“Nay. It doesna even come close.”
He held her cheeks in his palms and kissed her slowly. He poured his heart into the kiss, every bit of him. Promising to her that he was a changed man, the kind of man she deserved. One who would care for her and Jamie as long as he lived, do all within his power to keep them safe from harm. Love her with all he had.
He pulled back and pressed his forehead to hers. “Much better than haggis.”
Aileen’s bright smile could have melted a block o’ ice.
From the corner of his eye, Conall saw Jamie break away from Dores’s grasp and run toward them. “Does this mean ye’ll marry?”
Conall didna release her. “Does it, Aileen?”
She nodded, her gaze not leaving his. “Aye.”
“Well ’tis aboot time the pair o’ ye came to yer senses.” Dores stood beside Jamie, arms folded. She tried to hold a critical gaze, but her eyebrows would not remain furrowed. She gave an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose Mrs. Ross and I have another weddin’ to plan.”
“Nay. Not this time,” Conall said. He loosed his embrace but held Aileen’s hand.
“What do ye mean by that?” Dores asked.
“We’ll likely need to tarry in Fort William for a few days while the case is built. The constables may ask Jamie and Aileen to testify before the justice o’ the peace.” He pointed with his chin toward the town. “I wager we can find a kirk man who’ll agree to do the job . . . once we explain the circumstance. The banns were called after all. I don’t think ’twill be a problem that ’twas done in another parish. Mr. Graham will understand that we didna want to wait.” He squeezed Aileen’s hand, hoping he’d not overstepped. Perhaps she wanted to wait and be married in Dunaid. “Do ye agree, Aileen?”
She looked up at him, a small smile forming. “If we canna find a minister, I’m sure some other resident o’ the town will witness the vows.”
Conall shook his head. “No, we’ll do it proper. A kirk weddin’. I’ll no’ have my wife’s memory o’ the day involvin’ vows said over an anvil. ’Tis too important.”
“Oh.” Aileen’s cheeks turned pink. Her eyes were bright, and he felt a renewed desire to show her she was cherished, that he didna take this weddin’ lightly.
“How aboot . . .” He looked at the sun, judging the time. ’Twas near to eight o’ clock. “Noon?”
“Today?” Aileen darted her eyes around the group. He was certain she was seein’ the five of them—filthy, blood-stained, and sleep deprived—as quite unsuitable for a wedding.
“’Twill give Mrs. Campbell time to help ye find a dress, and Jamie and I have some errands o’ our own.”
“No, tha’ won’ do at all,” Dores piped up. “A weddin’ must happen in the morning. ’Tis bad luck otherwise.”
“Could ye be ready by eleven?” Conall asked then stopped, realizing his eagerness was overshadowing his good sense. He shook his head, cutting off any response. “I’ll wager none o’ us has slept well for the last four days. I don’t want any snorin’ through the ceremony.”
“Hear, hear,” Davy said, yawning theatrically.
Conall turned to Aileen. “Are ye stayin’ somewhere in town?”
“No, we didna have a chance to find a place before . . .”
“I’ll see to the arrangements then. There’s a fine inn on the other side o’ town. And if I’m not mistaken, ’tis jes’ up the street from a quaint kirk.”
The women looked at each other. Aileen shrugged, smiling wide. “Tomorrow, ’tis then.”
Davy shook her hand, offering congratulations. Aileen knelt and embraced Jamie.
Conall took Dores aside and pressed a few bills into her hand. “I wan’ her to feel like the mos’ beautiful bride there ever was, ye ken?”
The auld woman touched her fingers to her breastbone, acting insulted, though Conall knew ’twas only in jest. “O’ course you dinna think I’d be doin’ any less?”
He grinned at her, glad to be on good terms with the woman. She made a better ally than an enemy.
“And what’ll I do then?” Davy asked. “I canna replace Mrs. Ross in the weddin’ plannin’ department, but I’m useful for fetchin’ things. Jes’ ask Catriona.” He winked.
“Ye’ll do whatever we need ye to,” Dores said.
“Ah, yes. Tha’ sounds familiar.” He teased. “Jes’ like home.”
