The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,90
a daisy. “I have no doubts about the groom. I just hope I’m truly the woman for him.”
Once they stepped into the vestibule, everything passed in a blur. Janet fussed over Emma’s dress while Robert explained the process of giving her away, even though they’d practiced it with the minister last eve—though Ciar hadn’t been present. Her brother didn’t feel the groom ought to see his bride the day before the wedding. “I allowed my wife to invite him for a meal, and that was quite enough,” he had insisted.
“Is he here?” Emma asked as they started down the aisle to the rolling notes from the organ.
“Aye,” Robert whispered in her ear. “He’s standing up front with a daft grin on his craggy face.”
“How can you say such a thing about my betrothed?”
“Forgive me.” Robert cleared his throat, patting her arm. “I’ve never seen him look happier.”
“That’s better.”
When they stopped, Emma pictured everything in her mind’s eye. The vicar stood before them, and she felt Ciar’s aura beside her. Bathed in a wash of his spicy scent, warmth radiated from him as he filled the nave with his powerful presence.
“Who gives this woman in holy matrimony?”
Emma held her breath, praying Robert wouldn’t say anything rash.
But her brother took her hands and shifted them toward Ciar. “I do.”
If the priest continued from there, Emma didn’t hear him. She stood facing the man she loved. She slid her fingers up his velvet doublet and brushed them over the plaid and brooch at his shoulder. The fabric was crisp and new. His cravat was made of the finest linen and tied in a perfect knot with lace fringing the two ends.
Moving upward, she found his smile, smooth, freshly shaven cheeks, and thick hair curling down to his shoulders.
“You are beautiful,” she whispered.
“Nay half as bonny as the bride.” His breath lightly swept across her forehead. “Och, the wee flowers are perfect.”
“May we now begin?” asked the vicar.
Emma’s face grew hot. He’d been waiting? She should have known. After all, the man had baptized her.
The vicar recited the service efficiently, though it was unbearably difficult to pay attention. There she stood before God and her kin pledging eternal love for Ciar MacDougall, chieftain of Dunollie, the only man she had ever and would ever love from the depths of her soul. It was difficult to believe that merely two months ago she had been content with spinsterhood. Because of her blindness she had been afraid to venture anywhere outside of Glenmoriston.
So much had transpired since then, and now she was embarking on a new adventure—willfully going to a home where she had never been.
But Emma could do anything with Ciar at her side.
Now she harbored no fear of learning to negotiate a new home. A place where she would be Lady Dunollie, wife of the most fearsome chieftain in the Highlands. And she could hardly wait to begin.
Together they recited their vows, and when the vicar called for the ring, Ciar took her hand and circled a stone in her palm. “This was worn by my mother and my grandmother, and by generations of Dunollie women. With this ring I thee wed.”
Emma felt as if she were floating on a cloud as he slipped it onto her finger and kissed her hand.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” said the vicar.
Each moment growing more ethereal than the next, she smiled at her husband.
Husband?
Now she was definitely floating. “We’re married?”
Ciar pulled her into his warm, soothing, and wonderful embrace, pressing his lips against her forehead. “Aye, lass. You will be mine for the rest of our lives.”
The crowd around them faded into oblivion. “And you mine.”
* * *
After they’d shared a glass of oak-aged sherry, Ciar was only too happy to usher his bride toward the waiting coach.
“Write to us as soon as you arrive at your new home!” Janet called.
Robert stopped his sister and pulled her into his arms. “Och, I’ll miss you, lass.”
“Ye ken I’ll miss you as well.”
He kissed her and released her, shifting his gaze to Ciar. “Bring her back to visit often.”
Ciar took his friend’s hand and gave it a sincere shake. “I will, but after the bairn is born, I hope you’ll see fit to venture to Dunollie. I’ll teach the lad how to sail.”
Emma clapped a hand to her chest and gasped. “Who told you?”
Janet looked every bit as shocked, but she rested her hand on her tummy as she had been doing of late.