Page 88 of The Highland Laird’s Hellion Bride

In that moment, wrapped in his arms, with the fire warming their skin, Elspeth felt like everything would be alright. Like they had finally crossed the chasm between them, like this fragile, fiery thing between them might just be strong enough to last.

She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent—smoke and whisky and sweat—and let herself believe it, just for a little while.

Chapter Twenty-Five

For Elspeth, the morning arrived with considerably more noise than Ben Cruachan was accustomed to.

She heard the pipes somewhere in the yard, a fiddle answering from further off, Mrs. McAulay ’s voice carrying from the kitchens below in the pitch she reserved for directing large numbers of people who weren’t moving fast enough to suit her.

She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, and noticed that her chest felt different than it had a fortnight ago. Lighter. Less braced.

She got up before Becky came to fetch her.

The Great Hall, when she reached it, had been overtaken. Trestle tables pushed back against the walls, benches arranged in rows, greenery woven along the beams by women Elspeth recognized from the village. Two boys hauled a barrel through the main doors, arguing in fierce whispers about who was carrying the heavier end. A girl of perhaps twelve stood on a chair directing the placement of candles with so much authority.

Katherine appeared at Elspeth’s elbow.

“The flowers arrived.” She seized Elspeth’s arm and steered her toward the far end of the hall without breaking stride. “Mrs. McAulay wanted heather. I said white roses. We’ve reached an agreement that I’m choosing to call a compromise and she’s choosing to call a surrender.”

“What’s the agreement?”

“Heather and white roses.”

Elspeth laughed. “That sounds lovely.”

“It does, aye. I’m very reasonable.” Katherine stopped in front of a long table stacked with ribbon, greenery, and what appeared to be every candle Ben Cruachan possessed. “Help me with these. If I bend over one more time, Liam will have me carried back to the carriage and sit on the door.”

They worked side by side for a while, and Elspeth found she had stopped thinking in the future tense. She was not dreading tomorrow. She was not counting the days until she could write to Katherine from a distance. She was here, threading ribbon through greenery, listening to the pipes start and stop as the musicians negotiated something about tempo outside.

From across the hall, she heard Duncan’s voice rise above the noise.

“Nay, nay. The reel goes left first, or ye’ll have half the hall walkin’ into the other half, and there’ll be a war before the weddin’.”

A voice she didn’t recognize answered, “It’s always gone right in Glenmuir.”

“Aye. And in Glenmuir, ye’ve only got six people, and three of them are related. We’re doin’ it properly.”

Katherine caught Elspeth’s eye and pressed her lips together.

“Right.” She set down her ribbon and straightened, which took slightly longer than it once had. “Dancing.”

“Katherine.”

“Ye’ve nae practiced in a week, and the cèilidh is tomorrow. I willnae have ye standing on yer husband’s feet in front of the whole clan.”

“I’m perfectly capable of dancing without practice.”

“Elspeth.” Katherine looked at her. “He’ll be counting under his breath. Ye’ll need to be fast.”

She was not wrong. Elspeth found that out within ten minutes, when Liam had produced Magnus from somewhere—the yard, from the look of his boots—and deposited him in the center of the cleared floor.

“I ken how to dance,” Magnus protested.

“Aye, ye do. One dance. At yer cousin’s handfasting. Twelve years ago.” Duncan approached from the side table with a cup in hand, utterly relaxed, enjoying this immensely. “And ye stood in the corner for the reel.”

“I had business.”

“Ye hid behind old Tam.”