Epilogue
“The third time is a charm,” Sienna quipped. “I hear it is something ye say in England.”
“Yes,” Violet replied with a soft laugh, tugging on her lavender dress. “I truly hope this one goes well, or it would turn into a curse.”
“What ye have with me braither could never be a curse,” Sienna replied with a gentle smile, adjusting the veil on her head. “I believe that me braither will defy the heavens to make sure this union holds. Ye will get married today.”
Ruaridh was not the only one who was growing impatient. In the time since they had confessed their love for each other, it had become very difficult to stay away from each other.
It was as if the knowledge of their heartfelt adoration ramped the heat between them to unbearable levels until all Violet could think of was making love.
But these days, it was very difficult to sneak away together.
It seemed that the residents of the castle had connived to keep them away from each other, ensuring that they hardly spent time alone.
Considering that Ruaridh had hoped to leave her chaste until their wedding night, their tactics were helping even though it was driving her crazy.
“I am grateful you are here,” she told Sienna, watching as she rubbed her swollen belly. “I know it cannot be easy in your condition.”
“I am pregnant, nae ill, Violet,” Sienna said in a tone that suggested she had had this argument with her husband one too many times.
Frankly, Violet understood the man’s worry.
While she was grateful for Sienna’s presence, she was not completely oblivious to the stress that came with assisting in the wedding preparations, even if it was the second time.
But then, Sienna had always been a strong woman who refused to be slowed down by something as ordinary as pregnancy.
“I think ye are ready now,” she declared, tugging on the veil one more time before handing her a bouquet of fresh flowers.
“When did you get it? They are still so fresh.”
“I asked Ronald to pick it up this morning,” she replied with a sheepish smile.
If there were men who worshipped the ground their women walked on, Ronald Mackenzie would be one of them.
“Thank you,” Violet said, squeezing her friend’s hand in gratitude before standing to her full height.
“Good luck,” Sienna whispered in her ear, pulling her into a hug. “May God be with ye both.”
“Amen.” Violet nodded, picking her way towards the door.
She needed all the luck she could get. She hoped that, for once, she could see a wedding through without unwanted disruptions.
Outside the door, her father stood waiting with a wide smile. He was happier these days, but that was to be expected of someone who had let go of the burden of fear and cowardice and chose to live life boldly.
He had returned to England, and while Lord Westall had once boasted of his inability to tell an inconvenient truth, he had gone to the Queen and explained what had happened, clearing Ruaridh’s name and releasing the threat of ruin that had hung over his neck.
In the weeks that followed, he described a restlessness that made staying in English society difficult. Well, he had changed, and this new version of him would not thrive in his old circles. Violet was most grateful that he was here to walk her down the aisle again.
“You look beautiful, Violet,” he complimented with a tender smile.
“You look good as well,” she returned, taking in his simple attire—a shirt tucked beneath breeches and his best waistcoat over it. He was the epitome of English nobility even here in the wild Highlands.
“Most men only have the honor to walk their daughters down the aisle once,” he said with a laugh as they walked out of the castle. “I have had the honor three times.”
“I sincerely hope this is the last time,” she chuckled.
“I will make sure of it,” he assured her as they stopped before the chapel’s doors.
She did not know how he intended to do that, but she did not need to ask. The man her father had become was quite capable and would make all her dreams come true if it were in his power.
The doors opened, and she made the trip down the aisle again to the love of her life.
Following the attack by Lord Westall, it had been decided that it was safer to hold the wedding indoors, even though there was hardly anyone left in England or Scotland who would seek to disrupt their union. It was better to be safe than sorry.
When she got to the altar, she found Ruaridh smiling widely, the shadows in his eyes completely gone.
“Ye look very bonny, lass,” he murmured, his heated gaze moving over her in appreciation. She suppressed a shiver.
“Thank you,” she replied. “You look good, too.”
“The third time’s a charm, is it nae?” he whispered in her ear.
“I hope so.”
“Well, even if it isnae, I will still make ye me wife tonight.”
His promise curled low in her belly, making her breath hitch. His meaning was not lost on her. She could feel her cheeks heating with arousal.
The priest repeated himself, and that was when she realized they were supposed to say their vows.
“I, Ruaridh Sinclair of Clan McLeod,” Ruaridh began, his voice loud and clear, filling the chapel with its power and conviction.
“Take ye, Violet Wilkinson, to be me wife, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, till death do us part.” He was holding her hands tightly, as if he wished to bind himself to her.
Taking a deep breath, Violet vowed in a voice that trembled slightly with emotion, “I, Violet Wilkinson, take ye Ruaridh Sinclair to be my husband, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, till death do us part.”
The priest took the thin strip of cloth that was probably cut from a McLeod kilt and bound their right hands.
“It is done,” he declared. “Before these witnesses, I pronounce ye man and wife.”
The clansmen roared in approval, clapping their hands and stamping their feet. Ruaridh drew her closer to take her lips in a heated kiss, eliciting whistles and cheers.
