Annabeth looked down at the floor, her breath catching in her throat. “The second reason,” she said slowly, “is that I am just a low-class villager. Some may think our relationship improper because of me status.” She looked up at him. “I cannae ignore that.”
’Marcus’ eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw tightening as he stared at her. “Are those the words of me maither?” he asked, his voice sharp. “It’s nae her choice; it’s mine. I want ye as me wife, Annabeth. And if ye’ll have me, naythin’ else matters.” His hand gently squeezed hers as he spoke. “I’ve already told her, and she said she will accept me choices.”
“Are ye sure, Marcus?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Are ye truly sure about this?”
“I’m more sure of this than I’ve ever been about anythin’ in me life,” he replied, his voice unwavering. “I want ye by me side, Annabeth. Forever.”
Tears welled up in Annabeth’s eyes as she stared at him. She smiled softly. “Aye,” she whispered. “I’ll marry ye, Marcus.”
’Marcus’ heart swelled with relief. A weight he didn’t realize he had been carrying lifted off his chest. He pulled her into a deep, tender kiss, feeling the warmth of her lips against his. It was as if the entire world had fallen away, leaving just the two of them in that moment, together.
After a few moments, he pulled away, his forehead resting against hers. His heart was racing, and a smile spread across his face. “Thank ye, Annabeth,” he murmured, his voice full of emotion. “I’ll spend the rest of me life provin’ that ye made the right choice.”
EPILOGUE
“Icannae believe this day has come,” Annabeth observed happily.
“Aye, ye’ve made me very happy,” Claire said as she fusssed over Annabeth’s hair.
Four weeks had passed since the confrontation with Struan, and today was the day Annabeth had waited for. The day of her wedding to Marcus. Though Marcus was still not fully healed, they had both agreed to wait until he was strong enough to stand by her side, even if it meant postponing their vows for a little while. She sat nervously in front of the mirror as Elena and Claire helped her get ready, her heart fluttering with excitement and anticipation.
Claire pinned a few stray curls into place, and she couldn’t help but reminisce. “I cannae believe it,” she said with a soft laugh, her voice thick with emotion. “It feels like just yesterday ye were a wee bairn, runnin’ around the village. And now, look at ye—on yer weddin’ day, about to marry the Laird himself.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, and Annabeth felt a lump form in her throat.
Annabeth smiled, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over her as she reached out to squeeze Claire’s hand. “I never thought this day would come, Maither,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s all been so fast, but it feels right, ye ken? I’m nervous but happy.”
Claire smiled warmly, her eyes glistening with pride. “Ye’ve always been strong, Annabeth. Yer happiness is all I’ve ever wanted for ye.”
Elena, who had been quietly arranging Annabeth’s dress, added with a playful smile, “Ye’re not the only one nervous, lass. Marcus is likely pacin’ like a madman, waitin’ to see ye.” Annabeth laughed softly at the thought, her heart swelling with affection for Marcus. Today, she was about to become his wife, and nothing in the world could stop her from feeling like the luckiest woman alive.
The Scottish wedding ceremony was steeped in tradition, every moment filled with meaning.
Annabeth stood beside Marcus, her hand in his, as the priest called upon the blessings of the heavens to initiate the handfasting ceremony. Their hands were bound together witha length of tartan, symbolizing their unity and clan devotion as they recited their vows.
“I bind me life to yers, now and forever, Marcus,” Annabeth voiced with a strong and true tone.
“And I bind mine to yers, Annabeth, in this life and the next,” he promised.
The vows exchanged were simple yet profound, spoken with love and a steady gaze between the pair. It sealed their union before the clan.
After the ceremony, the feast began, and the hall was alive with laughter, music, and the clinking of mugs.
Long tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, bread, and cheeses, and bowls of hearty stews filled every corner. The pipes played a merry tune as the guests raised their glasses in a toast to the newlyweds, their voices echoing in joyous celebration. Annabeth felt warmth in her chest as she shared in the revelry, feeling for the first time as if she truly belonged to this family and to Marcus.
“Are ye happy, lass?” he asked as he looked at her.
“Aye, I am. Happier than I ever dreamt could be,” she said.
He kissed her, and the crowd cheered.
The sound of hurried footsteps interrupted the wedding celebrations. Robert ran up to Marcus, his face tight with urgency.
“Me Laird, news from MacCormack clan,” he said out of breath. “Stuart has imprisoned Struan for nearly bringin’ ruin to their people. He’s awaiting execution, they say.”
Annabeth’s brow furrowed in concern, “Stuart?”
“Aye, ’tis the nephew and heir of Struan,” Marcus replied.
“What does this mean?” she asked with unease.
