Page 97 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
She chose this,She chose me freely, chose us, chose tae build a future together.
But even with that knowledge firmly lodged in his mind, the magnitude of what they were undertaking threatened to overwhelm him. This wasn’t just a marriage – it was the foundation of a new political alliance, a symbol of peace between clans that had spent generations at each other’s throats.This is bigger than the two of us.
“Breathe, lad,” Allistair MacAlpin said quietly, appearing at his elbow with the measured step of a man who’d given daughters away before. “She’ll be here.”
“I ken she will,” Ian replied, though his voice came out rougher than intended. “’Tis just… all of this. Are we mad tae think we can make this work?”
“Love always requires a wee bit of madness,” Allistair said with a slight smile. “But I’ve watched ye both these past days. They way ye look at each other, the way ye work taegether tae solve problems… aye, I think it will work. Now, excuse me while I fetch me daughter.”
Within minutes, the bagpipes began their haunting melody, and conversation died around them as every head turned toward the entrance. Ian’s breath caught in his throat as Rhona appeared in the doorway, her hand resting lightly on her father’s arm, looking every inch the Highland noblewoman she’d been born to be.
She moved toward him with the grace of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to claim it. Her blue eyes never left his face, and in them he saw now doubt, nohesitation – only love and determination and the promise of a future worth fighting for.
When she reached him, Allistair placed her hand in Ian’s with formal ceremony. “Take care of her, lad,” he said quietly. “She’s the heart of our clan.”
“Aye, I will.” Ian promised, his voice thick with emotion. “With me life.”
The handfasting ceremony began with Gaelic words older than memory, spoken by the clan elders in voices that carried the weight of tradition. But Ian barely heard them, lost in the wonder of Rhona’s face turned up toward his own, and in the way her fingers trembled slightly in his grasp.
“D’ye, Ian Wallace, take this woman as yer wife, tae honor her above all others, tae protect her with yer life, and tae cherish her until death claims ye both?”
“Aye, I dae,” Ian said, his voice carrying clearly across the hall.
“And dae ye, Rhona MacAlpin, take this man as yer husband, tae stand beside him in all things, tae share his burdens and joys, and tae love him until death claims ye both?”
“Aye, I dae,” Rhona replied, her voice steady and sure.
The clan tartans were brought forward – Wallace blue and black, MacAlpin green and gold, MacCraith silver and red – and woven together by the elders into a single cord. As they bound Ian and Rhona’s joined hands with the braided cloth, the symbolism was clear to everyone present.
“What God has joined, let no man put asunder,” the elder intoned. “What the clans have witnessed, let is stand fer all time.By the ancient laws of Scotland and the sacred traditions of the Highlands, I now pronounce ye husband and wife.”
The cheer that erupted from the assembled crowd was loud enough to shake the ancient stones of the castle walls. Ian pulled Rhona into his arms for their first kiss within the holy bonds of matrimony, and the world narrowed to just the two of them – the moment that made everything they’d endured worthwhile.
“Lady Wallace,” Ian murmured against her lips.
“Och,” she whispered back. “I dae like the sound of that!”
The kiss that followed sealed more than just their vows before God – it sealed a promise of the life they would build together. When they finally broke apart, the cheer that erupted from the assembled crowd was loud enough to shake the ancient stones, and Rhona thought her heart might burst from the sheer joy of it all.
She found herself swept from group to group, accepting congratulations and well-wishes until her cheeks ached from smiling.
Hours passed in a blur of dancing and toasts and stories that grew more outrageous with each telling. She watched with delight as Aileen taught a gruff Wallace warrior the steps of a traditional MacAlpin dance, as Lorna sketched the festivities with artistic precision, as Isla challenged a group of young Wallace men to a drinking contest that had them all roaring with laughter, and her father who shared war stories with Ian’smen like they’d been allies for decades rather than enemies for generations.
She was in the middle of accepting congratulations from a jovial MacCraith cousin when she heard Ciaran’s voice cut through the revelry with sharp authority.
“Form up! Royal guard approachin’!”
The great hall fell silent as a tomb, as if someone had dropped a shroud over the celebration. Rhona felt Ian’s hand find hers immediately, his fingers strong and steady as tension rippled through the guests.
The massive doors swung open to admit a contingent of royal guards in their distinctive red and gold livery, followed by a figure that made every person in the hall drop to one knee in respectful acknowledgement.
King Charles II of Scotland entered with the casual confidence of a man accustomed to having his presence change the atmosphere of any room. He was younger than Rhona had expected, perhaps thirty years old, with intelligent dark eyes that missed nothing as they swept over the assembled clans.
“Rise,” he commanded, his voice carrying easily across the hall. “We are after all here on a matter of some urgency.”
Ian and Rhona exchanged glances as they rose with the rest of their guests. This was either very good, or very bad news, and given their recent history, Rhona was inclined to expect the worst.
“We have received most disturbing reports,” the king continued, his gaze settling on Ian with uncomfortable intensity, “regardingthe conduct of certain Highland lairds. Reports of unlawful military action, of political instability, of...” his eyes flitted to Rhona, “questionable alliances formed through questionable means.”