Conall smiled at his friends. His heart felt full as he gazed at the small band. “Then come wi’ me,” he said to the group, offering his arm to Aileen. “I reckon Colonel Ravenwood would consider weddin’ preparations sufficient reason to grant our release from the ship.”
Chapter 25
Aileen turned her head as Dores finished fastening her dress. It seemed strange, replicating the same actions from her cottage a week earlier. She stood now in an inn above a taproom, which was blessedly silent this early in the morning.
Conall had sent a message the evening of their rescue, telling her something had arisen, and postponing the wedding two more days. Initially, Aileen had been devastated, plagued with thoughts of self-doubt, certain he didna intend to go through with the wedding. But when he’d come to accompany her to the constables to give a statement, he’d not seemed at all withdrawn, as she would have expected if he were having second thoughts. On the contrary, he was every bit as tender as ever, stealing kisses, whispering endearments.
A few times, she’d seen a strange look on his face, a smile that he’d tried to stifle. Rather as if he’d a secret. But when she looked again, his expression was open and pleasant, and she thought she must have been imagining it.
Besides, she’d not complain about the days of rest, shopping in the town with Dores, or the warm baths. She hadn’t realized how tired she was until she and Jamie slept an entire day away.
Dores turned her around by the shoulders, just as she’d done before. She gave a smile and a nod. “Verra bonny.”
“Thank ye.” Aileen smiled. She felt bonny. The dress was a similar color to the one she’d worn a few days earlier, a creamy white, but this gown she’d chosen herself. Instead of silk, the fabric was a light muslin overlaid by a sheer embroidered netting that hung down in light folds from the waist. The sleeves bunched up just below her shoulders, held in place by blue ribbon, and the sheer fabric extended over her arms, just touching the tops of her gloves.
“Now where is tha’ Davy wi’ the flowers?” Dores muttered, fussing with the flounces on Aileen’s shoulders. “He’ll make ye late to yer own weddin’.”
Dores indicated for her to bend forward. She positioned the veiled bonnet over Aileen’s hair and tied it below her chin. “I dinna ken if ye remember Mr. Campbell. He was a fine man as well.” She stepped back, scrutinizing Aileen’s appearance with a critical eye. “Reminds me o’ yer Conall. Broad in the shoulders, full lips, jes’ ripe for kiss—”
A knock sounded at the door, and Aileen turned, grateful for the impeccable timing. At her bidding, Davy entered.
“A verra pretty bride, to be sure, Mrs. Leslie,” Davy said, grinning broadly. He handed Aileen a bouquet of flowers.
“Thank you, Mr. MacKay.” Tingles of anticipation skittered over her skin as she imagined Conall’s reaction to seeing her in the gown. She turned to hand the bouquet to Dores, knowing the older woman would want to inspect it to make certain the florist included white heather.
Davy cleared his throat, and when Aileen looked back toward the door, he grinned and stepped aside.
Another man stepped into the room. He was thin, his face weathered and scarred, but his blue eyes were so familiar that Aileen felt the long years drop away until she was a sixteen-year-old girl once more. “Da?”
His eyes filled. “Aye, lass. ’Tis me.” He opened his arms, and Aileen fell into his embrace. She felt like her heart was being wrung as tears slid down her cheeks and onto his jacket. She held tightly to her father, fearing if she let go, ’twould all be a dream. “Yer alive.” She choked the words through her tight throat.
“That I am. Now stand back and let me look at ye.”
He held her at arm’s length. “My daughter. Ye’ve grown so bonny, Aileen.”
His voice was so familiar, his face, even the way he smelled—like pipe tobacco and shaving soap. The wrinkles around his eyes and the creases on the sides of his mouth were deeper, but his smile was the same. She wiped at her eyes. “Da, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to leave wi’ no word. I—”
He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her cheeks, just as he used to when she was a child. “Do nay worry yersel’, lass. Conall explained everythin’ to me. ’Twas quite the tale, and him a born storyteller.” He moved to dab her other cheek. “A fine man, yer betrothed. Asked me formally fer yer hand last evenin’.”
Aileen flushed, surprised and pleased that Conall had honored the auld tradition.
