that… two hearts that had once been guarded, now wholly open and entwined.
The End?