Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
F iona
My father smells of the leather soap he uses and ocean air—nothing else. The stale scent of alcohol is gone from his breath, and the pallor is gone from his skin. His face is tanned from the sun as he keeps up with the gardens at our Norse Garden Estate.
He’s not alone in his work. After visiting for a tour of her former home, Mary Allan habitually returns to her old home most Sundays. She’s not only got a green thumb, but good taste in men as well.
Well, men when they’re sober.
Nary a weevil has been in sight since Dad came to live with us. He helps me with my gardens, getting Mary's tips about keeping the bugs at bay. For now, he’s staying in Whispering Rose Cottage .
I love having him so close.
He also loves being with us but hates the B&B flights to return to the island. He prefers the ferry. At least he isn’t alone. He takes a car from Norse Garden Estate and picks Mary up from her sister’s house. Together, he and Mary make the fifteen-hour journey on the big boat, traveling to the island for the wedding.
I slip my arm into his, ready to walk beside him down the aisle.
I can hardly believe the day is finally here. Everyone thought I’d choose the church for my wedding, but I feel closest to God in his creation. As a wee girl, I’d run or dance over these hills, picking flowers and dreaming of my outdoor island wedding.
White chairs are lined up in rows, forming an aisle down the middle, and the sea is our backdrop.
Since I was a little girl, playing dress-up and pinning my mother’s good white tablecloth around me as a makeshift wedding dress, the fabric trailing behind me like a train, I knew I’d have a flowered altar, a salty sea breeze, and everyone I know surrounding me on the day I married my Prince Charming.
Only the prince I’d imagined is nowhere to be seen on this blessed day.
And I’m no longer wearing a tablecloth.
After scouring the city with Kitt, Carol Ann, and Freya at my side, we found the perfect gown at Bridal Couture on Ingram Street. Modest but sensual, the outer fabric of the dress is all lace and tulle, with a sheath shape that cascades over my curves .
I no longer look like wee Fi running wild over the island.
Mam’s veil has been carefully restored to white lace and pinned at the top of my curls. I wear her blue sapphires in my ears as well. I know she’s with me on this special day. I’ve dyed my hair back for my love, wanting him to be happy. That doesn’t mean I won’t try something new in the future, but today, I want to be his Fiona. I wear my hair down, tumbling over my shoulders in big curls.
I’m a beautiful woman, ready to meet her man at the end of this aisle to take our vows.
I clutch my bouquet in one hand. I made it myself, a dried medley of the flowers he sent me during our wee breakup. Minus the one bloodred rose I’d saved before I knew the sender's true identity.
That one, Callum burned.
I’ve replaced it with a few fresh pink roses, settling them in the center of the bouquet in honor of my mother.
We approach the altar, my hand resting on my father's arm, his firm, steady hand on mine. Sunlight filters through the clouds, casting a golden glow over the Scottish island. The salty sea air mingles with the scent of wildflowers, creating a heady, enchanting fragrance.
The guests, clad in their finest tartans and kilts, shift in their pews, the rustle of fabric and whispered conversations creating gentle sounds. A lone piper plays a soft melody on his bagpipes, filling the air with an enchanting sound.
My eyes scan the crowd, and though our guests smile and nod at us, they betray a mix of curiosity at seeing my father so well, so happy, the red that’s rimmed his eyes gone, his gaze clear and bright.Their eyes are filled with wonder and awe as if they cannot quite believe the transformation that has taken place in him.
The islanders aren’t the only ones eyeing him. Mary sits in the second row of white chairs on the bride’s side, wearing a pale blue suit. She has a soft smile on her face as she watches us. My brothers are here today, and I catch their eyes, smiling at their jovial faces.
Wee Fiona, the quiet redheaded girl that once roamed their island picking flowers, is now marrying the wicked, handsome, protective, and loving Callum Burnes. He’s changed so much. So have I.
But the islanders will always see us as we were: a shy girl, and a strapping lad afraid of naught.
There he is, at the altar.
My monster. And what has he done for me?
“Oh, bless!” I squeeze Dad’s hand.
He squeezes back as he hides a low laugh. “That groom of yours. Always full of surprises, innea he?”
Callum Burnes, my lovely beast, my not-so-gentle giant, stands beneath the flower-lined altar.
And he wears a bright-pink kilt.
His oh-so-cocky smile is gone today, replaced by a loving grin. His gorgeous green eyes are soft—tender even.
