“Is it gray?” Maggie asked, as she shimmied out of it, before tossing it to one side, and standing in front of her sister in her underclothes. The next instant she gasped at the sight of a gorgeous dress in the palest of greens on her bed. Ornate needlework covered the cuffs and the hemline. “Oh, Niamh, ’tis the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”
Niamh smiled with pride. “Aye, ’tis lovely, if I do say so. I’ve spent the past month sewing it for you, hoping this wee bairn let me finish it.”
“For me?” Maggie asked, as tears leaked out. “Truly?” she whispered, as her fingers traced over the needlework and then the soft fabric. “’Tis too fine.”
Niamh hugged her and kissed her cheek. “Nothing is too fine for my sister on her wedding day. You’ll never know how proud I am of you. Nor how delighted I am to be here with you.” Her smiled broadened, as she gazed at her sister. “We’ve only known joy since you returned to us, Maggie.”
Maggie threw herself into her sister’s arms, holding her close. “Thank you, Niamh. I always wanted a sister and never thought I’d be fortunate enough to have one like you.” Her blue eyes gleamed with mischief. “May I try it on?”
“Yes!” Niamh exclaimed, laughing. “You must, as I have to see about alterations.” She looked into the mirror, her expression shining with joy, as she beheld her little sister. “Don’t you look beautiful.”
Maggie looked at herself, unable to believe it was her in the mirror. “I do,” she whispered, with a touch of awe. She felt like a princess, and she couldn’t wait to see Dunmore’s gaze light with pleasure at the sight of her.
* * *
Dunmore paced at the makeshift altar in the front of the O’Rourke living room. He glanced at the priest, who stood chatting with Seamus, and knew the man remained annoyed with Dunmore for being stranded in Fort Benton for the winter. Although he knew it was an inauspicious start to his wedding, Dunmore had coaxed the priest to town for his wedding, with the false promise that he would return him to Helena before the roads were impassible.
As the wind howled outside from the vicious winter storm that everyone present refused to call a blizzard—except for the priest—Dunmore knew the priest was here until spring. Seamus was delighted and had begun a full-on charm campaign to entice the man to settle in town. Dunmore remained skeptical the man would want to stay.
Sighing, Dunmore shook his head at the inanity of his thoughts. However, they had helped calm his nerves for a minute or two. Glancing again in the direction of the stairs, he hoped Maggie would appear soon. He had a sudden fear that she would send a message that she had changed her mind. Then he would be stuck in town with a woman who refused to marry him, marooned in his small cabin, alone and miserable.
At the sudden quieting of the O’Rourkes, Dunmore spun and faced the back of the room. He reached out and gripped Cormac, suddenly thankful he’d asked him to stand up with him. The sight of Maggie in her gorgeous wedding dress nearly brought him to his knees. The hopeful promise in her gaze made his heart flutter. He yearned to race to her and to gather her close, but he knew he must bide his time.
He glowed with pride and love, as he watched her slow approach. Eamon played a song filled with longing on a fiddle, and finally Maggie was beside him. Dunmore barely noticed Seamus backing away, Dunmore’s entire focus on his Maggie. His bride. Finally. “Hello, beloved,” he whispered.
She smiled shyly at him and flushed. “Hello, my Philip. I was worried you wouldn’t be here.”
His gaze glowed even brighter. “I am no fool.” He winked at her, as she gazed at him adoringly, while the priest began the ceremony. Dunmore had no idea what the priest said, if he gave them a blessing or if he had wished them to perdition. All Dunmore knew was that, finally, he and Maggie had exchanged vows, and he could kiss his wife.
“I am yours, beloved,” he whispered, just as he leaned forward to kiss her chastely.
She sighed, her hand rising to grip his nape. “As I am yours.”
* * *
Maggie shivered, as they entered his cabin, kissing his neck, as he carried her over the threshold. “You’re very strong,” she whispered.
He set her down, his hands running over her arms to clasp her hands. “Aye, I have to be to drive a stagecoach.” He sobered. “I’ll never use that strength against you.”
She nodded, pressing forward into his embrace. Looking around his small home, she noted the bed along one wall and the potbellied stove on the other. “Where’s your kitchen?”
He shrugged as his hands caressed up and down her back. “I never had much need for one. I can boil water on the stove, and, with the café, there was always food.”
She leaned back and stared at him, with an indulgent grin. “And you never left Mum’s hungry or without a little something to take with you.”
He shrugged and winked at her. “I learned long ago to never turn down a meal.” He led her toward the stove, already pumping out heat. “Your brother Ardan ensured we wouldn’t return to a cold cabin.”
She looked at the basket on the table. “And Deirdre is ensuring we won’t starve.” She laughed, as Dunmore tickled her. “Oh, I always worried something would keep me from you.” She stilled, as she blurted out her fear.
Running a hand over her head and undoing a few of the pins keeping her hair in an elaborate knot, he stared at her in wonder. “Can you not understand
