“I canna wait for my own wedding day,” Peggy said wistfully. She was dressed in a beautiful blue silk gown, the bodice trimmed in lace and the McDougall tartan. “I shall be happy if I am half as beautiful as you.”
“You will be much more striking, Peggy, just you wait and see,” responded Kyla, her smile now true. The two of them were a few years apart, and while Peggy had seemed so young when they were children, they had become much closer over the past weeks as the families had prepared for the wedding and for Kyla to move into the McDougalls’ home. While all of the McDougalls were loyal and focused on their family and their clan, in other ways Peggy was everything Finlay was not—joyful, optimistic, full of laughter and merriment.
The two women now stood side by side in front of the mirror in the corner of Peggy’s room, sunlight streaming through the window behind them. Kyla’s honey-colored hair contrasted with Peggy’s dark McDougall locks, Peggy tall and strong next to Kyla’s shorter, lithe body.
“Are you ready?” Peggy asked her, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“I hope so,” said Kyla with a brave smile.
In truth, she and Finlay had barely spoken over the past month. Now nerves fluttered in her stomach as she thought of tying her life to his.
Even Callum and his new wife had arrived to celebrate. She was a beauty, this British girl he had married out west, and had a spirit that matched Callum’s. Seeing them together, Kyla now understood the difference between the friendship she had with him and the love that radiated between him and his wife. She was truly happy that he had found his soulmate, even though it had taken traveling across the world for them to find one another.
Peggy helped her as they descended the winding staircase of the McDougall home, exiting to an empty yard. Most had already gone to the church. In addition to Peggy, only Niall and Rory remained, waiting for Kyla in the horse and cart.
“You are a beautiful bride, Kyla,” Niall said as he alighted from the top of the cart and bent to kiss her cheek in a rare show of affection. Rory winked at her and helped her up so the folds of her skirt didn’t get caught. “You actually look well, sister,” he said with a grin, dodging when she attempted to swat him.
Kyla twisted her fingers together around her bouquet throughout the entire ride to the outskirts of the village of Aldourie, where they alighted to join the rest of the wedding party, who would proceed together in the procession to the chapel.
Kyla’s eyes landed upon Finlay, waiting at the front of the procession. He cut a fine figure in the McDougall plaid, pulled around his muscular frame. She swallowed, surprised by the emotion that filled her upon looking at him. She had thought she would rue this day, that she would be tortured upon seeing the man she would be forced to take as a husband. But instead… she felt a pull of longing for him. She shook off the surprise of her own fickle emotions, finally allowing her gaze to meet his. His dark eyes were intent upon her face, his expression unreadable. He nodded to Kyla as Peggy joined him, taking his arm, and she looked away as Rory assisted her down and she took her place next to Adam.
They followed the fiddler to the small chapel in Aldourie, Kyla’s heart in her throat as her feet moved of their own accord, following along with the rest of the procession. Villagers waved to them as they passed, and Kyla forced herself to smile and wave back as was expected of her. She thought the march might never end, until they finally arrived at the small church.
As the rest of the party filtered inside, Kyla remained at the back, taking her waiting father’s arm. Niall gave her a look of encouragement as he took in her face, which she knew must be full of trepidation.
“Chin up, daughter,” he murmured out of the side of his mouth. “Never show fear. You are a MacTavish, and you will act like one today.”
Kyla nearly laughed at the speech, so typical of Niall MacTavish instead of the endearments of love most women would hear from their fathers upon their wedding day.
He might be gruff, unpolished, and depend far too much upon her for her liking, but he was her father, and tears burned the back of Kyla’s eyes as the beginning of the piper’s “Highland Cathedral” signified the life she was leaving behind.
The walk down the long aisle seemed eternal, and Kyla held her head high, keeping her eyes on the front of the chapel and not at the faces of the many people who turned to stare at her as she marched forward.
Her gaze caught Finlay’s, whose expression was unwavering, emotionless as ever. He took a slight step back when he looked at her, apparently in surprise at whatever was on her face. She tried to mask her thoughts and match his look as bravely as she could, watching now as her father shook Finlay’s hand and made his way to the front pew.
They stood, shoulder to shoulder, as the priest said the ancient words that had been repeated so many times before, binding a man and woman together. Kyla attempted to prevent her fingers intertwined around her bouquet of flowers to keep from shaking. She had always prided herself on her strength and today, in front of all of these people who knew her best, would not be the day to disabuse them of any notions of who she was or what she was capable of.
