Page 131 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
He smiled back. “Ye realize that this gives me a forever one-up on Myles.”
They both leaned in their heads and laughed.
William offered his arm, “Ready when ye are, Amara.”
As they stepped forward, she murmured, “Thank ye, Billy.”
His step faltered only a second.
She turned wide eyes on him. “I’m so so sorry, William.”
He grinned. “...Nay, toye, it’s Billy.”
And in that moment, she realized what he meant.“To ye, me family, it’s Billy.”
She laughed through her nerves, and the room around her seemed to blur in soft edges as he led her through.
Then, she caught sight of Rhys.
He was staring at her like she was the sun and moon.
With every step she didn’t know if it was the music or her own soul lifting that made her feel as if she were floating.
And then she was there, standing before him. Before everyone.
Rhys reached for her hand with reverence, and the warmth of his skin against hers steadied her more than anything else could have.
The druid priest’s voice drifted over the gathering, calling them to witness, to join, to bind two souls under sky and stone.
Rhys’s vows were spoken low and sure, each word threaded with purpose. “I vow to guard ye with me strength, honor ye with me word, and walk beside ye from this day to me last.”
She could barely breathe as she gave her own. “And I vow to stand beside ye in fire or storm, to speak truth, and keep yer heart with mine until me last breath.”
Their hands were bound with a strip of his clan’s tartan. The druid’s blessing rang out. And when Rhys lifted her veil and kissed her, the whole room erupted in a fierce, wild cheer that echoed to the very rafters.
Myles whooped loudest. Billy wiped a pretend tear. And Daisy threw petals over their heads with reckless abandon, catching Rhys squarely in the face.
They were married.
And Amara could not stop smiling.
The sun had just barely dipped behind the trees and the music started in the courtyard.
Fiddles and drums and the rhythmic stomp of boots echoed off the fresh stone walls of O’Donnell Keep. It was newly rebuilt, but already pulsing with life.
Banners fluttered along the parapets, torchlight glinting off gold thread. Tables were heavy with food, tartans woven into centerpieces, and barrels of ale had been tapped before the last blessing was even given.
Amara had seen many feasts, but never one like this. Not even in her girlhood dreams.
The yard sparkled under the clear dusk sky. She sat on a low stone wall, Daisy leaning against her side, pink-cheeked and giggling after a long, glorious chase around the keep with some of the other bairns.
Mabel was nearby, deep in conversation with Cookie about how the bannocks had turned out “fluffier than expected,” and Nina had already managed to make three men blush with compliments and threats alike. Everything was right.
And her husband looked positively feral in a way that made her insides tighten every time she caught his eye.
He stood by the fire pit, laughing hard with Billy and Myles, sleeves rolled up, his collar undone, a tankard in his hand. His hair was still damp from when Daisy had “accidentally” spilled cider on him earlier, and Amara could swear the man had never looked more handsome in his life.
Someone tugged her hand.
