Just Wait For Me (Highland Gardens Book 3)

by Dawn Marie Hamilton

  Patrick shared a glance with his wife, and then they both nodded agreement.

  “There is nae need for you to leave. You and the bairns are welcome to remain with the clan in Anderson Creek.”

  Stephen released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d held, grasped Jillian’s hand and squeezed when she rose, stepping back to stand beside him.

  “You will need an occupation,” Patrick said. “You can work with me, building log homes. We will start with one for you and Jillian. The two of you and the bairns cannot stay at the inn forever.”

  Laurie kissed Jillian on the cheek. “Congratulations. We’ll have such fun planning the wedding.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Jillian gazed into the antique cheval mirror in her bedroom at the inn, her bewildered image reflected in the beveled oval. Had she fallen through the looking glass into Wonderland? Goodness. She was dressed in a very modern Irish lace wedding gown and would marry a sixteenth century Highlander in less than an hour. Who would have thought such a thing possible when she’d moved to Anderson Creek a few years ago to join in the garden center business with Laurie and Caitrina?

  “Is that really me?” Jillian pointed to her reflection, eyes bright and hair piled atop her head in a soft bun adorned with a tiara of faux diamonds.

  Laurie chuckled. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” Jillian swirled in a circle. She adored the princess cut of the ivory gown and the row of covered buttons extending down the length of its back. “It’s my dream wedding dress.”

  “Stephen will love it.”

  “You think?”

  “How could he not? Now, hold still so I can put this on you.” Laurie draped a silk sash of MacLachlan tartan over Jillian’s shoulder and clasped it at the hip. “Perfect.”

  After a soft knock, the door swung open and Keita rushed into the room, dancing about, showing-off her forest green dress that matched Laurie’s matron of honor gown. Keita stopped next to Jillian. “You look like the princess in the storybook Mairi gave me. So pretty.”

  “You look lovely too, sweet pea.” Jillian blew the girl a kiss.

  The darling child preened.

  Kyle entered the room next looking handsome in a kilt, waistcoat, and jacket, matching those worn by Stephen and Patrick, carrying a velvet jewelry case. “I have something for you.”

  Jillian accepted the box. “What is this?”

  “Mother’s pearls,” he said, all nonchalant as if it wasn’t a big deal. “She gave them to me, but you should have them.”

  Jillian tensed. Mother didn’t want me to have them. “She meant them for your future wife.”

  “They’re mine to do with as I please and I want you to wear them today. Consider them a wedding gift.” He slew her with his famous pleading gaze—a look that always got him what he wanted. “Please.”

  “Okay. I’ll return them after the wedding reception.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I mean for you to keep them. They’re yours to give to your daughter at her wedding.”

  “Thank you. I’ll cherish them always. Not because they belonged to our mother. But because you gave them to me.” Jillian’s eyes misted and her hand shook as she removed the short strand from the satin-lined case and handed the pearl necklace to Laurie. “Would you put this on for me?”

  “Of course, hon.” Laurie stepped in behind Jillian, slipped the string under the tartan sash and around Jillian’s neck and then secured the silver clasp. “They’re perfect with your gown.”

  Lovelier than the faux pearls she’d intended to wear. Jillian put the matching dangle earrings on and took one more glance in the mirror. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  The skirl of a bagpipe in the distance sent a chill across Jillian’s bare shoulders as she exited the rear of the inn with the others. The glint of the sun from a cloudless blue sky bore witness to a perfect September day. Had it truly been a year ago her journey began? The weird inconsistency in the flow of time from one century to the next while hopping through the time gate made the passage of real time, here in the current century, feel surreal.

  “Shall we?” Kyle held out an arm, and she leaned on him as they strolled through the formal garden and beyond to the edge of the grand lawn.

  The inn’s gazebo sat in the center of the immense swath of meticulously groomed grass. Chairs covered in white linen fabric with forest green bows at the back had been placed to either side of a red cloth running the length to the white Victorian structure. Garlands of white roses, heather, and ivy twined the wooden pillars. And the semi-circular flowerbeds to either side were planted with Montauk daisies in full bloom. The effect was storybook quality.

