Chapter 33
IT WAS SAID that everyone loved a good wedding.
But Greig had never counted himself among them.
Until today.
Standing on the steps before the chapel, his hands bound tightly against Brìghde’s, his chest ached with pride.
What a difference a year and a half made. All those months ago, he’d stood amongst the crowd of well-wishers watching Maggie and Rab make their vows to each other.
He’d hated how happy everyone looked.
He’d scorned how everyone seemed to think a ceremony like this somehow promised a blessed future.
It was just one day in a long life. A long marriage.
He’d been wrong.
Standing there now, Greig finally understood.
It was just one day, aye, but it changed everything.
It was the moment a man chose his path, when he bound himself to another, not through duty or expectation, but love.
A day had passed since he’d sunk to his knees before Brìghde in the chapel behind him. His father had agreed that they would be wed as soon as they wished it—and they wanted their future to begin as soon as possible.
His gaze settled upon Brìghde. She stood before him in the same bonnie blue-grey kirtle she had worn on the night of the Harvest Games dance.
The color deepened the grey of her eyes, made the silver of her hair gleam.
She’d braided it back and woven through small sprays of late-blooming heather.
And there—upon her wrist—the bracelet he’d given her, catching the light.
A chill wind whipped around her, tugging at her skirts, yet she paid it no mind.
She had never looked more beautiful to him.
Her fingers tightened, drawing him back to the moment.
Around them, the courtyard had fallen into a hush. The gathered clan watched from below the chapel steps—his family, hers, their people—all bearing witness.
His mother dabbed at her eyes, her smile radiant through her tears. His father stood beside her, his expression as inscrutable as ever, yet there was no mistaking the warmth in his gaze.
Behind them, the Boyds stood close together. Ada wept openly, Breac’s hand firm at her back, while Eòghan blinked furiously, blushing.
Greig’s chest tightened.
He’d come close to losing all of this.
Father Malcolm’s voice rose, calling them to speak their vows.
Greig’s gaze locked with Brìghde’s as he spoke.
“I was forged for battle, or so I once believed … but ye have shown me that a man’s greatest strength lies not in his blade, but in what he protects.
” His voice carried across the outer courtyard, rising above the whine of the wind.
“I vow to protect ye, honor ye, and cherish ye above all else.”
Her breath hitched, her eyes shining as he continued, “Ye are my hearth, my home, my peace. And I am yers … body and soul.” He paused then, his throat aching as emotion threatened to overwhelm him.
“And I swear this, before all gathered here … I will never turn from ye. Never shame ye. Never leave ye to stand alone.”
A flicker of movement caught his eye—his father, shifting slightly, as if those words had struck home.
Brìghde stared back at him. A tear escaped then, rolling down her cheek. She did not wipe it away.
“As the tide returns to the shore, so will I always remain faithful to ye,” she replied huskily. “As the mountains stand through wind and storm, so will I stand with ye.” The crowd stirred at her powerful words, yet her gaze never wavered. “I bind my life to yers … from this moment until my last.”
A deep silence followed.
Brìghde’s fingers trembled in his as Father Malcolm unwrapped the plaid ribbon that bound them.
Smiling, Greig took the bracelet from her wrist only long enough to press his lips to the cool silver, then settled it back into place.
Father Malcolm lifted his hands, his voice ringing out as he declared them husband and wife. Cheers rose almost at once, breaking the stillness and echoing off stone.
Reaching up, Greig cupped her face with both hands. “No more doubts,” he murmured, too low for others to hear. “No more fear.”
Her lips curved, more tears slipping free as she nodded. “Aye,” she whispered back.
When he kissed her, he did so passionately, bending her back across his arm.
The crowd went wild, roaring its approval, yet Greig ignored the well-wishers for the moment. Instead, his lips moved across Brìghde’s.
This was a promise, sealed not just for this day, but for every one that would follow.
The moment the door to Greig’s bedchamber shut behind them, the world fell away.
They looked at each other then, as if neither quite believed this was real.
