“If this is yer way of telling me that I am yer least favorite sister?—”
Megan gasped in mock shock and put her hand on her chest. “I would never do that.”
Lily narrowed her eyes, almost like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Nae to yer face anyway.”
There it was.
Lily laughed, a shaky sound, and hugged them all. She had not realized how much she needed this until she felt them in her arms.
“Plus, we all ken the opposite is true.” Megan whispered with a grunt and everyone smiled.
Sorcha stepped forward and bowed her head slightly. “I’m Sorcha. I’ve been helping Lady MacRay get ready.”
Valerie grinned. “Ye can be honest with me, Sorcha. How many times has she told ye that she can do it by herself?”
Sorcha chuckled. “I have lost count, if I am being honest.”
They all laughed, and soon Valerie, Brigid, and Megan joined in, adding some finishing touches to Lily’s face and hair.
Valerie helped her wear the green gown she had sent as a gift, and tilted her head curiously as she adjusted Lily’s sleeve. “What should we call this? Ye were already handfasted ten years ago.”
“Nay,” Megan corrected quickly. “That doesnae count. Aye, they stood before each other, but they didnae have a proper wedding. Nae when he went and ran away like a coward.”
“Megan!” Lily gasped, spinning to glare at her.
Megan raised her eyebrows, unrepentant. “What? ‘Tis true, is it nae? He did run off.”
Lily bit her lip and then laughed despite herself. “Aye, he did. But he came back. And that’s what matters now.”
“Exactly,” Valerie said softly, her eyes warm. “And look at ye. About to be married properly, surrounded by family. It feels right.”
The sisters exchanged smiles, and Lily felt the weight in her chest lighten. They were all together, and it was on the happiest day of her life. Whatever had been lost in the past, didnae have the power to spoil the future.
Sorcha carefully tucked the last pin in Lily’s hair and stepped back. “There,” she said with satisfaction. “Lady MacRay is ready.”
Lily touched her braid, her heart fluttering.
Ready, indeed.
The hall was more packed than Alasdair had expected. He didn’t know why, but he had never expected his wedding day to be so filled with people.
Every bench was taken. His councilmen sat in their dark cloaks, the soldiers who had once fought by his side now polished and solemn. Folks from the village and the clans nearby, and even a few further down, had come.
Alasdair stood at the front, beside the priest. His shoulders were squared, his hands hung loosely at his sides, but his mind was restless.
Finn shifted next to him. “Ye seem nervous, me Laird,” he murmured, his voice tinged with amusement.
Alasdair didn’t look at him. “I’m nae nervous. Just thinking about the entrance.”
“Aye, ye’re nervous,” Finn said, matter-of-fact. “Ye’re doing the eyebrow thing.”
Alasdair finally turned. “What eyebrow thing?”
“The thing yer eyebrow does when ye’re nervous. It arches, like it’s trying to escape yer face. Ye did it plenty during the handfasting back then.”
Alasdair shoved him with his elbow. “Ye’re me man-at-arms. I didnae ask ye here to analyze me.”
