Page 4 of End Goal
“Are ye ready, lass?” he asks, putting the reed of his instrument in his mouth.
I clutch my bouquet of pink roses and give him a quick nod. “Completely ready.”
And just like that, I’m walking through a beautiful—albeit wet—Scottish garden with a traditional Scottish bagpiper leading me down the aisle.
When I carefully cross over a stunning, red-railing arched bridge, I finally see my future husband standing tall and proud under the rustic pagoda.
Camden is, of course, kitted out in a kilt himself. It was a bit of a shock when he said he wanted to wear one. But when the wedding planner showed him the tartan for the Harris name and he nearly wept with joy, I couldn’t say no.
God, he actually looks sexy. The knee-high socks are exactly like the ones he wears on the football pitch, and the suit jacket is tailored to his build perfectly. What can I say? I like my man in a skirt!
My focus on him is diverted when the bagpiper in front of me trips over a stone. He belts out a cringe-worthy, nasally note as he tumbles to the ground, landing hard on his elbow. Without pause, I rush over to him and drop my umbrella on the ground.
“Are you all right?” I ask, squinting through the rain and placing my free hand on his ankle.
The Scotsman’s eyes go wide. “Yer hair, lass. Yer dress!” He nearly drops the bagpipes as he grabs the umbrella to hold over my head from his position on the ground.
“It’s fine,” I state, pushing my long red hair back behind my shoulders. The hairdresser spent hours taming my mane into perfectly smooth tendrils, but I knew it would never last as soon as I saw the rain.Curly hair problems.“Are you hurt, though? It looked like you might have twisted your ankle. Stay still while I have a look.”
His eyes are nearly hidden amongst the crinkles that take over his entire face. “Aye, I’m right as rain. Just an old geezer who cannae watch where he’s walking.” He wipes away the mud on his knee and smiles apologetically.
I smile and shake my head. “It must be difficult with that thing strapped to your front.”
He nods and hands the umbrella back to me so he can stand. With great effort, he pushes up off the ground and readjusts the bagpipes over his chest. “Let’s get ye married, aye? Or perhaps ye want tae ditch this wee lad and run away with me instead? I promise, I’m more agile than I look.”
I erupt into laughter as the cocky bagpiper waggles his brows at me suggestively.
“Everyone okay?” Camden’s voice pulls my attention away as I look over and see him approaching. He’s left his position under the dry alter where we’ll exchange our vows. Rain beads off his wool suit jacket and down his arms, but something about his blue eyes in the grey daylight is dreamy.
“We’re fine,” I reply with a laugh. “Although, it’s good you’ve come. I think our proud piper here was just about to whisk me away to the Highlands.”
Camden frowns at the old man, who doesn’t look the least bit intimidated as he places the reed in his mouth and begins playing again with an extra flourish and more eyebrow waggles.
Cam turns back to me in confusion. “I think I should walk you the rest of the way. I don’t trust the twinkle in that bloke’s eyes.”
With a huge smile, I reach out and grab his hand, pulling him under the umbrella with me. “Sounds perfect.”
He smiles down at my rain-drizzled face, his own just as damp as his smoothed back hair. When his body presses up against mine, I instantly wish we were done with the wedding part and in our honeymoon cottage.
“It’s strange to see you without your glasses, Specs,” Camden murmurs softly, a wicked glint in his eyes.
“It’s strange to see you wearing a skirt, Camden,” I retort, glancing down and taking in his suit jacket, vest, and red tartan tie that matches his kilt.
“It’s called a kilt. It’s very manly,” he corrects with a tight jaw. “And just wait ‘til you see what’s underneath. That’s definitely manly.”
I can’t help but giggle and roll my eyes—a very familiar response when it comes to my future husband. He drops a kiss on my forehead, then pulls back to look at my full body.
“If I were smarter, I would have let you struggle a bit longer in the rain.”
“Why is that?” I ask, my brows knitting together as I look down at my dress that has a good inch of mud on the hemline.
“Because your dress is white.” He waggles his brows and glances down at my chest with a lascivious smirk.
“You’re cockier than the bagpiper I think,” I murmur under my breath and jab him in the ribs with my bouquet.
“And you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he replies quickly, his face losing all humour as he stares straight into my soul.
My kneejerk reaction is to complain about my ruined hair or my runny makeup, or maybe whine about how I didn’t have time to get my dress hemmed and now it’s ruined by the rain. But I’m too happy to let all those thoughts cloud my mind. Today I’m marrying Camden Harris and nothing is going to get me down.