I glance out over our vast swaths of rolling green hills, taking in the view of this precious spot I’ve chosen, where I used to pick Strawberry Grass as a wee girl. Wide brush strokes of wispy white clouds float in the blue-gray sky, slowly wafting above us, bringing a smile to my face at the reminder of our romantic hot air balloon ride. The turquoise sea crashes into the long lines of the sandy shores sprawling along the base of dark rocky cliffs, which rise high into the sky in stark contrast. In the distance, seabirds riding the air currents soar and dive above it all.
As we reach the altar, my father gently places my hand in Callum’s. Our hands fit perfectly, like two puzzle pieces coming together to complete each other.
The sun breaks through the clouds at that moment, casting a warm glow over us. It feels like a blessing from our painted island skies, as if even our beautiful home is celebrating our union.
I catch snippets of whispered conversations as Callum and I stand there, hand in hand, to exchange vows amidst the wild beauty of the Scottish landscape.
“Did you see the way he looks at her? Like she’s the only thing in the world that matters to him.”
“Aye, and did ye notice the way she’s blossomed since he came back? It’s like she’s finally found herself, her true self.”
“They make a bonnie couple, no denying that. But who would have thought it would be Fiona and Callum, of all people?”
As the islanders' whispers weave around us, I feel a surge of gratitude for their being here today.
The minister's gaze washes over us, solemn and bright, ready to bind our souls as one.
Callum’s eyes never leave mine as we exchange our vows, his gaze unwavering and full of love. “I take you, Fiona, to have and to hold. ”
I feel a smile tugging at my lips, my heart overflowing with joy and contentment. This is where I belong, here with him, on this rugged Scottish island, surrounded by the people who have known us all our lives.
Finally, the words come that I’ve been so nervous to hear, wondering how my shy self is going to kiss this man in front of the entire island. But there’s nothing I have to do, as before the minister even finishes saying, “Callum, you may kiss your bride,” he’s taken me in his arms, dipping me back and planting that sexy mouth on mine.
The moment our lips touch, the islanders erupt in joyous cheers. I feel the warmth of shyness and desire flush my face as he kisses me. Callum pulls back slightly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
After all, monsters, big bad beasts, don’t cry.
“I love you, Fiona,” he whispers.
“I love you too, Callum,” I reply, my heart bursting.
The minister clears his throat, and we turn to face our guests. He raises his hands in a blessing and speaks words I will never forget.
“May this union be blessed with love and happiness, and may your bond grow stronger with each passing day. And as you embark on your journey as husband and wife, remember that true love knows no boundaries and can conquer all.”
His words wrap around me with hope for our future together.
Bagpipes kick off in earnest, celebrating our marriage .
We sweep back down the aisle holding hands, and the islanders shower us with flower petals—the red blooms of Strawberry Grass picked, dried, and carefully stored away for this purpose—as is tradition on this special day.
The flower’s soft, fragrant scent lingers in the air.
We walk hand in hand over the hills, leaving the sea for now, but we will return. The wedding party gathers behind us, following us in a parade of jovial people as we head to the old cathedral, transformed by Bayne into the Kings Castle. They’ve converted the main space that was once where the congregation gathered into a huge space to hold celebrations, where a feast awaits us.
The air is filled with music and laughter as people dance, run, walk, play instruments, and sing traditional Scottish songs as we journey to the Kings Castle for the reception.
My father greets me at the cathedral's closed doors. His eyes are still sparkling from earlier when he walked me down the aisle. “I am so proud of you, my dear girl,” he says in a choked voice.
“And I am proud of you too, Dad,” I reply, tears welling in my eyes. “It wasn’t easy getting sober, but you’ve done it.”
The doors open and the sound of bagpipes and fiddles fills the air as our rowdy bunch of Scots enter the vast hall. Callum and I wait behind, watching from our place at the doors. Children run around, their faces painted with symbols of love and happiness, adding to the joyous atmosphere.
They call our name, announcing us. Mr. and Mrs. Callum Burnes. He kisses me and grabs my hand and together, we walk over the threshold of the cathedral and into the hall .
As we enter, the islanders cheer for us once again, their faces beaming.
The scents of freshly baked bread and roasted meat waft through the air, making my stomach growl in anticipation. Long wooden tables stretch across the room, filled with platters of food prepared by the island's mothers and grandmothers. The hall is decorated with wildflowers and pink tartan fabrics. The coats of arms for the Baynes and Burnes families adorn the walls.
It’s time for Callum and me to meet our families at the head table.
