Epilogue
Iwas hardly dressed for a ski lift, but I wasn't going to sacrifice the perfection of the day by being practical. My white gown was quilted. I had two thick pairs of socks to keep my toes from freezing off in the perfect pair of boots that were whiter than the snowdrifts. I did put spikes on the bottoms, so I didn’t end up on my ass at my own wedding.
Not a wedding, a handfasting.
A heavy but beautiful white cape of faux fur kept my shoulders warm, and a matching muff did the same for my thinly-gloved hands.
Sitting beside me, absolutely terrified, Cian clutched the front of the seat and the iron armrest, praying in Gaelic.
He looked warmer than I was in his full Scottish regalia, as he called it.
A black suitcoat actually big enough to accommodate his muscular body, a shirt and vest, a kilt of the MacInnis tartan, complete with sash, and some of those thick, hand-knit stockings.
His knees were visible, which neither of us minded.
Teasing him hadn’t helped him relax, but I couldn’t help one last try.
“Careful, my love. This is no time to be coloring the snow. There are people down there.”
Those people whistled and waved, my gown giving away what we intended to do.
In the chair behind us sat John MacEachern, dressed like Cian but his tartan was black and grey with some red and green.
He’d offered to take my bouquet so I could lift my skirt with both hands when we stepped forward to catch our chair.
Now he looked like a jilted lover, sitting alone, holding my flowers between his knees.
When he saw that I had turned in my seat, he grinned and waved, but I suspected he was just as nervous as Cian was, and I figured I’d have to call for a snowcat to get them off the mountain when we were done.
The trailhead sat just off a narrow road, half-plowed, the snowbank pushed high on either side. No lodge. No crowd. Just a small wooden sign and a strip of packed snow leading into the trees.
I hadn’t anticipated the steady breeze on the top of the mountain, but it was nothing like the arctic stuff that had blown around Balnacoorie for two days. And we’d be back at the ski lodge while the sun was still doing its job.
The path was already broken in. Narrow. Someone had been through earlier on skis or snowshoes, leaving a firm center line we could follow without sinking.
“Spiked shoes,” John said behind us. “I can make these.”
The clearing was more beautiful than I’d hoped.
Pine and fir, branches heavy, bent low, bowing to us as we stepped inside the sanctum crated by nature.
By the time we stopped and picked our places, three inches of snow clung to my hem in a uniform line like magic.
Ice crystals winked up at me and I felt like Cinderella, whose gown might melt if she stayed out too long.
I didn’t picture one fairy god mother hiding in the trees, looking on. I pictured two.
Cian and I stood facing each other. John stood beside us and the three of us held hands while John offered a sweet but short prayer inviting the heavens to witness our commitment to each other. He took my bouquet from me, then he gave Cian a nod.
Cian took my right hand in his right hand. He cleared his throat, swallowed, then looked into my eyes.
“Leis an làimh seo, bheir mi dhut mo chridhe, mo chorp, agus m’anam sìorraidh.”
He reached for my other hand and pressed it against his broad chest, then inhaled deeply.
“Leis an anail seo, bheir mi dhut mo bheatha—gach nì a th’ annam, agus gach nì a bhios mi.”
Next, he removed my hand from his chest and kissed the back of my knuckles.
“Gabhaidh mi an làmh seo, gabhaidh mi an corp seo,
airson gaol a thoirt dha agus a dhìon, agus gun a thrèigsinn gu bràth.
Chan ann ann an teagamh, chan ann ann an dorchadas, chan ann ann an ùine.”
John held out a long strip of the deep green and blue MacInnis tartan. Cian accepted it and wrapped it loosely around our clasped hands like a Celtic knot.
“Fo dhìon Chlann MhicAonghais, tha sinn ceangailte—
feòil is fuil,
talamh is nèamh,
a-nis agus gu sìorraidh.”
Then Cian gave it all to me again in English.
“With this hand, I give ye my heart, my body, my soul eternal.
With this breath, I give ye my life—all that I am, and all that I will become.
I take this hand, I take this body, to cherish and defend, and never forsake.
Not in doubt, not in darkness, not in time.
Under the protection of Clan MacInnis, we are bound—,
Flesh and blood.
Earth and Heaven.
Now and always.”
John nodded to me. “Now ye repeat the last of it.” He gave me the Gaelic words in little phrases to repeat. Then in English.
The English was much easier.
“Under the protection of Clan MacInnis, we are bound, flesh and blood, Earth and Heaven, now and always.”
Cian cleared his throat again. “It is done, Matilda Danner MacInnis. I am yers. And more importantly, ye are mine.” He took my hand, pulled me tight against him, and lowered his smooth, gentle lips to mine.
It was a kiss worthy of a wedding day. John melted into the background along with the cold and the snow.
Warmer now, we both shook from the adrenaline. When he kissed me a second time, something above us tinkled like bells. We looked up.
The breeze played with a dozen shiny icicles that dangled from the highest branches and reminded me of the ones that had hung all around the bothy.
Cian pulled a ring from his pocket and slipped it on my finger.
I looked closely and tears immediately filled my eyes.
When I saw his worry, I quickly explained why.
The gold ring had white diamonds embedded in it all the way around, and I knew that every time I looked at it, I would remember the hundreds of icicles of Balnacoorie…and the first time he kissed me in the snow.
I glanced up again, half-expecting two godmothers to be sitting among the branches, but they weren’t. And the icicles were gone, not because they’d fallen, but because they might never have been there in the first place.
I so hope you enjoyed Cian and Matty’s adventure. Please leave a review, they mean more than you know.
If you’re looking for your next great read, you’ll find lots to choose from the book lists in the following pages.
My next release is SAVE ME, Duncan’s story in the Game of Kings series. You can pre-order it here.
A wagonful of trouble is riding fast for Clan Keith…
After helping place King Malcolm on Scotland’s throne, Duncan Keith is coming home to stay. He’s sent ahead a wagonful of women who will need to be dealt with, then he’ll learn how to stomach a peaceful life.
Five women, collected by a madman, need to be returned to their families. But they’re not interested. Identical in coloring, united in silence—each claims the name of Kenna. And in a matter of days, they turn one of the largest and most powerful clans in Scotland completely upside down.
Duncan is out of his depth, but he’s determined to see these brave women restored to their homes. Although, there is one woman he wouldn’t mind keeping close. But first, he’ll have to find out what she’s truly hiding from. And if she won’t tell him, perhaps the man bellowing at his gate will…