Seamus did not hide his shock. “What? Now? Nay the now!”
Sawny turned his liquid gaze back to Adaira, amber meeting green, sharing a moment long lost to them.
“Aye, the now,” he said, more to Adaira than her father. “Ye have always had a place in my heart,” he said to Adaira as he pulled her closer to him. “Even while I was gone, ‘twas ye that kept me going. ‘Twas your image that encouraged me to escape and return. Too much time has been wasted, and I would marry ye now, before another moment passes.”
Seamus stepped up, mouth open and ready to protest, but Sorcha caught his arm and tugged him back with a shake of her head.
Adaira was frozen where she stood near the altar.
“We have a priest and your family,” Sawny said to a wide-eyed Adaira. “Ye can apologize to the poor sap I’m replacing, but I have waited too long and gone through too much to wait any longer.”
With that, it was like a weight was lifted from her chest, and she could breathe for the first time in months.
She paused though, and as she pulled back slightly, he gripped her upper arms hard, as if he was petrified of losing her. And he was, just the same as she. An inch between them was too much distance now.
With a flick of her finger, Adaira pulled out a lace bag from her slender bodice pocket and from it, withdrew a gold band. His eyes widened more than hers as he immediately recognized the ring that glinted in the candlelight, etched with bluebells.
It was the ring he had intended for her.
Their wedding ring.
She had kept it, despite everything.
“Where did you find it?” he asked, his raspy voice barely making a sound.
“The goldsmith brought it to Glenachulish shorter after your . . . disappearance.” Her lips stumbled over that last word.
For lack of a better word, he disregarded the implication. What else could it be called? Kidnapping or abduction were words far too harsh for the church, and the selection of a word to explain what had happened to him was of no concern with their present audience and his bride standing right in front of him.
Words were meaningless. Actions — those were all that mattered.
“I shall marry ye now, as I am, filthy and starving and beaten to hell and back, with that ring, if ye will have me,” Sawny told her.
A smile cracked her too-thin face. “Aye,” she answered breathlessly.
In that moment, he longed to provide everything she might need to regain her health and happiness. Give her anything and everything she might need or want, anything to have his glowing Highland beauty at her most hale and smiling widely once again.
Someone behind them cleared their throat, and Sawny looked past Adaira who turned around and faced her father. Seamus stood at the edge of the pews, gripping a wooden seat and waiting impatiently. Behind him stood her brothers, and Arran, in his pale green kilt, the previously intended groom.
“Ye have a lot to answer for,” Seamus announced as his hard eyes roved over Sawny’s disheveled and stricken frame. “But from the looks of it, ye have suffered quite a bit these past months.”
Sawny nodded but did not recoil from Seamus or the MacDonalds at all. Instead, he lifted his chin higher. He had faced all manner of atrocities in the past few months — looking Adaira’s father in the eye was of no consequence.
“Aye, and I vow to tell ye all. But right now, I have a promise I am late fulfilling.” He flicked his eyes to Arran.
Arran appeared fine with the change in circumstance in conceding his place beside Adaira. He placed a hand on Maddock’s shoulder, then whispered into his ear. With a wry side-smile that was pure Maddock MacDonald, he flapped his hand in the air.
“Arran says that while he is devastated to lose my sister as a bride, he will no’ contest Sawny’s claim and says congratulations.”
Though Sawny did not care for the speech that made Adaira sound like little more than chattel, his weary body was grateful it avoided physical combat and meant he could marry her right now. He turned to Adaira.
“Shall we?”
She smiled widely again and took his hand. They stepped in front of the altar where the sour-looking priest pursed his lips.
“This is highly improper!” he proclaimed, his cheeks reddening.
“I’ll say,” Seamus agreed under his breath. Sorcha elbowed him in the waist, and Seamus had the good nature to appear contrite.