Eventually, he broke the kiss, his mouth curving in a smile, his eyes shining with the promise of everything he was going to do to her when they were finally alone in his bedchamber.
She smiled back, feeling a flush rise in her cheeks. He took her hand, and they navigated the crowd, accepting congratulations from their clansmen and guests.
Violet caught sight of Grannie Ava and Keira wiping tears from their eyes. She didn’t blame them. The journey to this point had been fraught with challenges that even now she half expected a horde of Englishmen to barge in and contest the marriage.
But with every minute that passed by, it was becoming clearer that she was, in fact, going to remain Lady McLeod.
“They make a very bonny couple,” Grannie Ava said with a watery smile, staring at the Laird and the new Lady McLeod.
“Aye, they do,” Keira agreed, her eyes shining with the tears she had shed. “Da is very happy. I am glad that he is happy.”
Grannie Ava always knew that Keira was not as carefree as she seemed.
Somehow, she suspected that her bubbly demeanor was a ploy to try to lighten her father’s burdens, and that when she met Violet, she had recognized the connection she shared with her father and decided to play matchmaker, even though she did not think those two needed it.
They would have naturally gravitated towards each other with no external influence.
All in all, she was glad to see her grandson happy again. He literally radiated happiness, smiling and laughing easily now as if his new wife’s presence melted all the burdens he carried.
That kind of love, the type that came with comfort in another’s presence, was something she was happy her grandson had found with his wife.
While Ruaridh was glad the servants had prepared a feast for them, at this moment, he was far too impatient to enjoy it.
This wedding was a long time coming, and it was delayed by a number of interruptions, no thanks to Westall and his Shenanigans.
In that time, Ruaridh’s desperation for his wife grew, the anticipation created by their separation rising to almost unbearable heights.
Violet was now his wife, but he still had to wait for the feast to end before hustling her upstairs to his bedchamber and enjoying the rest of his evening with his wife.
“If you frowned any harder, you would scare everyone away,” Violet teased from beside him and laced her fingers through his, unknowingly ratcheting up the heat that tore through his bloodstream.
“I wish it were that easy.”
If he could scare off the crowd that had gathered in the Great Hall simply by glaring at them, he would have done so.
“What troubles ye?” she asked, concern etched on her features.
“Daenae worry. I just wish I could throw ye over me shoulder and run upstairs. I am tired of waiting.”
“Who is stopping you?” she asked, deadpan.
Shock flashed across his features as he turned to stare at her, but then a soft smile curved her lips.
It seemed that was the permission he needed because in the next moment, he stood up and lifted her, enjoying her gasp of surprise. Throwing her over his shoulder, he made for the stairs amidst hollers and whistles from the half-drunk men that sat in the hall.
He went straight to his bedroom and deposited her on the wide bed. Her shoulders were shaking as she giggled.
“You really did that?” she snorted.
“Ye asked me to,” he said with fake outrage.
“What would the clansmen think?”
“Whatever they want. I am the Laird, remember,” he said with a smirk that made her laugh harder.
But her laughter died down as she watched him undress, revealing the chiseled muscles that were usually partly covered by his kilt. He was perfect.
Just like that, the tension that simmered beneath the surface flared to life.
It was almost unbelievable that she now had the right to savor his beautiful body. She bit her lower lip, but not for long, as his lips were on hers, firm and demanding, and she had no choice but to yield.
She was his now, as he was hers, and she would no longer need to deny herself of her desire for him.
She was out of her clothes quicker than he had ever done so in the past, with his lips bringing her pleasure and madness in equal measure.
She tried to swallow her moans, but when she felt his fingers slide into her, she was powerless to keep silent. By morning, she knew she wouldn’t be able to look anyone in the eyes, but for tonight, she wanted to give herself fully to her husband.
And give herself she did, because when he kissed his way up her body, intending to deny them both what they wanted, she moved her hands between them, fisting him until he released guttural groans.
“Ye will be the death of me, wife,” he groaned, and the endearment had her working her hands faster.
He endured only a bit longer before he took her hands off him, sliding into her into her in one quick stroke that left her breathless.
“Ruaridh,” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders.
His thrusts were hard and deep, drawing out cries from her and breathless moans in rapid succession but she was not alone in her ecstasy. His breathing was hard, his groans guttural as he wreaked havoc on her senses and when his thrusts began to lose rhythm, he slipped his hands between them.
She felt her own pleasure begin to near and kissed him wanting to wait a bit longer but she felt her ecstasy shoot through her like lightning and for a long second, she couldn’t move because of the tremors that shot through her,
She felt him roll off her, pulling her atop his chest in one easy movement as they tried to steady their breathing and smiled against his chest hearing how hard his heart pounded.
“I love ye, Violet,” he whispered, kissing her hair.
“And I love you, Ruaridh,” she responded, unable to stop her smile from widening.
The End?