As we start to walk down the long red-carpeted aisle to the front of the gathering space where our table is set, a group of wee girls in pretty, puffy-skirted pastel dresses come bumbling in front of us, giggling and smiling as they push their way ahead of us. They each hold a pink basket in their hands.
A wee one with golden curls and an adorable lisp approaches us. “This is a gift from the Golden Girls.” Her little voice goes solemn. “For your mam.”
“Oh!” My hand goes to my heart as my eyes search for the Golden Girls. Just as I’m looking for them, they file in from the side entrance of the hall, lining up behind the head table where our family awaits us.
“What are they up to?” I ask.
“No idea,” Callum says. “I’d heard they had a little thank you for the trivia nights, but?—”
The women belt out singing in acapella. I laugh as I recognize the tune, “In a Big Country ,” by Big Country . Callum’s favorite song by his favorite Scots band .
“What a surprise!” Hearing the tune sung instrument-free in my church friends' beautiful high choir voices, Callum laughs deeply. “‘Tis beautiful!”
The wee girl says to the others, “It’s time.” Looking over her shoulder at me, she gives a severe command. “Follow us, now. Please.”
As we make our way to the head table serenaded by the Golden Girls’ singing, the wee ones toss pink rose petals from their baskets, making a lovely path to our family. It’s like Mam is here for a moment, guiding us to our future together.
I wipe away a tear, and Callum gives my hand a loving squeeze.
Callum’s family greets us with hugs and kisses. We all stand gathered around the long table with my dad and brothers. The singing ends as we prepare for Callum’s toast.
Guests are served chilled champagne in crystal flutes. To the wee ones’ delight, we’ve also made fancy glasses of sparkling white grape juice available for them. We give the older teen cousins a taste of the good stuff, which makes them giddy with the excitement of participating in something so grown-up.
Fiddles and bagpipes play softly in the background as Callum stands at the center of the long wooden table, a glass of Fredrick’s best scotch raised in his hand, ready to give a toast.
At his signal, the music stops. The room goes quiet, all eyes looking at Callum with respect.
"My dear friends and family," he begins, his voice strong and sure. “Today, as I stand here surrounded by those I love most in this world, I am filled with a profound sense of gratitude—gratitude for this beautiful land that has shaped me, for the traditions that bind us together, and for the love that has brought me to this moment."
His eyes meet mine. Pride fills me. I raise my flute to him. Smiling down at me, he raises his glass, the golden liquid sparkling in the chandelier light. “Gratitude for my beautiful bride who has not only taught me patience, but that love is not something to conquer, it’s something to earn.”
Women in the room pipe up with a chorus of “Here, here’s!”
Once more, he addresses the crowd. "To love—a force as wild and untamed as the Scottish hills themselves. May love guide us through life's trials and triumphs. May it be a beacon of hope in times of darkness. A source of strength in times of weakness. May it inspire all who witness it to believe in its power. Raise your glasses with me. To love!”
The crowd claps and cheers. What a beautiful speech. Pride fills me. I stand, holding the skirt of my dress in one hand, my champagne in the other, and kiss his cheek.
Kiss my husband.
The feast begins with a traditional blessing from the professor who has known us since childhood. He talks about love and unity, reminding us that this is not just a celebration of our love but also a celebration of the community that has supported us all these years.
And, of course, he wraps up his speech by giving a nod to the fish that have fed this island for so many centuries. “Eat. Drink. Be merry. And,” he raises a fist in the air, “Save our cod!”
Our plates are filled with hearty servings of haggis, neeps, and tatties—traditional Scottish dishes.
Also, Ms. Marta’s famous scones.
They’re not a traditional wedding food but one I made a special request for. Marta’s serving the blueberry scones in Mam’s big blue bowl, and the wild berry ones are in my pink bowl. Seeing our treasured kitchen bowls side by side on this special day makes me grin so hard that my cheeks hurt.
Callum and I sit next to each other at the center of the head table, surrounded by family and island people bringing us heaping plates of food and sweets. I take a heavenly bite of a wild berry scone, holding back a moan at its perfection. I never can get mine as flaky as hers. Dabbing my mouth with a linen napkin, I turn to Callum with a smile.
“It all feels like a dream,” I say softly.
“Aye.” Callum chuckles as he takes a bite of haggis. “And the celebration’s only just beginning.”
“We have the rest of our lives to celebrate. But the first thing we’ll be doing as a couple?”