And then his hands found her waist, pushing her back against the wood. His mouth took hers with a hunger that stole her breath. The taste of wine and smoke and him filled her senses. She reached up, her fingers tangling in the thick fall of his hair as she kissed him back just as fiercely.
By the Saints, he tasted good.
The noise of the revelry below—laughter, music, the stamping of feet—seemed faraway now.
There was only this, and the wild, breathless joy that still hadn’t settled in her chest.
His hands slid up her back, pulling her closer still. But then, with visible effort, he tore his mouth from hers.
They stood there for a moment, breathing hard. “God help me,” he muttered, a strained edge to his voice. “If I don’t slow myself, I’ll have ye right here against the door.”
Heat flared through her. She let out a shaky laugh, though her pulse was still racing. “And would that be so terrible?”
His lips curved, but he stepped back nonetheless, dragging a hand down his face. “No … but I’d rather take my time with ye.”
The words sent a shiver down her spine. She knew what Greig Maclean did when he took his time. Her knees weakened at the memory.
Turning away, he crossed to the table and poured two cups of wine, handing one to her before moving toward the hearth.
Brìghde followed, the warmth of the fire wrapping around them as the flickering light danced across the chamber walls. They stood in his bedchamber, a fine space dominated by a canopied bed. She tried not to glance in that direction though, for it set her imagination aflame.
For a moment, neither spoke. They simply stood there, side by side, sipping their wine, silence settling between them.
A moment to breathe, to feel, and just be.
Greig shifted then, easing himself down onto one of the high-backed wooden chairs flanking the hearth, his hand briefly massaging his left thigh.
She noticed, of course, she did. He’d been on his feet all day, and he’d even danced with her downstairs. His leg could only take so much.
Even so, he looked breathlessly handsome sitting there, his lèine open at the throat.
Setting her cup aside, Brìghde stepped closer, her gaze lingering on him. “Take off yer lèine,” she murmured. “Let me look at ye.”
His brows lifted slightly, though a spark lit his eyes. “Is that an order, wife?”
“Aye,” she replied, lifting her chin.
A slow smile spread across his face. “As ye wish.”
Brìghde remained standing, looking on as he reached for the hem of his lèine and pulled it up over his head. He then tossed it aside. Firelight slid across his bare skin, tracing the breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his chest, the faint scars that marked his body.
Brìghde’s breath caught.
He was watching her now, his gaze darkening. “Yer turn.”
Her pulse fluttered, but she did not hesitate. Holding his eye, she reached for the ties of her kirtle.
There was no rush, no fumbling.
She let the moment draw out, the air between them tightening with each slow movement as she loosened the garment and slipped it from her shoulders. It fell to the floor in a whisper of fabric, leaving her in her thin, ankle-length lèine.
Still, she did not look away.
His breathing had deepened. “Brì,” he whispered. “Ye—”
“I’m not done yet,” she replied with a smile, even as nervousness quickened in her belly.
She wasn’t used to behaving so boldly. It was both thrilling and terrifying.
Before her courage failed her, she pulled her lèine over her head and let it fall onto the wooden floorboards.
The fire’s warmth kissed her skin.
She felt exposed, standing there, especially as his hot gaze raked down the length of her body, taking in every detail. Of course, she hadn’t disrobed completely that night in the forge. She’d never given him a chance to gaze upon her like this.
Her breathing grew shallow. She hoped he liked what he saw.
Greig’s lips had parted slightly. A slight blush stained his cheekbones. He wanted her, aye, but there was more than hunger in his eyes.
A tenderness that made her chest ache.
Seated there by the fire, clad in only leather breeches, Greig shifted in his seat and parted his thighs.
The stance was an open invitation.
Brìghde couldn’t help but lower her gaze to his groin, marking the heavy outline of his rod, straining against leather.
Mother Mary. Heat pooled in her lower belly.
This man was temptation itself, and he was all hers. She couldn’t wait to feast upon him. They had all night. No one would interrupt them. She wanted to explore every inch of his skin, to hear every groan and sigh.
As if reading her lewd thoughts, his lips quirked in a sultry smile that made her pulse jump. “Come here,” he said, his voice low, roughened.
Smiling back, Brìghde went to him.