“You’re sounding awfully romantic Ben. Nothing like the hardened, sword-wielding warrior history has painted you as.”
He laughed. “Ye should not believe everything that ye read, lass.” And never had he hoped this was the case—especially with his impending demise. Was history wrong? Had he really died, or did they just not know what became of his clan? Either way, he was going to marry the woman before him, the one and only lass he’d ever truly loved.
“True,” she said, leaning up to kiss him again. This time a little less sweetly.
Over the next two days, Kenzie, with the help of her maid, made-over a gown she’d deemed suitable for a wedding dress. The priest, just as Ben had said, was prepared to marry them in haste and to make the celebration even more joyful, Kenzie had put out an invitation to all the villagers and clansmen of Castle Ross to attend.
On the morning of her wedding day, the castle kitchen staff had laid out an assortment of food on the tables within the great hall and all those in attendance would be free to eat and drink to the early hours of the next morning.
A little extravagant, and yet Ben had thought it a wonderful idea, and so the plan had been set. Kenzie had written to Gwen and Braxton, inviting them, too, but due to the short notice, she doubted they would get here quick enough.
A light knock on her door sounded, and Kenzie bade them enter. She turned to see Athol at the threshold, her face hardened with unrestrained hate.
“Come in, Athol. What can I do for you?” she asked, dismissing her maid who left and shut the door behind her. Kenzie went and sat before the fire, gesturing for Athol to join her there.
Athol sat and folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve come to ask ye to leave off this marriage plan with Laird Ross.”
Kenzie had known this was coming. The lass was determined to have Ben for herself, but there was no way in hell Kenzie was letting Ben go. “I’m sorry, Athol, but that’s not possible. I love the laird and want him to be my husband, and he wishes for me to be his wife. Nothing will change that.”
“I am Aline’s sister, and would suit the role of mother and wife much more than you. The boy is my blood.”
“Alasdair, you mean. He does have a name.”
Athol narrowed her eyes. “Ye are not suitable nor of high birth. Ye bring nothing to this marriage other than your ability to lay on your back and act the tramp.”
Kenzie smiled, not willing to let this woman know how her words hurt her soul. She would not stoop to the woman’s level, no matter how much she may wish to. “You don’t know me. I fail to see how it’s my fault the laird prefers me over you. Everyone has a choice and his has been made. While I’m sorry you’re hurt by that choice, it is something you’ll have to live with. Now,” she said, standing, “I have a wedding to attend and you have a door to walk through. Good day to you, Athol.”
“You’ll regret this,” Aline’s sister said, spitting the words like little arrows.
Kenzie watched her leave. No, she would never regret marrying Ben, when one married her soulmate, regret was an emotion that could never raise its ugly head.
Chapter 15
They were married in a small stone church that sat at the edge of the forest beyond Castle Ross. A harpist played a tune that was unknown to Kenzie, but it was as magical as the man who stood beside her. His best kilt and whitest shirt with the Ross tartan across his shoulders and chest gave him an air of authority, a tall, strong laird beloved by all his people.
He was the best of men and from this day forward, he was hers. Which Kenzie admitted meant that the seventeenth century Scotland would be her home forever, too. Maybe after she spoke to Gwen there was a possibility that she could return home and tell her mother of her choice and say goodbye to both her and her cousin, the current Laird Macleod. She hoped.
Kenzie stood beside Ben and watched as the castle children ran about the keep. Everyone seemed in high spirits that their laird had found a woman he cared for enough to marry. The Nurse exited the castle and brought over Alasdair. Kenzie reached