***
WHEN THEY RODE INTOthe courtyard of MacNeil Keep, a crowd had gathered.Connor noticed immediately how some of his clansmen looked at Fiona.Their expressions ranged from suspicious to openly hostile.Whispers followed their arrival, and he caught fragments: "ran away on her wedding day," "what kind of wife," "bad omen for the clan."
His earlier angry words had clearly spread throughout the keep, painting Fiona as a coward and a threat to the clan.Connor's jaw tightened as he recognized his own fault in this.His public outburst had given his people permission to doubt her, and Highland folk had long memories for slights.
He dismounted first, then helped Fiona down, making sure she was steady on her feet.Then, in a voice that carried across the entire courtyard, he declared, "My betrothed was lost in the mist.When I found her, she was making her way back to keep her wedding vows despite spending a night in the cold and damp."
He fixed several of the more vocal whisperers with a hard stare."Any man who suggests otherwise will answer to me personally.She has shown more courage lost in those woods than most of ye have shown in yer entire lives."
Fiona looked up at him in surprise, something soft entering her green eyes.It was a small gesture, perhaps, but in that moment Connor had chosen to protect her reputation rather than his own pride.
"The wedding will proceed immediately," Connor continued, his voice brooking no argument."I'll have no further delays or interruptions."He turned to Fiona."If that suits ye?"
Fiona nodded, her expression still soft as she looked at him."Aye, it suits me well."
Horas and Laird Finnigan pushed through the crowd, the latter’s face was thunderous with anger and embarrassment.
"What were ye thinking, wandering off like a child?The shame ye've brought on our—"
"Father."Fiona's voice was quiet but firm."I'm well, I'm here, and I'm ready to fulfill my duty to our clan.That's all that matters now."
"Ye, dinnae have to do this," Horas whispered beside her.
"It is best that I do my duty, Horas," she replied.
Fiona turned away from them and allowed her women to usher her away toward the guest chambers to prepare for the ceremony.Connor watched her go, noting the straight set of her shoulders and the dignity with which she carried herself despite the whispers that followed in her wake.
An hour later, the Great Hall had been hastily rearranged again and the priest stood ready at the altar.Connor took his place at the front of the hall, once again dressed in his finest Highland regalia, though this time his palms were damp with something that had nothing to do with anger.
***
THE PIPES BEGAN TOplay, and the great doors opened.
Fiona appeared in the doorway, and Connor's heart began to pound against his ribs.
She wore a gown of deep emerald that brought out the color of her eyes, the fabric shimmering in the afternoon light streaming through the windows.The dress was cut in the traditional style, with a fitted bodice that laced up the front with golden cord and wide sleeves that tapered to points at her wrists.The skirt fell in graceful folds to the floor, designed to conceal her slight limp while still showing the elegant line of her figure.
Her hair had been woven with ribbons of cream and gold, twisted into an elaborate crown of braids that left soft tendrils to frame her face.A circlet of flowers rested on her brow.She wore the colors of both their clans: the green of the Finnigans and the yellow that featured in the MacNeil plaid.
But it was her face that stopped Connor's breath entirely.Gone was the fierce warrior goddess who had faced him down in the bothy.In her place walked a young woman trying very hard to be brave, a nervous smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she made her way down the aisle.
Connor found her flawless: this woman who wandered into forests and spent nights in abandoned bothys and faced down angry Highlanders without flinching.
As Fiona drew closer, their eyes met across the distance.Her nervous smile faltered for just a moment, then steadied as she saw something in his expression that gave her courage.Connor stood transfixed, watching this woman who would be his wife approach with grace and dignity despite everything that had happened between them.
When she reached his side, he offered her his arm.Her fingers trembled slightly as she placed them on his sleeve, but her voice was steady as she whispered, "Thank ye.For what ye said in the courtyard."
"It was nothing more than the truth," he replied, surprised by the roughness in his own voice.
The priest began the ancient ceremony, his words echoing off the stone walls.Connor found himself stealing glances at Fiona throughout the ritual, noting the way the light caught in her hair, the determined set of her chin, the steady way she spoke her vows.
When it came time for him to pledge his troth, Connor's voice rang clear and strong through the hall: "I, Connor MacNeil, take ye, Fiona Finnigan, to be my wife, to honor and protect, from this day forward."
As he slipped the finely crafted gold ring onto her finger, a ring that had belonged to MacNeil wives for generations, Connor realized that somewhere between her passionate defense in the bothy and this moment, something fundamental had shifted between them.
Perhaps their marriage would not be the disaster he had feared.Perhaps, instead, it might be the beginning of something neither of them had dared to hope for.
The priest completed the ceremony and Connor bent to kiss his bride.It was meant to be a chaste kiss, brief and proper for the watching crowd.But when his lips touched hers, soft and warm and slightly parted in surprise, time seemed to stop.
