Page 87 of Captive Bride

The sun breaks through the clouds at that moment, casting a warm glow over us. It feels like a blessing from our painted island skies, as if even our beautiful home is celebrating our union.

I catch snippets of whispered conversations as Callum and I stand there, hand in hand, to exchange vows amidst the wild beauty of the Scottish landscape.

“Did you see the way he looks at her? Like she’s the only thing in the world that matters to him.”

“Aye, and did ye notice the way she’s blossomed since he came back? It’s like she’s finally found herself, her true self.”

“They make a bonnie couple, no denying that. But who would have thought it would be Fiona and Callum, of all people?”

As the islanders' whispers weave around us, I feel a surge of gratitude for their being here today.

The minister's gaze washes over us, solemn and bright, ready to bind our souls as one.

Callum’s eyes never leave mine as we exchange our vows, his gaze unwavering and full of love. “I take you, Fiona, to have and to hold.”

I feel a smile tugging at my lips, my heart overflowing with joy and contentment. This is where I belong, here with him, on this rugged Scottish island, surrounded by the people who have known us all our lives.

Finally, the words come that I’ve been so nervous to hear, wondering how my shy self is going to kiss this man in front of the entire island. But there’s nothing I have to do, as before the minister even finishes saying, “Callum, you may kiss your bride,” he’s taken me in his arms, dipping me back and planting that sexy mouth on mine.

The moment our lips touch, the islanders erupt in joyous cheers. I feel the warmth of shyness and desire flush my face as he kisses me. Callum pulls back slightly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

After all, monsters, big bad beasts, don’t cry.

“I love you, Fiona,” he whispers.

“I love you too, Callum,” I reply, my heart bursting.

The minister clears his throat, and we turn to face our guests. He raises his hands in a blessing and speaks words I will never forget.

“May this union be blessed with love and happiness, and may your bond grow stronger with each passing day. And as you embark on your journey as husband and wife, remember that true love knows no boundaries and can conquer all.”

His words wrap around me with hope for our future together.

Bagpipes kick off in earnest, celebrating our marriage.

We sweep back down the aisle holding hands, and the islanders shower us with flower petals—the red blooms of Strawberry Grass picked, dried, and carefully stored away for this purpose—as is tradition on this special day.

The flower’s soft, fragrant scent lingers in the air.

We walk hand in hand over the hills, leaving the sea for now, but we will return. The wedding party gathers behind us, following us in a parade of jovial people as we head to the old cathedral, transformed by Bayne into the Kings Castle. They’ve converted the main space that was once where the congregation gathered into a huge space to hold celebrations, where a feast awaits us.

The air is filled with music and laughter as people dance, run, walk, play instruments, and sing traditional Scottish songs as we journey to the Kings Castle for the reception.

My father greets me at the cathedral's closed doors. His eyes are still sparkling from earlier when he walked me down the aisle. “I am so proud of you, my dear girl,” he says in a choked voice.

“And I am proud of you too, Dad,” I reply, tears welling in my eyes. “It wasn’t easy getting sober, but you’ve done it.”

The doors open and the sound of bagpipes and fiddles fills the air as our rowdy bunch of Scots enter the vast hall. Callum and I wait behind, watching from our place at the doors. Children run around, their faces painted with symbols of love and happiness, adding to the joyous atmosphere.

They call our name, announcing us. Mr. and Mrs. Callum Burnes. He kisses me and grabs my hand and together, we walk over the threshold of the cathedral and into the hall.

As we enter, the islanders cheer for us once again, their faces beaming.

The scents of freshly baked bread and roasted meat waft through the air, making my stomach growl in anticipation. Long wooden tables stretch across the room, filled with platters of food prepared by the island's mothers and grandmothers. The hall is decorated with wildflowers and pink tartan fabrics. The coats of arms for the Baynes and Burnes families adorn the walls.

It’s time for Callum and me to meet our families at the head table.

As we start to walk down the long red-carpeted aisle to the front of the gathering space where our table is set, a group of wee girls in pretty, puffy-skirted pastel dresses come bumbling in front of us, giggling and smiling as they push their way ahead of us. They each hold a pink basket in their hands.

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