Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Jaxon’s eyes had not left her since she entered the kirk.
Gracie Gallagher moved with a quiet grace, soft green wool and pearls catching the light, her hair curling around her face like a halo.
She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and the thought that he had handed her over to his brother burned in his chest. A tight knot of jealousy had formed in his stomach when she stepped forward, plump bosom nearly spilling from her dress.
The anger in him had festered ever since.
But that jealousy was quickly replaced with a hotter flame when the servant had announced that Edmund Doyle was nowhere to be found.
Jaxon’s jaw tightened, fingers curling into fists at his sides.
He will nae sully this union, nor the peace between our clans.
Rage replaced reason, and he rose, towering over the crowd.
“Enough!” Jaxon’s voice cut through the murmuring, calm but edged with iron.
Every head turned, whispers halting mid-word. “Me brother may nae be here, but I am. And I will marry her instead.” The words landed like a hammer, echoing in the stone walls.
He strode forward, eyes blazing, and stopped before Andrew McDougal.
“Laird McDougal,” he said, bowing slightly, voice steady but commanding, “I apologize for the actions of me brother. He is nae what this clan is about. I will marry yer daughter if ye will allow it.”
Andrew’s eyes narrowed, lips pressed tight, and silence stretched like a taut rope. Jaxon waited, his gaze unflinching, pulse steady beneath the calm surface. The murmurs of the crowd around them faded as all attention fell upon the two men. Yet still, Andrew said nothing.
After a few moments, Andrew spoke, voice low but firm. “I am reluctant to agree, Laird McMillan. We never wished Gracie to bear the responsibilities of a lady. ’Tis a hard life, fraught with duty, expectation, and worry.”
Jaxon’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward slightly, eyes locked on Andrew’s. “Aye, ’tis hard,” he said evenly, “but yer daughter will be taken care of very well. She will live the life she’s accustomed to, and nae a thing shall be wantin’.”
Andrew’s gaze remained steady, unyielding, and he shook his head slowly. “Aye, but if that were the case,” he said, tone softening but resolute, “we could simply keep her at home.”
Jaxon’s expression softened just slightly, though his voice remained firm. “She is nay bairn, Laird McDougal,” he said, eyes flicking toward Gracie for a brief moment. “She is strong, capable, and deservin’ to be married. I would see her happy, respected, nae burdened, nae neglected.”
Jaxon watched Andrew’s jaw tighten.
“Ye speak well, Laird McMillan,” he said finally, voice quiet. “But words are easy. Life is harder, and we daenae wish her to suffer the weight of expectation that comes with yer station.”
Jaxon met him squarely, tone even but iron-edged. “I ken the life of a laird is nae simple,” he said, “but I will shield her from all harm I can. She will have freedom within the walls of her new home, comfort, and respect from our people. I swear it on me honor.”
The kirk grew quiet again, all eyes shifting between the two men, waiting for the next move.
Gracie stepped forward, voice small but firm. “Faither, I agree. I will marry Laird McMillan.”
The words hung in the air, soft but resolute, and all murmuring ceased.
Jaxon looked at Gracie. He restrained a smirk, proud that the lass was speaking up for herself.
He looked back at Andrew who bore a mixture of shock and pride crossing his face.
“Then is it settled?” Jaxon asked, voice calm but carrying authority, “if it pleases the Laird and Lady McDougal, I shall take Gracie as me bride, and nay harm shall come to her while I hold her in me care.”
Andrew nodded slowly, exhaling as though a heavy weight had lifted, though his gaze never left his daughter.
“Aye, Laird McMillan,” he said quietly, “since she chooses ye, then ye shall have our blessin’.”
The kirk seemed to exhale in relief, the tension that had gripped every soul easing slightly.
Jaxon stepped closer, keeping his gaze on Gracie, and offered his arm.
“Then, lass, let us make ready to begin this life together,” he said softly, yet every word carried the authority of a laird.
Gracie slid her hand into his, the warmth of her grasp steadying him.
Jaxon’s eyes never left Gracie as they stood before the minister, her hand nestled in his. Yet despite her steady posture and careful smile, he sensed a hesitancy in her gaze, a flicker of doubt that tightened in his chest like a cold knot.
