When a Scot Ties the Knot (Castles Ever After #3)(15)

“Who’s going to officiate?”

“Munro will do the honors, but we dinna need anyone to officiate. There aren’t any rings to bless. We’ll keep this traditional, like the Highland ways of old. ’Twill be a simple handfasting.”

“A handfasting? I thought those only last for a year and a day.”

“In novels, perhaps. But the kirk put a stop to temporary unions some centuries ago. That doesna stop brides and grooms from exchanging vows in the old way. We clasp hands, like so.” He took her by the wrist, gripping her right forearm with his right hand. “Now take hold of me.”

She did as he asked, curling her fingers around his forearm as best she could.

“And the other,” he prompted.

He claimed her left wrist in the same manner, and she held onto his. Their linked hands now formed a cross between them. It looked something like a cat’s cradle or a children’s game.

Logan nodded at Munro.

The man stepped forward and wound a length of plaid around their linked wrists, tying them together. Maddie watched, transfixed, as the strip of fabric wound over her wrist and under his, lashing them together.

Her heart began to beat faster. Her breathing, too. Her brain began to feel as light and misty as a cloud.

He must have been able to tell. His grip tightened on her wrist.

“Can we not do this in private?” she whispered.

“There must be witnesses, lass.”

“Yes, but this many? It’s only that . . .”

She couldn’t finish her plea. The numbness had closed in on her, just as it always did. The cold found her, no matter how well she hid. And the ice encased her from toes to tongue, forbidding her to speak or move. Her pulse beat dully in her ears and time’s progress slowed to a glacial creep.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

When she did, she found him staring down at her. His eyes were intent, captivating.

“Dinna worry about the others. It’s only me and you now.”

His low words of assurance did something strange to her. Something she would have thought impossible. They heated her blood from the inside out and made her forget everyone else in the room. He’d erected a shield against that beam of attention.

It truly was just the two of them now.

Suddenly, the rain, the dark, the candles, the primal symbolism of being tied to another human being . . . It all seemed magical. And more romantic than she could bear.

She was visited by the strange, unshakeable sensation that this was everything she’d dreamed of since she was sixteen years old.

Don’t, she pleaded with herself. Don’t imagine this to be more than it is. That’s how all your trouble starts.

“Now ye repeat the words as I say them,” Logan said.

He murmured something in Gaelic, and she repeated the words aloud as best she could.

“Good,” he praised.

Again, she warmed inside. Foolishly.

When she’d finished her part, he said something similar in return. She heard her name in the mix of Gaelic.

Then Munro stepped forward and unwound the cloth.

“What now?” Maddie asked.

“Just this.” He bent his head and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “That’s all. It’s done.”

The men all gave a rousing cheer.

It was done. She was married.

Did she feel different? Should she feel different?

“I wouldna expect you to wear a full arisaid,” her groom said. “But now that you’re Mrs. MacKenzie, you should never be without these.”

One of the men handed him a length of green--and--blue tartan. Logan draped it from one shoulder to her waist, like a sash.

From his sporran, he pulled something small that flashed in the candlelight. He used it to pin the plaid together in front.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Aunt Thea said. “What is it?”

“It’s called a luckenbooth,” a soldier—-the one named Callum—-explained. “It’s tradition in the Highlands for a man to give such a brooch to his betrothed.”

“Then you should have given it to her in Brighton years ago,” Aunt Thea said.

“I should have done. I suppose I forgot.” With that, he gave Maddie a sly glance.

A realization struck her like a lightning bolt. She now had a confidant. A conspirator. Someone who knew everything. All her secrets. He didn’t love her for them, but he hadn’t run screaming from her, either.

This ruthless, kilted stranger she’d married might be the closest thing on earth Maddie had to a true friend.

Thunder boomed somewhere, quite nearby. The candle flames ducked and cowered. The storm must be passing directly overhead.

“What’s this?” Grant asked, looking more confused than he had before the ceremony began. “We’re drawing fire, Captain. We need to take cover.”

Maddie could see now what Logan had meant about the big soldier’s memory. The poor man.

Logan reached out to his friend again. Explained, again, that they were safe in Scotland. Promised, again, to take him to Ross--shire tomorrow to see his wee ones and his nan.

How many times must he have made those same assurances, Maddie wondered. Hundreds? Perhaps thousands? He must have the patience of a saint.

“And who’s she?” Grant nodded at Maddie.