Page 52 of Marry the Highland Villain
Ten days ago, he would have directed the priest to issue the standard vows. He would have agreed to them, whether he meant them or not, and that would have been the end of it. It would have been a contract, nothing more.
But his time with Brigid had left him desiring something with more meaning. Something that was his alone to offer, rather than rote words. He would not speak words that someone else had written for him. Everything he said to her would come from his heart and his heart alone.
Conall cleared his throat and opened his mouth. The words he’d rehearsed for so many days came, slow and uncertain but honest and true.
“Brigid Blackwood,” he began, turning to face his bride. “‘Tis true that I proposed to ye merely to secure a truce and protect my clan, but never think that I wed ye for just that. In the short time I’ve kenned ye, ye’ve come to mean much more to me than any truce, and I welcome ye into my life, and my clan, with more happiness than I ever thought possible. I swear, here and now, that I will protect ye, honor ye, and cherish ye through good days and bad, disaster and prosperity, sickness and health, for the rest of my days.”
He saw Brigid lick her lips nervously, but her voice was strong and full of conviction when she answered him.
“Conall Barr, I agreed to yer proposal for many reasons, but I wed ye for many more,” she said, her voice ringing out clearly. “I welcome the chance to share my life with ye with all my heart. I promise to support ye, honor ye, and cherish ye through good days and bad, disaster and prosperity, sickness and health, for the rest of my days.”
“And with these vows…”
Conall let the priest’s words wash over him once more.
Another short speech, and then Emily stepped forward to drape a sash in the colors of Clan MacKane around Brigid’s shoulders. The priest said another blessing, this time over the newly unified couple and their future life together. Then, finally, he uttered the words Conall had been waiting for since he’d seen Brigid walking down the aisle toward him.
“Ye may now kiss yer bride.”
Conall wrapped Brigid in his embrace and captured her mouth with his own, fully immersing himself in her. The scent of heather and flowers in her hair, the taste of honey and wine in her mouth, and the feel of her body against his threatened to set his blood aflame.
Brigid made a soft noise in the back of her throat, eager, accepting as his tongue delved deep into the warmth of her mouth. Her hands clutched at his arms, pulling him closer, pulling them together until her breasts and thighs were almost molded to his body.
A cough and a boot delivered with cautious force to his calf reminded Conall that they were not alone. Reluctantly, he released Brigid. She stared up at him, dazed, her lips reddened and her cheeks flushed with their shared passion. Then, she blinked, and her cheeks reddened further as she came to the same realization.
“Och…”
“Later,” Conall whispered in a hoarse voice, then turned to face the assembled witnesses and offered her his arm.
“I give ye Laird and Lady MacKane!” the priest said from behind them.
Conall stepped forward with Brigid’s arm in his and his heart lighter than it had ever been.
Brigid felt as though she was drifting in a dream. Conall’s kiss at the altar had cast a pleasant haze over everything, and she almost thought she was floating as they walked toward the Great Hall, where the wedding feast would be held.
Lady MacKane. She was Lady MacKane. She had a husband. But more than that, for the first time in her life, she had a clan—an identity beyond Brigid Blackwood, the pirate’s daughter. A clan that might claim her sisters as well and grant them protection for the first time in their lives.
It was a heady thought, and one she felt sure she would never get used to.
No more trying to smile while villagers mocked her and berated her for her father’s reputation. No more wariness, afraid that at any time, they might be attacked. Her sisters would no longer have to fend for themselves, alone against the rest of the Highlands.
Conall led her into the hall, then pulled back her seat for her. “Ye look happy,” he said, his eyes soft as he looked down at her.
“I am.” She smiled up at him, her heart nearly overflowing at the sight of him. Her husband.
The words seemed so surreal. And yet she wore a sash made of MacKane tartan—proof that she was awake and not dreaming, that she belonged to someone at last.
Once the last member of the High Table was seated, maids brought pitchers and poured drinks—wine in goblets for the ladies and ale in tankards for the men. When all the drinks were poured, Oliver stood up to give the traditional first toast.
Brigid watched as Conall’s brother rose from his seat, her stomach twisting with nerves at what he might say.
Although Oliver’s eyes flicked in her direction, there was none of the antagonism he usually showed her in them. Instead, he turned to the crowded hall and raised his tankard.
“To the health and prosperity of Laird MacKane and his bride,” he said.
A simple toast that was, nevertheless, followed immediately by a resounding cheer that filled the air, punctuated by the clanking of tankards and the softer, more delicate chime of wine goblets. It was followed by a moment of silence as everyone drank. Then, servants began to bring in the food, and the wedding feast began.
Brigid thought she’d become accustomed to the larger meals at MacKane Castle, which were so different from the family meals she was accustomed to, but the wedding feast was beyond anything she’d ever imagined.