“And that lad, Jamie. He’s a right clever one, isna he?”
“He is at that.” She smiled, knowin’ her da would be fair taken wi’ Jamie. “But how did you find us?”
“I had mysel’ a bit o’ a wild-goose chase, to be sure. I arrived at Dunaid and learned I’d missed you by a day. A Mrs. Ross helped me to write a letter to Conall here in Fort William, and he sent for me straightaway. Wanted to make sure I arrived in time to see my lassie get married.” He folded the handkerchief tidily, just the way she remembered, and returned it to his pocket. “Shall we get on wi’ it then? We’ll have plenty o’ time to become reacquainted, o’ that I’m certain.” He offered his arm.
Aileen took it and laid her head on her da’s shoulder. “We’ll have always, da. I’ll not lose ye again.” She took the bouquet from Dores and drew in a breath.
Davy held open the door. “Yer men are waitin’.”
Dores rushed in front of them, holding out her hands as if she were stopping a wild horse. “Wait. Davy, for heaven’s sake, please say ye didna forget the horseshoe.”
He produced it, and Dores hung it over Aileen’s arm then pulled the veil over the bride’s face. “Off ye go, lassie.”
Aileen made sure to lead with her right foot as she stepped with her father out onto the landing and down the stairs. They left the tavern and walked the short distance to the kirkyard, where Conall and Jamie awaited.
Her breath caught at the sight of them. The two were dressed in matching kilts in the red plaid o’ the Royal Stewart tartan. Sashes worn over their jackets were gathered at the shoulder and held in place by a brooch.
Jamie beamed when he saw her, standing tall beside the man he so admired. His father, Aileen thought.
Conall’s eyes met hers, his smile wide and his eyes soft. She did not believe a person could possibly be as happy as she felt at that moment. Her heart felt nigh to burstin’.
When she reached them, both bent forward in a formal bow.
“At yer service, Mam,” Jamie said, his hand over his heart.
Conall straightened and took her hand, kissing her fingers. “Yer lovely, Aileen.” The words were low, his voice a trifle unsteady.
Aileen’s throat compressed, feeling overwhelmed with love for Conall—for the surprise of bringin’ her father and makin’ Jamie feel a part the wedding. She curtseyed deep.
Conall greeted her father then offered her his arm.
She kissed her da through the veil then slipped her hand beneath her betrothed’s arm.
He clasped her fingers that rested in the crook of his elbow and brushed his thumb over her gloved knuckles in a manner that was somehow both friendly and intimate. Her fingers tingled.
Jamie walked behind with her da followed by Dores and Davy, and the small procession entered the kirk.
Aileen listened to the words of the ceremony, answering the minister at the appropriate times and repeating the vows. Conall slid a silver band embossed with a leaf pattern on her finger, and they knelt to accept the minister’s blessing. She’d attended weddings before and always appreciated the beauty of the ceremony—the pledge to be true and care for one another, the prayer for God to bind their hearts, the creation of a new family—but today, she was overcome by the magnitude of it all. She and Conall were a family. Jamie was their son. When they were presented as man and wife to the congregation, she saw the people she loved most in the world smiling back at her.
“Ye may kiss yer bride.”
Conall flipped up the veil, pushing it back over her bonnet. A side of his mouth rose in a small smile as he lifted her chin with gentle fingers. At last their lips met, warming her from the inside out. His kiss felt different this time, and Aileen knew ’twas because all her doubts were gone. Conall was her husband, and she had full faith in him, in his love for her and for their son.
Davy stepped forward and handed Conall a sash in the colors of the Stewart tartan. Conall wrapped it from Aileen’s waist, up across her chest. He stepped closer to fasten it at her shoulder and spoke the ancient Celtic wedding vow. “Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone. I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One. I give ye my Spirit, til our Life shall be Done.”
Aileen repeated the vow back to him, the Gaelic making the words seem to hold more weight, binding them to their land, their people.
Conall spoke low, for her ears only. “Ye never have to fear anythin’ again, Mrs. Aileen Stewart. As long as I’ve breath in my lungs, I’ll keep ye safe.”
