Her voice wavered with pride and relief, the long road behind them unspoken. Eva reached for her mother’s hand, squeezing it gently.
“I love him,” Eva said, her voice steady and true. “I really do.” The words felt simple yet vast, as though they held her whole heart within them.
Annabeth’s eyes filled, and she pressed a kiss to Eva’s brow.
Amelie clapped her hands suddenly, breaking the moment with a bright laugh.
“Enough tears for now,” she said. “It’s time ye put the dress on, or the groom will be waiting all day.”
Eva laughed softly, nerves easing as Amelie lifted the gown with reverent care.
The dress was pale wool trimmed with fine linen, elegant, and it seemed to glow in the morning light. Annabeth and Amelie helped Eva step into it, their fingers quick and gentle as they tied and fastened each lace.
“Ye look like a true Lady,” Amelie said, her voice thick with awe.
Eva glanced at her reflection and scarcely recognized herself.
Margaret approached, adjusting the fall of the fabric at Eva’s shoulders.
“Connor will forget his own name when he sees ye,” she said with a knowing smile.
Eva felt her cheeks warm, imagining his expression and the way his eyes softened when he looked at her. The thought steadied her more than any prayer.
They moved then to her hair, Annabeth brushing it slow and careful as she had when Eva was a child.
“I used to do this when ye were small,” Annabeth murmured, her voice tender with memory.
Amelie braided ribbons through the strands while Margaret watched, her smile full and content.
“Are ye afraid?” Amelie asked quietly as she tied the final ribbon.
Eva considered the question, listening to the distant sounds of the castle stirring for the day.
“Nay,” she said at last, honest and calm. “I feel ready.”
Margaret nodded, satisfied, and placed a light kiss on Eva’s cheek.
“Then all is as it should be,” she said.
Annabeth drew Eva into her arms, holding her close before stepping back with a tearful smile.
As they led Eva toward the door, she felt the weight of love behind her and the promise of Connor waiting ahead; it was all she could think of as she moved through the castle out to the chapel.
She thought of the path that had led her here, from a poor village girl with calloused hands to a woman welcomed into stone halls and warm hearths. She would be Lady McLaren by hour’s end, bound to the man she loved with all her heart. The wonder of it filled her with quiet awe rather than fear.
She walked forward with Annabeth at her right, Margaret steady at her left, and Amelie close behind like a protective shadow. Their steps echoed softly on the stone as they moved together, a small circle of women who had carried her to this moment. Annabeth’s arm trembled with emotion, while Margaret’s grip was sure and proud. Amelie sniffed once, then lifted her chin as if daring her tears to fall.
The chapel glowed with candlelight and green boughs tied to every pillar. Heather and ivy twined along the walls, and white ribbons fluttered faintly in the warm air. A hush fell as they escorted her inside, reverent and full of promise.
At the altar stood Connor, tall and still, dressed in dark wool and fine leather, his clan colors resting proud upon his shoulder. His hair was neatly tied, yet a few strands escaped, as if unwilling to be tamed even for this sacred day. When he saw her, his face softened, and his eyes shone with something fierce and tender.
Eva felt her heart leap, knowing she would follow that look anywhere.
The officiant stepped forward, an elder with a calm voice and weathered hands.
“We are gathered here,” he said, “to witness an ancient bond of hearts and lives.”
Connor reached for Eva’s hands, his touch warm and grounding as their fingers intertwined.
