Epilogue
One week later
The courtyard had been transformed.
Maighread stood at the entrance to the castle, taking in the sight with something close to wonder.
Garlands of late-autumn greenery draped from every post and archway.
Torches blazed in holders along the walls, casting warm light across the gathered crowd.
Tables laden with food stretched along one side, and musicians tuned their instruments near the central dais.
A proper wedding celebration. The one they hadn't had time for before.
"Nervous?" Kathleen asked beside her.
"Nay. We're already married. This is just… theater."
"Important theater. The clan needs this. They need tae see their lady happy and secure."
Maighread glanced at her cousin. "And what about what I need?"
"Ye need tae marry the man ye love in front of everyone who matters." Kathleen's smile turned mischievous. "Again. Because apparently once wasnae enough fer ye."
Despite her nerves, Maighread laughed. "Tavish wanted this. Said the clan deserved tae celebrate after everything."
"He's right. And ye deserve it too. A real wedding, nae a rushed ceremony with only a handful of witnesses."
Maighread touched the pendant at her throat, the metal warm from her skin. She'd worn it constantly since Tavish had given it to her, through the battle with Keir, through the tense days after when they'd secured the borders and sent warnings to neighboring clans. It had become a talisman.
"How dae I look?" she asked.
"Like a bride. A fierce, beautiful, slightly terrifying bride."
Maighread glanced down at her gown. Deep green velvet, finer than what she'd worn for the private ceremony.
The seamstresses had worked frantically to finish it in time, adding intricate embroidery along the sleeves and neckline.
Her hair was braided with ribbons, falling in a thick plait over one shoulder.
She felt oddly exposed. Vulnerable in a way she hadn't during the small wedding.
"The guests are arriving," Kathleen observed, nodding toward the courtyard entrance.
Indeed, people were streaming through the gates. Clan members, neighboring allies, merchants who'd done business with MacEwan for years. More than Maighread had expected, given the short notice.
"How did word spread so fast?" she wondered aloud.
"Good news travels quick. Especially when it involves the death of a tyrant and the marriage of a beloved lady."
Maighread spotted familiar faces in the crowd. The healer who'd tended the wounded from Keir's attacks. The village elder from the border settlement Tavish had defended. Greg, standing near the musicians and looking uncomfortable in formal attire.
And there, being helped from a covered litter, her father.
Maighread's breath caught. Angus looked frail, his movements careful and slow. But he was upright. Conscious. Smiling.
"Faither," she breathed, already moving toward him.
Kathleen caught her arm. "Wait. Let him come tae ye. He wants tae walk ye down the aisle properly."
"He shouldnae be out of bed."
"Try telling him that. He threatened tae disinherit me when I did."
Angus made his way slowly across the courtyard, leaning heavily on a carved walking stick. People parted for him, bowing respectfully. When he reached Maighread, his eyes were bright with emotion.
"Me bonnie lass," he said, his voice rough but strong. "Ye're a vision."
"How are ye Faither? Dae ye need tae rest?"
"I'll rest when I'm dead, and that willnae be today." He extended his free arm. "Will ye let yer old faither walk ye tae yer husband? Properly this time?"
Tears stung her eyes. "Aye. I'd be honored."
She took his arm carefully, mindful of his weakness. Together they walked toward the center of the courtyard where the priest waited. The crowd fell silent, watching.
Tavish stood beside the priest, and Maighread's heart stuttered at the sight of him.
He wore formal MacBain colors, dark green and black, his hair tied back, his face clean-shaven.
But his eyes blazed with the same fierce devotion she'd seen in the garden, in their private chamber, in every moment since he'd first claimed her as his.
As they approached, Tavish's gaze never left her face. She saw him swallow hard, saw his hands flex at his sides like he was restraining himself from reaching for her.
When they reached the dais, Angus stopped. He turned to Maighread, cupping her face with one weathered hand.
"Be happy, lass. That's all I've ever wanted fer ye."
"I am, Faither. I promise."
He kissed her forehead, then turned to Tavish. "Take care of her. She's stubborn and willful and magnificent. Dinnae ever try tae dim that fire."
"Never, sir. I love her exactly as she is."
Angus clasped Tavish's shoulder briefly, then stepped back. Greg materialized at his side, offering an arm to help him to a seat. Angus settled onto a cushioned chair with obvious relief, but his smile never wavered.
Maighread took Tavish's extended hand. His fingers closed around hers, warm and sure.
"Ready?" he murmured.
"We've already done this once."
"Aye, but this time everyone gets tae watch me make ye mine."
Heat flooded her cheeks. "Ye're incorrigible."
"And ye love it."
The priest cleared his throat pointedly. "Shall we begin?"
The ceremony was longer than the private one had been. More ritual, more formality. The priest spoke about marriage and duty and partnership. He blessed them with holy water and recited prayers in Latin that Maighread only half understood.
But when it came time for vows, the words were the same ones they'd spoken days ago in the quiet chapel.
"Dae ye, Tavish MacBain, take this woman as yer lawful wife, tae have and tae hold, in sickness and in health, fer richer or poorer, until death parts ye?"
"I dae." Tavish's voice rang clear across the courtyard. "Before all these witnesses, I claim Maighread as me wife, me partner, me equal. I vow tae stand beside her, tae protect her, tae honor her choices, and tae love her with everything I am fer all me days."
The priest turned to Maighread. "And dae ye, Maighread MacEwan, take this man as yer lawful husband?"
"I dae." Her voice was steady. "Before all these witnesses, I claim Tavish as me husband, me partner, me equal. I vow tae stand beside him, tae support him, and tae love him with everything I am fer all me days."
Cheers erupted. The priest pronounced them husband and wife, and Tavish kissed her thoroughly, bending her back slightly in a display that drew more cheers and laughter.
Music started immediately. Tavish led Maighread to the center of the courtyard for the traditional first dance. They moved together smoothly, his hand firm at her waist.
"Happy?" he asked quietly.
"Aye. More than I thought possible."
"Good. Ye deserve this."
"So dae ye."
"I have everything I need right here." His hand tightened on her waist. "Ye're all I'll ever need."
Greg appeared and bowed elaborately to Maighread. "May I have the next dance, me lady?"
Tavish growled. "Find yer own wife."
"I'm working on it. But until then, I'll borrow yers." Greg winked. "Just one dance, braither."
Tavish released her reluctantly. "One dance. Then she's mine again."
As the evening wore on, Tavish drew her aside to a quieter corner of the courtyard. The music and laughter continued behind them, but here they had a moment of privacy.
"I have something tae say," he murmured.
"What?"
"Thank ye. Fer choosing me. Fer trusting me. Fer making me believe I could be worthy of something this good."
"Tavish, ye've always been worthy. Ye just couldnae see it."
"Maybe. But ye made me see it." He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. "I love ye, Maighread MacBain. With everything I am and everything I'll ever be."
"And I love ye, Tavish MacBain. Me husband. Me partner. Me home."
They kissed again, soft and sweet and full of promise. When they finally returned to the party, hand in hand, Maighread caught her father's eye across the courtyard. He raised his cup to her, smiling, and she raised hers in return.
But there’s more…