Page 68 of The Ruthless Highlander's Hellion
They moved again, the urgency building, but never rough, never thoughtless. It was slow and deep, each movement a promise written in skin and firelight.
They clung to each other until the world spun away, and they both reached an intense release with their moans echoing off the walls.
When it ended, they lay tangled in each other’s arms, breathless and warm.
Silence lingered for a while, broken only by the pop of the hearth and the steady beat of Nicholas’s heart beneath her ear. He ran his fingers through her hair, holding her close as if he feared she might disappear. Alexandra smiled, content and safe in his arms. She traced circles against his chest with her fingertip, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing.
“That was worth waitin’ for,” Nicholas murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.
She grinned. “Ye’re tellin’ me.”
They lay like that for a long time, limbs entwined and hearts calm. Outside the window, the stars blinked quietly above the Highlands, and within the stone walls of the keep, peace settled. Not the kind born of treaties or battles won, but the rare kind born in love—where trust had grown in the unlikeliest of places.
Alexandra shifted only to pull the covers over them both. “D’ye think Caelan will come shoutin’ again in the mornin’?”
Nicholas chuckled and wrapped his arms tighter around her. “Let him try. I’ll nae be leavin’ this bed.”
“And I’ll nae be lettin’ ye.”
Their laughter faded into quiet again, and soon their breathing slowed. In the quiet of the night, Alexandra nestled closer, her hand resting over Nicholas’s heart. It beat strong and steady beneath her palm, and with that, she finally let sleep take her, knowing she’d never face another day alone.
EPILOGUE
The 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 breezecarrying 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 inthat 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.
