“How the…?” He didn’t often shiver, but he did now. She’d done things no one in the history of the clan had ever done. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Then use those lips for something else and kiss me.”
She loved him. He’d figure the rest out later. He dropped to his knees beside the tub, as she’d done days ago. “Yesterday was my
“You’re not a warrior anymore?”
“We’re always warriors, but my duty is finished. I’m free to take my mate.” He leaned closer. “I think you owe me something,” he said, pressing his lips to hers.
“Birthday cake?” she asked, breathless.
“A wedding.” And if he needed any help reining in her reckless streak, he had a family of warriors to back him up.
“Is that a proposal?”
“Aye, it is.
“Are you insulting me again?”
“No, lass, I’m saying I love you.”
She leaned back a bit. “Enough to let me take one teensy picture of the inside of the time vault—”
“Damnation,” he uttered, stopping her words with his mouth. It would take the whole clan to keep her out of harm’s way. “You need something to take your mind off time vaults.” He pulled off his socks and boots and stepped into the tub, kilt and all. He stood over her, water lapping at his knees.
“You’re going to get wet.” She lifted the edge of his kilt, holding it above the water, and peeked underneath. “Oh, my.”
“Take my hand.”
Bree dropped his kilt and took his outstretched hand.
He looked into deep green eyes that he needed more than he needed air to breathe. “I, Faelan Connor, born of the Connor Clan, offer you, Bree Kirkland, my hand in marriage, my heart in love, my sword in protection, and my soul forever. Will you have me as your mate?”
She blinked, eyes sparkling like emeralds, then she smiled, and he knew he’d found his way home. “Yes. I’ll have you.”
“This is the vow a warrior makes when he takes his mate. It’s a separate ceremony, kind of like a handfasting. So consider yourself married… wife, with God as our witness until we can get to a church. Then I’ll say the vow before a priest and the whole bloody world.”
He grinned, stripped off his sporran and kilt, and sat facing her in the huge tub. Some things about this century were damned fine. She squeaked as he gently shifted her, pulling her onto his lap. “This is what I wanted to do the first time,” he said, lowering his head. “Forget cake. I’ll have you.”
***
“You’re sure about this, lass?” Sean’s eyes crinkled as the bagpipes played in the background. “We’re a strange lot.”
“I’ve been accused of being strange a time or two, myself, but I can’t think of anyplace I’d rather be,” Bree said, gazing at the lovely old chapel on the grounds of Connor Castle in Scotland. The place was filled with warriors, many who’d helped battle Jared—Druan—and many who just wanted a glimpse of the Mighty Faelan in the flesh. How the clan had put a wedding together so quickly was a miracle. They could become wedding planners if they got tired of being warriors.
“Hold still,” Anna said, tucking another strand of Bree’s hair inside the wispy veil. “Isn’t she the most beautiful bride, Sorcha?”
Sorcha tilted her fiery head and studied Bree’s flowing, white gown with the small square of Connor clan tartan pinned at her shoulder and her dark hair knotted high. An impish grin lit Sorcha’s face. “Ronan says she is.”
“Ronan’s going to get himself killed,” Anna said, rolling her eyes.
Bree was enjoying her friendship with the female warriors, even Sorcha, who’d turned out to be not so bad. With so much of her time spent chasing dreams, Bree hadn’t had many girlfriends.
“Wait. Your father’s necklace.” Orla fastened the repaired necklace around Bree’s neck as Ronan walked through the door.
“If you don’t get this show on the road, that soon-to-be husband of yours is likely to come back here and carry you to the altar. He’s making the guests nervous with his pacing.”
“He’s waited more than a hundred and fifty years,” Sean muttered under his breath, adjusting his kilt. “He can wait a minute more.”
Ronan eyed Bree head to toe and lifted a dark, sexy eyebrow. “You could elope with me. I’m a lot younger— ouch,” he said, as Anna swatted him with her bouquet. He stole a kiss from Bree and grinned. “Come on, Orla, I’ll escort you to your seat.”
“Wait. You need something from your mother, too,” Orla said, her voice choked. She slid a tiny pearl bracelet onto Bree’s wrist, clasping her hand for several seconds.
“It’s beautiful, Mom. I don’t remember seeing it before.”
Orla looked away. “Hurry now, it’s time,” she said, taking Ronan’s arm.
The bagpiper started a different tune, and Sorcha took a deep breath. “Ready, everyone? Here we go,” she said, stepping inside. Anna followed, and when “Highland Wedding” began to play, Sean and Bree stepped up to the door. Sean had offered to give her away, since Peter was tied up with a rash of strange murders.
