Chapter 23 #2
The kiss happened before the fire, the clan, and the walls that still stood. It was not brief enough to preserve the solemnity or long enough to satisfy either of them.
When they drew apart, Eliza's face was wet.
Graeme looked at her.
"You're crying."
"The wind is blowing smoke this way."
"The smoke is going the other way."
Eliza wiped her face.
"You are remarkably attentive for a man who is supposed to be watching the laird."
Graeme's mouth moved, but he did not answer.
Alistair still had one hand around Diana's waist.
"My wife," he said.
"Diana MacLeod," she answered.
"My wife, Diana MacLeod."
"Better."
The pipes began again, this time fast, and the hall filled with voices, applause, and feet striking the cleared stones.
Diana turned beside Alistair to receive the clan.
Iain placed a key in her hand.
Diana examined the metal.
"What does it open?"
"The old records room. It has a temporary roof now, and the wall has been reinforced. It will be the room where we tend the sick once it is ready."
He paused.
"And I should warn you that I have already taken half the shelves."
Diana closed her fingers around the key.
She had not been given a place on the council or command over men. She had been given a room with light, a hearth, and space to care for anyone who needed it. Alistair saw her understand before she looked at the walls around them.
Moira MacNair came next and gave her an embroidered cloth to cover the instruments. Màiri presented a sprig of thyme stolen from Iain's pocket. The man with the wounded shoulder promised to complain less during future treatments.
"Do not promise the impossible on a wedding day," Diana said.
Laughter spread through the hall.
They welcomed her with whatever they had to give: bread, wool, a candle molded at home, a small stool for the future treatment room. They placed objects in her hands and began including her in plans for the following week.
The snow thickened outside. Beneath the canvas, they ate stew, dark bread, and a small pie Eliza had guarded throughout the journey from the shelter.
Graeme asked why the pie had received more protection than some men.
"Because it obeys better," Eliza said.
The celebration carried on into the night.
The candles burned halfway down, the central fire had to be fed more than once, and the pipes exchanged solemn melodies for tunes that made the younger people stamp their feet against the stones.
There was bread, roasted meat, shared drink, and stories told too loudly.
Even Dugald allowed someone to pour him a second cup.
As the snow grew heavier, families began returning to the shelters.
Sleeping children were wrapped in blankets and carried away by their parents.
The older people left first, escorted by men with lanterns.
Several warriors remained among the ruins to guard the tools, watch the braces, and keep the fire under control.
The final song ended late into the night.
Alistair led Diana to a small chamber beside the old kitchen.
Before the fire, the room had been used for provisions.
Its walls remained sound, the hearth worked, and the old wooden door still barred from the inside.
The women had prepared a narrow bed with a new straw mattress, clean sheets, and two heavy blankets.
By the fire stood a basin of warmed water, bread, cheese, and wine.
Three candles lit the room.
Diana entered first. Alistair closed the door and slid the bar into place.
For several moments, they only looked at each other.
Music still reached them faintly from the hall, mixed with the sound of the wind. Diana's hair lay loose over her shoulders, slightly disordered after the dancing. Sprigs of heather still remained among a few strands. The silver ring caught the light when she raised her hand.
"Lady MacLeod," Alistair said.
Pride lit her face.
"Lady MacLeod," she repeated. "And Diana Fraser, always."
"As it should be."
She crossed the room and took hold of both edges of the black-and-gray plaid over his chest.
"Finally alone."
"Graeme stopped two men from following us here to offer advice."
"Only two?"
"Dugald turned away the third."
Diana smiled.
Alistair removed the brooch from his shoulder and laid the plaid over the chair. He wore a pale léine, laced at the throat, and the dark trousers from the ceremony.
She touched his face.
"My husband."
The words changed Alistair's breathing.
"Say it again."
"My husband."
He caught her waist and kissed her.
The kiss carried the desire held back throughout the ceremony: while Diana crossed the hall, during the vows, while their hands were bound together by the cord, and when she drank from the same cup he had used.
Alistair drew her against him, and Diana opened the cords of his léine without taking her mouth from his.
Neither of them was in a hurry to reach the end. They had the whole night, and for the first time since finding each other again, no escape waited for them.
Diana pushed the léine from his shoulders. Her fingers traveled over skin she already knew, across the old scar and the newer mark below his ribs. The wound had closed, leaving only a reddened line.
She bent and kissed it.
Alistair threaded his fingers through her hair.
"Still examining your work?"
"I am admiring the fact that the patient survived despite his own efforts."
"I had an excellent reason."
Diana looked up.
"What?"
"I wanted to reach this night."
She straightened and kissed him again.
Alistair found the ties of her gown. The women had secured them firmly enough to make him pay attention. Diana laughed when he missed the first knot.
"Do you need help?"
"I need you to be quiet."
"That requirement did not appear in the vows."
"An oversight."
"You will have to live with it."
The gown finally gave way.
Ivory wool slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor. Diana stood before him wearing only the thin shift beneath it, her father's medallion against her chest and the new ring on her finger.
Alistair swept her hair aside and kissed the scar near her collarbone.
"This mark brought us here."
"The river introduced us."
"You argued with me through the entire rescue."
"I was cold."
"You still argue."
"I am still right."
He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
"Alistair, your side."
"It's closed."
"Iain said—"
"Iain is not in this room."
"I sincerely hope he remains elsewhere."
Alistair laid her on the blankets and covered her body with his, holding his weight on his arms. Diana caught his nape and pulled him down for another kiss.
The bed was narrow, the hearth small, and the wind still found a crack beside the window.
None of it mattered.
Alistair knew the places that made Diana hold her breath. She knew the way his body answered when her fingers moved across his back and down to his waist. Their first intimacy had come after fear, blood, and uncertainty. That night, laughter lived between the kisses and peace filled every pause.
Diana pulled him closer.
"Still worried about the bed?"
"I intend to test its strength."
"Dugald will be pleased to have another structure to inspect in the morning."
Alistair smothered his laugh against her neck.
After that, words mattered less.
He touched her slowly, with no urgency coming from beyond the room this time.
His hand moved from her neck to the curve of her waist, and every point along the path woke beneath his warm palm.
The thin shift still covering her came off over her head. