Epilogue
One Week Later
The seamstress unwrapped Emma’s gown, took one look at it, and made a helpless sound that was almost a prayer. Emma saw her face and exhaled. This was not going well.
The bodice sagged, and the sleeves dragged. The waist also belonged to a different woman.
“Hold still,” the seamstress begged, stabbing pins through a mouthful of thread.
“I am standing like a statue,” Emma pointed out. “And just so ye ken, the statue is judging ye.”
Ava barked a laugh and lifted the skirt to keep it off the rushes. “She will fix it. She always does.”
“Always,” the seamstress puffed, though she sounded more hopeful than confident.
Duncan and Troy argued across the hall with the focus of two men who believed chairs could start wars.
Duncan jabbed a finger at a sketch. “Clan Ross sits near the musicians.”
Troy shook his head. “Nay, they sit near the door. They leave early at every feast.”
“They willnae this time.”
“They will.”
“They willnae.”
Emma pressed two fingers to her temple. The air smelled of venison and wine. Catriona strode past with a basket of ribbons, like a general with her banner.
“Up with ye,” she ordered the maids. “Green on the tables. White at the arch. And where is the bairn’s wreath?”
Stella had it. She was gnawing on the twig ring with dedication and a soft hum. The nurse tried to barter a wooden toy, but Stella refused, proud of her new meal.
Emma’s breath caught. “Maybe this is a sign,” she told her sister. “Maybe I am cursed to ruin everything.”
Ava slipped behind the cradle, plucked the wreath from tiny teeth, and wiped it on her skirt. “Or maybe it is a Highland wedding. Ye ken how these go. We clatter, we squabble, and then we dance.”
Emma plastered on a smile that did not hold. She tried to distract herself by tying a ribbon and straightening a cloth. She even counted breaths, but it didn’t work.
She was right. Wedding days were just eternally cursed for her. Maybe they should just begin the marriage without the wedding anyway.
Guests began to file through the gates, their cloaks shaking free of road dust. Laughter rose and fell. She looked for one face and did not find it.
The third time she crossed the hall, Duncan caught her sleeve. His voice dropped. “We cannae find him.”
The floor seemed to shift. “Nae again.”
“He isnae in his chamber,” Duncan added. “Nae in the courtyard, nae in the chapel.”
Emma’s hands started to shake. “He said he was ready.”
“He is a man,” Ava said gently. “Sometimes they are born ready, and sometimes they are born foolish. We will check the stables.”
Emma moved faster than her sister could keep up. The courtyard was too bright. Every laugh sounded like a mistake. She cut behind the byre, her breath short.
“Emma!”
She turned. Jack emerged from the trees, mud plastered up his shins, a scratch along his cheek, a fistful of wild lilies in his hand. He was breathing hard, like a man who had fought a bear in the mountains and won by a mile.
“Where have ye been?” she asked, trying desperately to ignore the state of his shirt.
“The florist was useless,” he replied. “Ye deserved lilies, so I went to find them.”
“In the woods, on the morning of our wedding?”
“Aye,” he said, guilty as any boy with a stolen pie. He offered the bent bouquet. “For ye.”
Relief hit her so fast that it felt like anger. She laughed instead, the sound clear and loud.
“Ye daft man.” She tugged him down by the collar.
He kissed her forehead, still out of breath. “Chaos or nay chaos,” he said, “I am ready if ye are.”
“That depends.” She took the lilies. “Are ye done climbing cliffs for flowers?”
“For today,” he said. “Tomorrow, I might climb another.”
“Bring better boots.” She gave him a small smile that felt like sunshine.
She returned to the hall and let the seamstress apply the final tweaks to her wedding dress. The seamstress tugged and pinned until the gown sat where it should. Ava, on the other hand, pressed the sleeves and stepped back with a satisfied nod.
“There. Ye finally look like a bride, nae a lost cousin.”
Emma touched the skirt. It felt right at last. “Thank ye.”
Catriona bustled up with a string of pearls. “Stand straight, lass. I want to see pride on that spine.”
“I have plenty,” Emma declared. “I am marrying yer son, after all.”
“Then ye will need more,” Catriona said, her eyes twinkling.
Emma and Ava exchanged looks, and it took all of Emma’s will not to burst into laughter.
Meanwhile, guests filled the benches, and musicians tested a reel and then settled on a gentler melody. Duncan took Stella from the nurse and bounced her until she giggled, and the baby extended both hands toward Emma when she came into view.
Emma held Ava’s fingers for three steps, then let go and walked alone. The wild lilies trembled in her hand where Jack’s climb had broken the stems. She liked them better that way. Honest flowers.
Won, not bought.
Like her.
Jack stood beneath the arch, with the handfasting cord draped over his forearm. There was still mud on the heel of his boot, but it seemed he had not noticed.
He did not take his eyes off her.
She reached him, but they did not touch yet. The priest spoke the blessings. The air felt steady, and the world seemed smaller in a good way.
Jack tied the knot around her hand, the strip of cloth warm from his palm. He leaned close enough so that only she could hear the next words that escaped his mouth.
“Ye saved me, lass,” he whispered. “In ways ye daenae ken.”
Her throat tightened. “And ye gave me a home,” she said. “And a family.”
He kissed her, not rushed and not for show.
Perhaps just a little bit for show.
The hall erupted with cheers that bounced off the walls. Duncan lifted Stella high like a banner, letting the baby squeal and clap in excitement.
“Ma-ma-ma,” Stella cried, her voice clear as if she had practiced.
Laughter rippled through the room. Emma laughed too, tears bright and light for once. Jack took her free hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles as if they were precious jewels.
Nothing about the day was perfect. The ribbon was crooked in places. The gown had taken a battlefield of pins. The seating would give Troy opinions for a month. The lilies looked like they had fought a fox.
But none of it mattered.
Jack stood with her, and she stood with him. Stella reached for them both, and when she called, “Ma-ma-ma,” as if it were a blessing, Emma believed it was.
The End?