“I know. I know,” he laughs. He repeats what I’ve told him a million times since he took the lid off the pink box at Whispering Rose Cottage. “We’re to research the local shelters and rescue facilities and pick the kitten out together.”
“Together!” I can’t wait to choose her, bring her home, and put on the little pink collar with the bell he bought. She has a fuzzy cat bed, polka-dot bowls for food and water, and more toys than one kitten could use .
As we eat and drink, less-traditional music fills the hall on the speakers as islanders start dancing to lively tunes. Freya whispers something to the DJ, then calls me over just as the first few notes of “Rock the Boat” fill the hall. “Come on Fiona! You’re leading us!” Shyly, I walk over to the center of the dance floor, surrounded by my female friends and cousins, teaching them the steps with Carol Ann and Freya by my side. The children join in, too, their laughter echoing off the stone walls.
Afterward, I take a break with Callum, clapping and laughing as we watch the others. A slower song comes on. Callum stands, offering me his hand. “One more dance. I can’t get enough of ye.”
I take his hand. “I’ll never deny you another dance as long as I live.”
“Ever?” he echoes.
“Never.”
“Though I’m glad ye did that day. If you had danced with me at the Hobgoblin that night, I may have stolen you right then and there. And I wouldnae have learned everything ye taught me about being a better man before I became your husband.”
I’m speechless as he leads me to the center of the hall, where other couples are already slowly twirling around in circles. We join them, moving to the rhythm of the music, our bodies swaying together in perfect harmony.
Watching how he moves—especially in that pink kilt—I feel warm and wet. I can’t believe this big, handsome Viking of a man is all mine.
“You’re my husband,” I giggle .
“And you’re my wee wife.” He smiles. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
The dance is so invigorating, the smile on his face so sexy, I want him. I pull him close, whispering in his ear, “What do ye think about sneaking away for a moment?”
He hears the desire in my voice and sees the naughty glint in my eye. “To consummate our marriage?”
“Aye.”
“Where?” he asks. “Has to be somewhere special. You only get one first time after your wedding.”
I think of the loveliest place on the island. A spot I’ve always run to in times of happiness or need for solace. “The top of the cliffs? Feels like you can see the edge of the world from up there.”
“I’ll grab a blanket, pretend you’re going for a wee?—”
My bladder takes this moment to push against me. “Well, I do have to… go.”
“You always do,” he laughs. “I’ll meet you behind the hall in five.”
It takes five solid minutes to make my way through the congratulatory crowd. Luckily, I’m the only one in the bathroom. Careful with the dress, I have a quick wee, and wash my hands, then sneak out the back.
The night air caresses my curls and cools my warm face. He steps out of the shadows, that bright-pink kilt bringing me another smile. He has a tartan blanket over one arm, and he wraps the other around me.
I relish the breeze, the lovely night sky, and the moment of solitude with him .
On the beach, the moon hangs low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the sands as we walk hand in hand, leaving behind the joyous revelry of our wedding feast. We only have a few moments of peace while my rowdy brothers prepare the beach bonfire.
The moonlight reflects in Callum's eyes. I look into his eyes and know he will love me forever. “Come here.” He pulls me close in an embrace so warm and protective, I know he’ll take care of me, too.
My happily ever after.
My veil billows around me like a cloud in the breeze as he kisses me, his lips warm and demanding against mine. The salty sea air mixes with the heady scent of whisky still lingering on our breath, creating an intoxicating blend that fuels the fire between us.
He spreads the blanket over the soft grass.
As we sit on the soft blanket, the fabric of my dress crinkling beneath us, our hands roam freely over each other's bodies as we kiss. He’s careful with the dress, rolling it up to my waist to keep from creasing it. “Lift,” he says, pulling my silky white lace panties over my hips—a gift from my bridal shower, along with a matching white corset he’ll get to see later when we have more time.
He tucks the panties in a corner of the blanket.
I reach under his kilt. My hand feels no fabric, meeting his warm, naked skin. His cock is big and hard and ready. “Nothing underneath!” I wrap my hand around his cock, willing the blush to leave my face.
“I came prepared.” He gives a deep growl as I smooth my hand lightly up and down over him. “Don’t lay down—I’d have to spank you if you ruined those pretty curls.”
My face flushes with heat, my pussy getting wetter.
He crosses his legs, the kilt up around his waist, his cock standing erect in the moonlight.
“Come, straddle yourself over my lap so we don’t ruin the dress or your hair.”
This—this exact moment, is why I have such strong feelings for Callum Burnes.
