Page 96 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
Finally, he spoke in a measured tone. “I’ve spent years watching’ me clan dwindle, witnessed me daughters growin’ up in fear, me lands shrinkin’ from constant conflict. If this marriage can bring true peace–”
“It can.” Ian said firmly. “It will. On me honor as a man who loves yer daughter more than his own life.”
The promise rang through the hall like the toll of a bell, sealing something that felt larger than any of them – a new beginning built on the ashes of old hatred, love rising from the ruins of ancient feuds.
The formal discussions that followed were a blur of prerequisites, dowries, land agreements, trade agreements, dates and ceremonies. Rhona found herself nodding at appropriate moments while her heart soared with a joy she’d never dared imagine possible.
When the men finally dismissed themselves to continue their discussions over maps and contracts, Rhona and Ian slipped away to the small garden courtyard behind the great hall. The evening air was crisp with stars beginning to wink in the darkening sky above the castle walls.
“I cannae believe it,” Rhona whispered, her voice barely audible in the evening air. “After everythin’ we’ve been through…”
Ian’s arms came around her immediately, lifting her off her feet. “Aye,” he murmured, his forehead coming to rest against hers. “Despite Douglas, despite Lachlan, despite every bloody other obstacle they threw at us…”
“Sweet Saints above, Ian! Me faither’s given his blessin,” Rhona’s voice cracked slightly.
Ian kissed her again, but this time it tasted of victory and promises, of battles won and a future finally within reach. When they broke apart, both were breathing hard, and Rhona could see her own amazement reflected in his eyes.
“I love ye,” he said solemnly, his hands framing her face with infinite tenderness. “More than I ever thought possible tae love another soul.”
“And I love ye, Ian Wallace,” she whispered back, then smiled with sudden mischief. “Soon tae be me husband, if I’m nae mistaken.”
EPILOGUE
One week later
“Are ye ready fer this,mo chridhe?”
Rhona’s hands trembled slightly as she adjusted the intricate Celtic knots woven through her dark ginger hair, each twist and turn a symbol of the new life she was about to embark on. The polished metal mirror reflected both their images back like a promise – Ian standing behind her, resplendent in his finest Highland dress, the Wallace tartan draped across his broad shoulders perfectly, secured with an ancient silver brooch that had belonged to his grandfather.
Just look at ye, me husband… in just a few hours, ye’ll truly be me husband.
Her heart did that familiar flutter as she took in the sight of him.
The magnitude of it threatened to overwhelm her. After months of captivity, of slowly learning to trust, of fighting for their love against political schemes and clan prejudices, they had finallyreached the moment where they were free to choose each other without reservation.
“As ready as a lass can be fer bindin’ herself tae a stubborn Scottish laird,” she said. The smile that spread across her face felt like pure heavenly light – warm, brilliant, and absolutely wholehearted.
I’m marryin’ this wonderful man,I’m choosin’ him, choosin’ us.
The past week had flown by in a whirlwind of preparation that would have challenged even the most experienced clan matriarchs. Three clans coming together meant three sets of traditions to honor, three sets of relatives to accommodate, and enough political maneuvering to make a royal court jealous. But through it all, one truth had remained constant – her absolute certainty that it wasright.
“Ye look radiant’,” Ian murmured, his hands settling gently on her shoulders, and Rhona felt her breath catch at the reverence in his voice.
The wedding dress had been Isolde’s gift – a deep blue silk with intricate silver embroidery that shimmered in the morning sunlight. The MacAlpin colors blended seamlessly with the Wallace clan symbols, a visual representation of the union they were about to formalize. But more than that, it made her feel beautiful, cherished, worthy of the love shining in Ian’s mossy green eyes.
A knock at the door interrupted them, and Isolde swept in with a rustle of silken skirts, her face glowing with happiness for her sibling. “Ready?” she asked, her eyes taking in every detail with the satisfaction of a woman who’d helped plan this moment down to the smallest ribbon.
“Isolde,” Rhona said softly, reaching out to clasp her sister’s hands. “I cannae thank ye enough fer travelin’ all this way and helpin’ us prepare fer the ceremony here at Castle Wallace. ‘Tis more than we could have hoped fer.”
Isolde’s eyes sparkled with warm affection as she squeezed Rhona’s hands. “Och, dinnae be daft,” she said with a dismissive wave, though her smile was friendly. “Where else would we be on such a day? After everythin’ ye and Ian have been through, we wanted tae make certain ye had all the family support ye needed fer a proper celebration.”
“Thank ye.”
“The guests are assembled and awaitin’ yer presence. Faither’s been pacin’ like a caged bear, Ciaran’s tryin’ tae keep the MacCraith warriors from startin’ drinkin’ contests with the Wallace men, and Lorna’s somewhere sketchin everythin’ fer posterity.” Isolde’s smile widened. “Just another perfectly normal Highland weddin’.”
Rhona laughed, the sound chasing away the last of her nervous butterflies. “Well then, let’s nae keep them waitin’ any longer.
The great hall of Castle Wallace had been transformed into something magical, draped with the colors of all three clans and lit with enough candles to rival the stars themselves. Ian stood at the front, near the massive hearth, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched clan members file in wearing their finest tartans.
