Page 72 of The Highlander's Illicit Bride
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.”
