Page 127 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

Alba's heart was beating very fast.

She had not changed.

There had been no time for ceremony, no time for the particular rituals that usually attended a thing like this. She wore the same dress and shawl she'd worn to Lachlann's solar, her hair still loose.

Lachlann stood beside her in his shirtsleeves and trousers, looking as though he'd been called from his desk, which he had.

It was possibly the least dignified wedding either of them had ever attended.

Father Calum cleared his throat.

"We are here," he began, in the careful formal cadence of the liturgy, "tae join this man and this woman in the sacrament of marriage. If there is anyone present who kens of a lawful impediment tae this union, let them speak now."

The silence stretched.

Alba found herself holding her breath, half-expecting someone to burst through the door with an objection, a warrant, a reason why it couldn't happen. But the door remained closed, and the chapel remained quiet, and the moment passed.

Father Calum continued.

"Lachlann MacKinnon. Dae ye take this woman, Alba, tae be yer lawfully wedded wife, till death dae ye part?"

"I dae," Lachlann said.

His voice was steady. It carried in the cold chapel without needing to be loud, and Alba felt something in her chest loosen at the sound of it, the absolute certainty in it, the complete absence of hesitation.

Father Calum turned to her.

"Alba. Dae ye take this man, Lachlann MacKinnon, tae be yer lawfully wedded husband, till death dae ye part?"

She felt the weight of it settle onto her. The reality of saying it, there, then, in the middle of the night, with war gathering at the edges of the glen and everything uncertain except that one singular choice.

"I dae," she said.

Her voice came out steadier than she'd expected. Clear. Sure.

Lachlann reached for her hand. His fingers were warm, and when he closed them around hers she felt the steadiness of him transfer through the contact, the same way it always did, solid and unhurried and entirely present.

"By the authority vested in me," Father Calum said, "I pronounce ye husband and wife. What God has joined taegether, let nay man put asunder."

The word settled into the silence of the chapel like a stone dropped into still water.

Alba didn't move.

She was aware of the candles, of James near the door, of Father Calum folding his hands with the careful dignity of a man pretending not to watch — but mostly she was aware of Lachlann. Of his hand around hers. Of the way he was already turning toward her before the last syllable had faded.

He reached up and touched her face. Just his thumb, tracing the line of her cheekbone slowly, as though he had all the time in the world and intended to use it.

"Alba," he said. Just her name. Nothing else.

She had heard him say it a hundred times. She was quite certain she had never heard it sound like that before.

He leaned in and kissed her. Not quickly, not urgently, but with a patience that undid her entirely.

Warm and deliberate, his hand curving around her jaw, his thumb still resting against her cheek. It was the kind of kiss that said I have wanted this and I am nae rushing it, and there is naewhere else I intend tae be.

Behind them, Ruadhri cleared his throat softly.

Lachlann pulled back just enough to look at her.