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Cicilia glanced at the audience and saw Old Man Ewan openly sobbing with joy, accepting an embroidered handkerChieftain from Madame Sinclair.
“May God grant them love an’ bless them both wi’ bairns a-plenty. Let each husband be a help an’ comfort to his wife, an’ each wife to her husband, in prosperity or in poorness,” the minister went on.
He talked a little more, and then suddenly, somehow, it was already time for the vows.
Alexander took her hands in his. “Cicilia,” he said, looking at her like an image she remembered of her father and mother.
His vows were almost musical, like a poem reciting everything in his heart. “Ye are blood o’ me blood an’ bone o’ me bone. I give to ye me body that us two may be one. I give to ye me spirit, 'til our lives both are done. Ye cannae possess me, for I belong to meself, but while we both wish it, I give ye all I have to give.”
He squeezed her hands. “Ye cannae command me, for I am a free person, but I shall serve ye in the ways ye require, an’ may the honeycomb taste sweeter coming from me hand, forever an’ always.”
Cicilia blinked away tears. She wanted to go to him now, but she would wait. She would give him the proper wedding, the magnificent ceremony that he deserved.
When the minister turned to her, she had her vows ready also. “Alexander. I pledge me love to ye, an’ everything that is mine is yers. I promise ye the first bite of me meat and the first sip from me cup. I pledge that yer name will always be that which I cry aloud in the dead of night. I promise to honor ye above all others forever.”
Alexander had tears in his eyes now too, and Cicilia went on. “Our love is never-ending, and we are forever equals in our marriage. This is me wedding vow to ye, mo chidre.”
Once Nathair and Jeanie had also recited their vows, the minister started with the Laird.
“Alexander, will ye have Cicilia to be yer wife? Will ye love her an’ honor her, comfort an’ keep her, through health an’ sickness?” the minister asked. Cicilia tried her best not to cry at the smile on Alexander’s face as he silently nodded along. “Will ye forsake a’ others an’ remain loyal by her side an’ by her’s alone as long as both o’ ye shall live?”
“Aye,” Alexander said in little more than a whisper. “Nothin’ will give me greater joy.”
Then it was Cicilia’s turn.
“Cicilia. Will ye obey an’ serve this man as yer husband, love an’ keep an’ honor him in health an’ in sickness? Will ye forsake a’ others an’ remain loyal by his side as long as ye both o’ ye shall live?”
“Aye. Aye, I will,” Cicilia said, wiping at her eyes.
While Nathair and Jeanie agreed to the vows on their side, Cicilia could not take her eyes from the glowing happiness in Alexander’s face. And then as one, the four of them
recited as they’d learned:
“I take ye forever from now an’ forever, to have an’ hold for better or worse, poorer or more prosperous, sick or healthy. I’ll love an’ cherish ‘til death does part us at last.”
Alexander took off his sash and Nathair his, and as one, they wrapped them around their new wives’ shoulders. “Cicilia, everythin’ I have in this world, I endow upon ye,” he said quietly, while Nathair said something similar to Jeanie.
The handfasting came next, a physical symbol of how they were tied together forever. Long after the rope entwined around their hands was gone, Cicilia would still be able to feel the ghost of its imprint, reminding her of her bond.
A few more words, some thoughts and prayers, and it was done. They were wed.
Nathair and Jeanie were already lost in each other’s arms, but Cicilia hadn’t moved towards Alexander yet. It felt so surreal that she barely knew it was real yet.
And then the minister said, “May I present to ye, Clan Gallagher, yer Laird an’ his wife.”
Then it was more real than anything had ever been before, and she flew forward into Alexander’s waiting arms. Their lips crashed together as the gathered crowd cheered, and now, at last, they were one.
They’d made love before, of course, but somehow the first time they were alone on their wedding day was like a voyage of new discovery. Alexander rediscovered Cicilia’s body like an antiquarian discovering an ancient Roman temple, and he worshipped at her shrine.
They didn’t speak much, too wrapped up in each other—Alexander in his wife, Cicilia in her husband—to have time for words. The soft cushion of her lips against his, the feel of her soft yet firm breasts yielding readily under his hands.
The way the skin on her leg felt as it brushed against him, and then the pressure of her chest against his own as she moved onto him. The sharp gasps she made when his fingers tangled in her hair, twirling around that bizarre black strand and pulling just a little harder than necessary. The hunger in those strange, beautiful eyes as she surveyed him from above.
Like nae other women in the world, she’s me supernatural love.
Perhaps they spent hours just touching and kissing and finding, claiming every inch of the other as their own forever. Maybe it was days. Time had no meaning now, not for Alexander, happily locked for eternity in Cicilia’s arms.
Me wife. Me love.