She doesnae look truly happy.
A hot spike of jealousy surged, bitter and sharp; perhaps she had wished for Edmund after all, and he was now nothing more than a compromise, “second best” to her.
The minister, a tall man in simple black robes, lifted his hands and spoke, voice echoing in the stone kirk.
“We gather here this day, before the eyes of the Almighty and all assembled, to join Laird McMillan, Jaxon Doyle and Gracie Gallagher daughter of Laird McDougal, in the bond of matrimony.”
He swept his gaze over the crowd of both clans, murmurs of anticipation filling the air. “This is nay mere agreement, nay fleetin’ promise, but a handfastin’, a bindin’ of two hearts and two houses, entwined in loyalty, love, and respect.”
He felt Gracie’s fingers tighten around his, and he gave a slight squeeze of reassurance, even as the suspicion and jealousy still burned faintly in his chest.
“Do ye, Gracie Gallagher, take this man to be yer wedded husband?” the minister asked, voice low but firm.
Gracie lifted her gaze and met Jaxon’s eyes, her lips parting slightly. “I do,” she said, voice quiet but clear, and a shiver of tension passed through him at the sound.
“And do ye, Jaxon Doyle, take this woman, Gracie Gallagher, to be yer wedded wife?” the minister continued, eyes steady on him.
“I do,” Jaxon replied, tone even, controlled, though his heart thrummed with an intensity he rarely allowed to show.
The minister nodded gravely, lifting a braided cord of white and blue to loop over their joined hands. “Then by the power vested in me, I bind ye as husband and wife, until the fates or death may part ye.”
Jaxon felt the warmth of her hand in his, delicate and soft, though still tense, almost hesitant.
He whispered just enough for her to hear, “Daenae doubt, lass. I will nae let harm touch ye, nor will I ever let ye regret this.”
The minister draped the cord over their clasped hands, weaving them together like the threads of destiny. “Let this cord be witness to yer devotion, a reminder of love, respect, and loyalty shared freely and wholly.”
He watched Gracie’s cheeks warm as he held her gaze, and the minister spoke once more, his voice rising with solemnity.
“By the power of this handfastin’, ye are bound, heart to heart, life to life, for all days that follow.”
He stepped back, hands raised, eyes sweeping over the crowd. “Ye may seal yer vows with a kiss, as husband and wife.”
Jaxon bent his head toward her, lips brushing hers in a kiss that carried all the weight of his authority, desire, and possessiveness.
Her breath caught against his, soft and hesitant, and for a moment he felt her uncertainty like a shadow against his chest. But then, as he drew back slightly, he leaned close again, voice low and husky, brushing against her ear.
“The next time I kiss ye,” he murmured, eyes smoldering, “there’ll only be me in yer mind.”
The kirk seemed to hold its breath, silence filling the space between them as the crowd shifted in awe and curiosity.
Jaxon’s jaw remained set, calm in appearance but burning inside with the need to claim her entirely, to ensure she never wavered again.
For all the doubts he had sensed, all the fear and hesitation, he would not allow any man to take her from him, not Edmund, not any other, not fate itself.
The minister’s voice resumed, gentle and reassuring.
“By this handfastin’, ye are united. Go forth as one, bound in love and loyalty, and may ye honor this bond in all things.”
He gestured toward the gathered clans, whose applause rose in a swell of cheers, laughter, and tears. Both sides, McDougal and McMillan, erupted in congratulations, voices overlapping in joy and astonishment at the boldness and resolve of the Laird.
Jaxon lowered his hand, keeping Gracie close, his palm resting lightly against her back.
He could feel her heart racing against his chest, small, rapid beats that called to him.
The warmth of her body, the scent of her hair, the soft tremble in her hands, everything about her pulled at him with irresistible force.
And as the murmurs of congratulations filled the kirk, he knew that he would guard her, claim her, and make certain that no shadow of doubt or regret ever touched her again.
Jaxon brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, thumb grazing the soft skin, and his gaze softened just slightly. Yet beneath that softness, a fire remained, sharp and possessive, a silent promise to her and to all who witnessed.
She is mine, and I will see to it that she never doubts it.