  Many of the townspeople from the Village of Anderson Creek were seated in the chairs. As Jillian approached the gathering, she felt like pinching herself to prove the reality of the day. They stopped upon nearing the back row.

  Laurie kissed Jillian’s cheek and squeezed her fingers. “Everything will be fine.”

  Then why were her insides doing an Irish jig? “I know. I thought Caitrina would be here. I’m not mad at her anymore.”

  “She would be if she could.” Laurie handed Jillian the bridal bouquet of white heather tied with green velvet then did the slow, one-step-stop, one-step-stop, wedding march along the center aisle past those gathered to witness the nuptials. When she reached the halfway mark, Jillian urged Keita to follow Laurie down the aisle. The child dropped white rose petals on the red runner from a white wicker basket beribboned in green to match her and Laurie’s dresses as she’d practiced the previous afternoon. She joined Mairi and Iain in the front row while Laurie climbed the one step to the gazebo and stood with Patrick, Stephen, and Duff facing the minister.

  The piper, in full Highland dress, had moved closer to the gathering and began to play the wedding processional. All heads swiveled toward Jillian and Kyle.

  Jillian’s pulse quickened as she slowly paraded along the aisle on Kyle’s arm. He gave a brotherly hug and kissed her cheek then moved to the side, joining Keita. Jillian inhaled a nervous breath, stepped up onto the wooden floor, and took her place beside her future husband.

  Stephen looked so damn sexy in his kilt, waistcoat, and jacket. The thrill throbbing at her core had Jillian curling bare toes against the oak floorboards. Yeah. She was barefoot beneath her gown. And why not? Her Highlander was barefoot beneath his kilt. Other parts—more manly—were probably also bare. Heat radiated up from her chest, flushing her face, and she glanced sideways at Stephen. She could hardly wait for the wedding festivities to end so she could be alone with him.

  He smirked, as if he knew the direction of her thoughts. Duff grinned. He’d better not have an inkling of what Jillian had been thinking. The boy wore a plaid kilt the same as the men in the bridal party, but with an ivory tunic. He held a matching tartan pillow upon which satin ties secured two gold rings etched with Celtic designs.

  Once Laurie and Patrick were in position, they all faced the minister.

  The minister cleared his throat. "Is there any among those gathered today with reason this couple should not wed?"

  No one spoke, but a commotion from behind made Jillian spin around. One of the guests righted a fallen chair and assisted an elderly woman Jillian didn’t recognize though thought familiar, to another seat. A chill passed over Jillian’s bare shoulders and she glanced at Stephen. He shrugged and they once again faced the minister who seemed unfazed by the disturbance.

  “Please, join hands.” The minister clasped Jillian’s right hand, gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, and placed her hand in Stephen’s left palm then wrapped their hands together with a strip of MacLachlan tartan, tying a knot, binding their love together.

  Jillian gazed into Stephen’s eyes and felt the special connection they shared.

  “We are gathered here today to…” The minister’s voice droned. Stephen paid it little heed, too obsessed with the woman standing beside him. His chest swelled with pride. His Jillian was
the comeliest creature he’d ever seen. And she looked delicious in that scandalous gown. Stephen ground his teeth. ’Twas difficult to become accustomed to the way modern people dressed. How much flesh they revealed.

  He loved the sight of Jillian’s skin, but he didn’t care for the fact other men could also see her delicate, bare shoulders. Why hadn’t she worn a shawl over the damn gown?

  Jillian shot him a startled look and Patrick snickered. Had Stephen just growled?

  The minister’s lips twitched as if the man fought a smile. He cleared his throat and continued preaching about the significance of the vows they were about to exchange. Stephen didn’t need a reminder. He understood, and was humbled by, the duties he would perform in his marriage with Jillian. He loved her and would always set her needs above his own.

  “Stephen MacEwen of Anderson Creek, previously of Strathlachlan, Scotland, will you have this woman as your wedded wife?”

  “I will.” Stephen gazed at Jillian. “I pledge thee my troth.”