Big, protective, scary even—you know he’d take a man’s life with his bare hands, not a moment of regret if it saves one of his own—it’s a thrill to be in his arms. But then he’s all sugar inside, taking care not to mess up my wedding dress or hair, knowing how much pride a bride takes in her appearance on her wedding day.
He’s the perfect balance of monster and man.
I climb over him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He reaches over, straightening my veil in the breeze. As I straddle him, my knees dig into the soft blanket over the earth. Grabbing my hips, he guides me, the head of his cock pressing against the entrance of my pussy.
Our eyes lock. A thrill runs through me at the deep look of love in his. He says, “My beautiful wife.”
I echo back, “My handsome husband.” I lean forward, leaving our lips apart for one teasing breath, and then our mouths meet. The kiss happens at the exact moment he pulls my hips down, thrusting his upward.
My gasp is caught in the kiss. He doesn’t let me break away, doesn’t loosen the grip he has on me. I move up and down in his lap, the tension growing each time he enters me. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore seems to synchronize with the rhythm of our bodies moving together in a dance we’ve been perfecting.
Only now, we’ve made vows.
It feels more special, somehow, being as physically close as two can be. This is the first of our married sexcapades out here on our island, the salty sea breeze swirling around us. The moon bears witness to our union, casting a silvery glow over us.
Lost in each other, we whisper words of love and promises into the night, the world fading away until there is only him and me, two souls bound together by an unbreakable thread of passion and devotion.
The orgasm swirls in me, tightening. I cling to his shoulders, my head thrown back. His fingers stroke the exposed curve of my neck. “You look so beautiful in this moonlight…and like an angel in this white wedding gown.” His touch trails over the lace and tulle covering my breast. It sends me over the edge, and I cry out into the dark night as I come.
When we finally sit spent in each other's arms, the sea murmurs a lullaby of contentment, cradling us in its embrace.
I turn to Callum, his eyes holding a deep emotion with such open vulnerability it makes my heart ache. "I never knew it was possible to love someone so completely," he whispers, his voice raw with emotion.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I caress his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble under my fingertips. "And I never knew that someone would be you. ”
He kisses me, then pulls back to look at me. His tone goes near bashful as he says, “I’ve something to show ye.”
“What?” I sit up straighter, examining his face.
Unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt, he exposes the left side of his chest. There’s a new tattoo there. “What have you done?” I lean closer to get a better view in the moonlight.
There, over his heart, are a few strands of wild Strawberry Grass and the swirling words, Fiona Forever.
“Oh! You. You—big—oh, you—big softie!” I grab him, burying my face in his chest. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He captures my chin, tilting my face up to meet his. “Couldn’t have tattoos without you being one of them, now could I?”
We go right back to kissing, igniting the desire to consummate our marriage once more, but we’re interrupted.
The rowdy cheers of our friends and siblings come faint at first, then louder as the crowd grows closer, making their way from the reception down to the base of the cliffs we are on, down to the shore for the bonfire.
“We’d best go.” He pulls me to my feet, helping me brush the wrinkles from my dress. Taking my hand, he leads me down the hill to the flat shore, where a massive bonfire has been set. The cliffs are a backdrop to our party.
I look up to their edge, to my now very favorite spot on the island, a secret smile sneaking on my face.
My father’s standing in the back of the crowd, having one last glance at his daughter as a bride before he retires for the night with his Mary. I blow him a kiss. He smiles and turns to leave, as do my Golden Girls and the other older adults. I watch him walk over the hills till he disappears from my sight.
We drink whisky, poured straight from barrels, made by Fredrick, Callum’s distillery friend. The following celebration is a whirlwind of music, laughter, drinking, and dancing that lasts long into the night. The bonfires blaze on the beach, casting flichterin’ shadows on the bright sand and tall dark cliffs as we twirl and spin under moonbeams and starlight.
“Tell me, bride, you’ll never again deny me a dance, will you?” Callum pulls me close, the scent of whisky on his breath mixing with the fire's smoke.
“No. Never.” I reach up on tiptoe to seal my promise with a kiss. “And you’ll never again tell me to leave.”
“How could I? You captured my heart that night at the Hobgoblin,” he says.
“And made your plan to make me your captive bride,” I say. “That all feels like ages ago.”
“Aye. ‘Twas ages ago you captured my heart. But now, you’re my wife.” He stares down at me. “And you’ve captured my soul.”
As he’s captured mine.
The End…