“The third time’s a charm, is it nae?” he whispered in her ear.
“I hope so.”
“Well, even if it isnae, I will still make ye me wife tonight.”
His promise curled low in her belly, making her breath hitch. His meaning was not lost on her. She could feel her cheeks heating with arousal.
The priest repeated himself, and that was when she realized they were supposed to say their vows.
“I, Ruaridh Sinclair of Clan McLeod,” Ruaridh began, his voice loud and clear, filling the chapel with its power and conviction. “Take ye, Violet Wilkinson, to be me wife, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, till death do us part.” He was holding her hands tightly, as if he wished to bind himself to her.
Taking a deep breath, Violet vowed in a voice that trembled slightly with emotion, “I, Violet Wilkinson, take ye RuaridhSinclair to be my husband, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, till death do us part.”
The priest took the thin strip of cloth that was probably cut from a McLeod kilt and bound their right hands.
“It is done,” he declared. “Before these witnesses, I pronounce ye man and wife.”
The clansmen roared in approval, clapping their hands and stamping their feet. Ruaridh drew her closer to take her lips in a heated kiss, eliciting whistles and cheers.
Eventually, he broke the kiss, his mouth curving in a smile, his eyes shining with the promise of everything he was going to do to her when they were finally alone in his bedchamber.
She smiled back, feeling a flush rise in her cheeks. He took her hand, and they navigated the crowd, accepting congratulations from their clansmen and guests.
Violet caught sight of Grannie Ava and Keira wiping tears from their eyes. She didn’t blame them. The journey to this point had been fraught with challenges that even now she half expected a horde of Englishmen to barge in and contest the marriage.
But with every minute that passed by, it was becoming clearer that she was, in fact, going to remain Lady McLeod.
“They make a very bonny couple,” Grannie Ava said with a watery smile, staring at the Laird and the new Lady McLeod.
“Aye, they do,” Keira agreed, her eyes shining with the tears she had shed. “Da is very happy. I am glad that he is happy.”
Grannie Ava always knew that Keira was not as carefree as she seemed. Somehow, she suspected that her bubbly demeanor was a ploy to try to lighten her father’s burdens, and that when she met Violet, she had recognized the connection she shared with her father and decided to play matchmaker, even though she did not think those two needed it. They would have naturally gravitated towards each other with no external influence.
All in all, she was glad to see her grandson happy again. He literally radiated happiness, smiling and laughing easily now as if his new wife’s presence melted all the burdens he carried.
That kind of love, the type that came with comfort in another’s presence, was something she was happy her grandson had found with his wife.
While Ruaridh was glad the servants had prepared a feast for them, at this moment, he was far too impatient to enjoy it.
This wedding was a long time coming, and it was delayed by a number of interruptions, no thanks to Westall and his Shenanigans.
In that time, Ruaridh’s desperation for his wife grew, the anticipation created by their separation rising to almost unbearable heights. Violet was now his wife, but he still had to wait for the feast to end before hustling her upstairs to his bedchamber and enjoying the rest of his evening with his wife.
“If you frowned any harder, you would scare everyone away,” Violet teased from beside him and laced her fingers through his, unknowingly ratcheting up the heat that tore through his bloodstream.
“I wish it were that easy.”
If he could scare off the crowd that had gathered in the Great Hall simply by glaring at them, he would have done so.
“What troubles ye?” she asked, concern etched on her features.
“Daenae worry. I just wish I could throw ye over me shoulder and run upstairs. I am tired of waiting.”
“Who is stopping you?” she asked, deadpan.
Shock flashed across his features as he turned to stare at her, but then a soft smile curved her lips.
It seemed that was the permission he needed because in the next moment, he stood up and lifted her, enjoying her gasp of surprise. Throwing her over his shoulder, he made for the stairs amidst hollers and whistles from the half-drunk men that sat in the hall.