  “And you, Jillian O’Donnell of Anderson Creek, will you have this man as your wedded husband?”

  “I will.” She beamed at Stephen. “I pledge thee my troth, as you have to me.”

  “The rings?” The minister glanced at Patrick. Patrick removed the rings from the pillow Duff held forward and handed them to the minister. One held in each hand, the minister raised the gold bands for all to see, but spoke to Stephen and Jillian. “Let these rings become a symbol of the love within your marriage—as a ring has no beginning and no end, so too will the love between you have no beginning and no end.”

  He released their bound hands and offered Stephen the smaller ring. Stephen withdrew a second ring from his sporran turned to his beloved and slid the ring with the emerald stone upon her delicate finger and then the gold wedding band. “I place these rings upon your third finger, Jillian, where the vein runs directly to your heart, so you shall always feel my love. And with this gold ring I do vow to thee the first cut of my meat, the first sip of my wine, and from this day only your name shall I cry out in the night and only into your eyes shall I smile each morning. I will be a shield for your back as you are for mine. Above and beyond this, I will cherish and honor you through this life and into the next.”

  Her eyes had widened at the sight of the emerald ring, but she quickly regained composure. “Wow. Thank you,” Jillian whispered for his ears only. “By the way, nice vows.”

  She accepted the larger ring from the minister and gazed at Stephen. “With this ring, I take you into my heart at the rising of the moon and the setting of the stars. I will love you and be your forever partner through thick and thin. I will love you through all that may come our way in this time and in any other to which we may inadvertently travel.”

  The minister’s brows furrowed then he shook his head as if shaking off confusion from Jillian’s obscure vow. “I pronounce you man and wife,” he said. “You may kiss the bride.”

  Stephen didn’t need encouragement. He wrapped his arms around Jillian, pulled her close, and kissed her deep. The guests hooted.

  “The bride and groom will receive guests in the front hall at the inn. Cocktails and hors d'oeuvres will be served shortly thereafter by the staff of Le Petit Café on the veranda,” the minister announced.

  A piper played a celebratory tune. Stephen grasped Jillian’s hand and together they walked past those seated to where two additional pipers joined the first, then they, the bridal party, and all the guests followed the piping trio across the lawn, through the garden maze and formal gardens to the inn. In the front hall, the pipers headed for the bar, and Stephen stood beside his new wife—the love of his heart—to receive their guests along with Laurie, Patrick, Duff, and Keita.

  “This is so much fun,” Jillian enthused later, after dinner had been served and consumed and the tables removed for dancing.

  Stephen whisked her around the floor, having quickly learned the modern way of dancing. “I am glad you are happy, sweetling.”

  As they passed the table displaying the wedding cake, one of the pipers, a hearty lad, stopped them. “It’s time to cut the cake.”

  He played a short tune on his pipes. When finished, a dirk appeared in his hand. He handed it to Jillian. “It is custom here and about to cut the cake with a Scottish blade.”

  As she sliced the first piece, Stephen reached out and guided her hand. When their gazes met, his chest tightened. “’Tis ancient tradition.”

  “Of course.” She smiled. “Our modern tradition is for you to feed me a piece and then I feed you one. Be careful not to get any on my gown. Please.”

  He placed a small piece of cake into her mouth. When she licked a crumb from her lip, his blood raged, and he grew hard. The consummation of their vows couldn’t come soon enough.

  The sight from the corner of his eye of an emerald-eyed, aged woman standing in the doorway made him whip his head to the side for a better view. It couldn’t be. The cake Jillian meant for his mouth smashed into his cheek. Those in attendance roared with laughter. He chuckled, too, while Jillian cleaned his face with a damp cloth and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips.

  “What made you glance away?” she asked.

  “I thought I saw someone…familiar. Someone from the past.” He scanned the chamber for the old woman, but she had vanished.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “What do you mean by someone from the past?” Jillian asked in a hushed tone. “Who?”

  “Do you remember the Gray Women of the caves? I thought I saw the one with the emerald eyes standing by the doorway a moment ago.” Stephen shook his head. “Ach. I must be mistaken.”