“I fear ye may have yer work cut out for ye. I seem to require frequent rescuin’.”
“’Tis my duty now.” His fingers brushed her jawline, making her shiver. “And my pleasure, lass.” He kissed her again, the kiss continuing much longer than Aileen considered appropriate for a church wedding.
She heard Davy’s laugh and Jamie’s complaint but did not let anyone distract her from the business at hand. She returned her husband’s kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting the rest of the world fade away.
Chapter 26
Ten years later
Conall leaned his forearms on the bulwark rail, watching across the water as the port of Halifax, Nova Scotia, grew nearer. He swallowed past a dry throat. So much time had passed.
He and his sister, Elspeth, had exchanged infrequent letters, but once Aileen grew confident with her writing skills, she’d taken over, and the women had corresponded regularly.
In spite of his wife’s desire for a visit, Conall had never felt as though the timing was just right. Calving season, harvest, an important meeting with the village council. . . . He worried about Aileen’s health if she were to travel while in a family way, then worried again about taking a young child.
Finally, though, his excuses had run out. Their youngest, wee Sorcha, was nearly three years old. Aileen’s father could manage the farm during the cold season, and Dunaid would survive without the village’s provost for a few months.
Aileen’s reassurance that things were fine back home didn’t keep him from worrying. Davy and Catriona’s baby was close to being born, and he’d have liked to be there for the child’s baptism. Mr. MacKenzie and Mr. Ferguson were constantly at odds over whose cattle were allowed to graze on the patch of land between their properties, and the village council still hadn’t finished planning the Samhain festival.
“Yer frettin’ aboot Dunaid, aren’t you?”
Hearing his wife’s voice, he turned. He checked to make certain she’d worn a coat out on the chilly deck. Her lungs were still not fully recovered from her latest illness a few months earlier. “I shouldna have left them.” He pulled her coat tighter and drew her close.
She nestled beneath his arm, her head resting on his chest. “They’ll be fine. This—seein’ yer kin—is much more important than worryin’ aboot crop rotation or road maintenance. Da will send for Davy if he needs help wi’ the farm work, and the bees don’t take much tendin’ in the winter.”
She turned, looking back toward the companionway leading from below. Jamie was bringing the other children on deck. He handed Sorcha to her mother, and the younger boys moved to look out over the rail.
Conall pointed toward the port city, and the children clapped their hands, overjoyed that their journey was nearly at an end.
They watched the crew prepare to dock, and the children asked questions about the grandparents and cousins they’d never met.
Conall heard Aileen make a small noise in her throat that he recognized instantly as the sound she made when she disapproved of something. He glanced over to see what had bothered her.
She was watching Jamie talking and laughing with a man they’d met on the voyage. Nico Fletcher was traveling to New York City to seek his fortune in America. He’d sailed the world with his father, a merchant sea captain, and his tales of adventure and far off places had captivated Jamie.
“He’s not a lad any longer,” Conall said, “but a man grown.”
Aileen made the noise again, huffing as she shifted wee Sorcha to her other hip.
“He’ll be off to university soon, and maybe he’ll choose to go to America to study.”
Aileen fixed him with a flat stare. “An’ what could he possibly learn in such a rough land? They’ve savages and bears, for heaven’s sake. The lad should study in Aberdeen or St. Andrew’s. Someplace reputable where they don’ settle arguments with duels.”
“Yer a Highland lass through and through, aren’t ye?” Conall said. He understood the lad’s wantin’ to get away and see the world. He’d done the same at that age. Seein’ how it was breakin’ Aileen’s heart made him ache for the pain he’d caused his parents. He rubbed his eyes.
Aileen gave the baby to one of the boys and slipped her arms around Conall’s waist. “Yer nervous.” Her voice was soft.
He kissed her. “Aye.”
***
Two hours later, they bid farewell to Nico, Jamie already planning to keep up a correspondence with his new friend, in spite of his mother’s coolness when he mentioned the idea. The anchor was dropped, luggage organized, and passengers started down the gangway.
Conall’s heart was in his throat. The crowded dock was full of people calling to one another, long-lost friends and relatives embracing, porters carrying luggage.
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