Page 73 of The Highlander's Illicit Bride
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 stoodbeside 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.”
