The Laird’s Abandoned Bride (Highland Wedding Crashers #2)

Chapter 1

The smell of primrose drifted up from the bouquet through Ava’s veil. Small floral arrangements and bunting were placed delicately all over the kirk.

There were far more people here than she had expected.

The land was about to plunge back into the cold. By God’s grace, she was not freezing, for it was the middle of winter. It was oddly sunny and warm. The exact opposite of how she felt inside...

Her nerves zinged with anticipation. She desperately wished she were at home, in the barn, chasing kittens through the hay, or curled up in her chair by the window, reading a book. She did not wish to be getting married to her best friend.

She peered through the open door of the small kirk, trying to spot her sisters, to no avail.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her elbow. She turned her head to see her uncle pulling her back.

“That was rude!” she hissed.

“Ye daenae want to see me rude, lassie. Get going.”

Ava sighed. Of course he’d say something like that. Getting her married had been on his mind for months. At least she had escaped a groom of his choice. She considered that a victory. She was sure she had bested her blasted uncle this time.

Though getting married did not truly feel like truly beating Archibald Dougal, the Laird of Clan MacFinn.… It felt more like a death sentence.

When she had finally agreed to get married, she was not expecting anyone besides immediate family to be present. However, there were enough people to form a small army.

And no sign of the groom at the altar yet.

For a moment she allowed herself to be hopeful. But she knew she should not be. Her heart sank at the thought of tying herself to a man, but she had no other option.

“Ye either marry or end up on the streets. I willnae care for ye nay longer,” her uncle had said exactly one month ago.

“It is yer duty.”

“I’d rather die.”

“Then die married. I already have plenty of suitors lined up.” It made her sick to think about, truthfully.

He was pawning her off for the sake of posterity.

Her father would have never done such a thing.

Her dowry was not even worth blinking an eye at.

Yet here she was, in her wedding dress, trying to avoid a fate so distasteful it made her want to spit.

Her deep green gown, silver belt, and rosemary wreath were nothing overly special, but she was clearly a bride in her ensemble. No one else was walking down the aisle. Even though she deeply wished someone else would take her place.

I wish Faither were alive. He wouldnae have married me off. At least I can trust Finlay nae to force me to be a lady and manage a house.

The fiddle started playing at the front, and her uncle offered her his arm. She took it, and together they stepped into the kirk and started the walk down the aisle.

There was still no sign of Finlay at the altar. Perhaps he was standing to the side, where she could not see him.

Finlay was her best friend and closest ally, aside from her sisters. They had known each other since childhood. He had agreed to marry her to save her from marrying some old geezer chosen by her uncle.

The very prospect sent a chill down her spine.

“Stop scowling, lass,” her uncle said through a grin that more resembled a snarl. “Ach, I shouldnae have agreed to this.” He gave a small nod to another laird they passed.

“I may be marryin’ because ye said so, but that doesnae mean I’ll follow every order ye have for me,” Ava muttered under her breath, an alligator’s grin plastered on her face. “Ye wouldnae reject a perfect proposal from a perfect guard now, would ye?”

The slow walk down the aisle felt more like a march to the chopping block.

“He’s from a warring clan, Ava. Ye could have married Laird MacAinsley instead.” Her uncle’s eyes assessed her before he went back to smiling at the gathered congregation there to witness her demise.

“Uncle! That man is even older than ye!”

“Ye’d be the Lady of his clan, and we’d have a strong alliance.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course. Clans, alliances. What she felt or wanted did not matter.

It was not like he was a bad man, her uncle. He just had the wrong ideas about what she should and should not do with her life. He had already married off her twin sister, Emma, and that was a sin she could never forgive.

She and Emma had been inseparable until they were forced apart. Their uncle had gotten in the way too many times for Ava’s liking, so she took her fate into her own hands.

“I daene care for alliances,” she said, her eyes searching for her groom once again. Where was he?

“I need nae remind ye that ye’re doing this for the clan,” her uncle scolded, before forcing a smile. “Ye ken we need this alliance to keep our clan safe. I willnae let ye ruin this.”

Ava had actually liked the fool once… before her father died. He was not bossing her around and reminding her of her responsibilities all the time. She missed spending time with her animals and reading her books in solitude. She even missed liking her uncle. Now, she despised him.

“I ken me duty, Uncle. I’m still getting… married.” She swallowed back a curse.

Her eyes scanned the pews on either side of the aisle. Pure disdain for the people watching her and saying nothing curled through her stomach.

“Daenae think that I daenae suspect ye’re up to somethin’.

” Her uncle squeezed her arm so hard it hurt.

She knew she would have a bruise later. “I ken ye hate the idea of this marriage, or any marriage. But if I find out that ye planned something to wiggle yer way out of this, it’ll be Thalia up next, ye hear? ”

“I daenae ken what ye mean.” Ava felt like throwing up her breakfast. Surely not Thalia. Not her little sister, and the only thing that was pure and sacred in this world.

She continued scanning the crowd, trying hard to ignore her uncle’s threats. She doubted he suspected that she and Finlay were not planning on consummating their marriage.

She notwas not worried about her fate anywhere near as much as she was about her younger sister’s. Her marriage to Finlay would appease her uncle, and that was all that mattered. As long as Thalia was safe and free.

Finally, she laid eyes on her sisters, who were standing in the front pew on the right. The knot in her chest loosened, and she drew in a deep breath.

Emma and Thalia stood side by side, their faces tight, strained smiles playing on their lips.

Thalia stood nearly half a foot taller than the twins. She was stunning, and Ava, much like her twin, would do anything to keep that light in her eyes. Emma’s husband, Jack, stood on her other side, holding his daughter.

Initially, Ava had hated Jack, but she had grown to love him and his baby girl, Stella. They were family. Nothing got between family, especially not nosy uncles who did not know what was good for them.

Their encouraging smiles made her heart sink, but she decided to put on a brave face for them.

She knew they supported her wish to be free, never to marry, and to spend the rest of her life with her animals.

She wondered if her favorite sow had already gone into labor.

She hated the thought of the sow giving birth for the first time alone.

On the other side of the aisle stood the MacCabes. Ava was surprised by the sheer number. Finlay had not said this would be a clan affair.

Before she realized it, her uncle pulled her to a halt at the altar. She could finally see the back of her groom. Only, his long brown hair was too dark, his figure too tall and broad.

He slowly turned around, revealing a stranger wearing a black mask that covered the right side of his face.

Ava could not help but gasp. Dark brown eyes, instead of Finlay’s hazel, looked at her only for a moment before flicking away.

“Ye’re late,” he said in a deep and rich voice.

notAnger flared in Ava’s chest.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, ye’re late.”

“Who are ye?” she whispered-hissed.

The stranger, who looked like Finlay but was definitely not Finlay, turned back to her. He looked vaguely familiar, but she could not place him with that mask on his face.

“I’m yer groom. And ye’re late to our wedding, lass.” He raised an eyebrow. The one she could see anyway.

Then his words registered like a gong struck in her skull.

“Me what?” The air rushed from her lungs. The kirk started to spin.

“Yer betrothed, husband-to-be… groom.” The stranger—rather handsome, from what she could see of his face—blinked slowly at her.

Ava mentally kicked herself for noticing it. She still could not quite catch her breath.

“Yes, I ken what a groom is, but ye are nae Finlay,” she ground out, aware she was making a scene. “Ye are nae me groom. I daenae even ken who ye are!”

The priest cleared his throat. “Shall we start, me Laird?”

Ava’s mouth dropped open, rather unladylike.

“Laird?”