  “Perhaps it was the elder woman who arrived late to the ceremony,” Jillian mused aloud. “I couldn’t discern the color of her eyes, but she seemed eerily familiar.”

  “If ’twas the woman I am thinking of, she was the one that gifted you the fae blades.”

  “How would she have gotten here? Why would she have come?”

  “The same way as us, I would venture. But the why?” Stephen flipped both hands palm up. “I cannot offer a reason.”

  “Do you think she wants the blades returned? They are museum quality and probably worth a mint. I never expected to keep them.”

  “What are you two plotting?” Laurie joined them. “I hope you’re not planning your escape from the celebration. At least, not yet.”

  “Nae need to worry about the bedding ritual in this time period.” Patrick winked at Jillian, offering his hand. “They are playing a slow song. How about dancing with the best man?”

  “Of course.” She allowed him to swirl her into the wake of other dancers and gave up the speculation about the emerald-eyed woman.

  Stephen and Laurie also took to the dance floor. Shortly afterward, Jillian stood to the side with Brigit, the owner of the Le Petit Café, and Elspeth. “I want to thank you both for the wonderful job you did catering the cocktail hour and dinner. Everything was delicious.”

  Brigit beamed. “You’re welcome.”

  Elspeth squeezed Jillian’s hand. “We wanted to make your day special, so we took extra care with the menu.”

  Stephen danced past with Keita mounted on the tops of his feet. The child laughed and grinned—a lopsided, deformed smile, but one of joy. Jillian’s chest filled with warmth, her love for Keita only second to that which she felt for Stephen.

  “He is good with the bairns,” Elspeth said. “He will make a terrific father.”

  “I believe so,” Jillian agreed. “Though I’m nervous about the adoptive proceedings since he—”

  “You will both do fine.” Elspeth tilted her head toward Brigit in warning, reminding Jillian the French woman didn’t know about the oddities of those living in her community.

  Around ten o’clock, Mairi escorted the yawning Keita and Duff upstairs to bed. It was two hours past the bedtime Jillian had mandated upon their arrival in Anderson Creek, but an exception had been made for this one day. Jillian and S
tephen were to stay in one of the guest cottages for their wedding night. From experience, Jillian knew the celebration would last far into the wee hours of the next morning with much whisky being consumed.

  “Do I see a glimmer in your eye, sweetling?” Stephen asked. “Are you ready to become my wife in truth?”

  “Absolutely. Let’s sneak away.”

  At the cottage door, Stephen picked Jillian up and cradled her in strong arms. She gave him a questioning look. “’Tis believed evil spirits inhabit the thresholds of doors, you ken?”

  “You don’t believe that. Do you?”

  “Nae, but it gives me a reason to hold you in my arms. Not that I need an excuse.” He strode through the living room and into the bedroom and gently laid her on their wedding bed, which had been strewn with all sorts of flower petals.

  Jillian sneezed. “I think someone must have accidently included ragweed with the other blooms.” She scrunched her nose to hold back another sneeze. “But I have an idea. Since everyone will be partying at the inn until the wee hours, how about we take a blanket out into the garden and enjoy the waxing moon?”

  Pillow in hand, and with nothing but a tartan blanket clasped by Stephen’s emerald brooch wrapped around her, Jillian strolled hand-in-hand with him to a grassy spot within the garden surrounded by evergreen shrubs.

  “The perfect place for a tryst with one’s wife,” he said, a suggestive grin curving his lips.

  He placed another tartan on the grassy padding and Jillian added the pillow then sat. She carefully removed the brooch holding the wool in place. “By the way, thank you for my beautiful emerald ring.”

  “You are welcome.” Stephen grinned. “I was pleased to learn the wee gems I brought with me from the past are of great value in this time. You are wed to a wealthy man.”

  “I love you despite the fault.”

  Stephen’s lips pursed. “Fault?”

  To make up for the dig, she slowly unwrapped the fabric, first revealing one breast, then the other. She felt awkward playing the vamp, but when she exposed the cleft between her legs, Stephen’s quick inhale of breath made the striptease worth the rush of nervous heat flushing her neck and face.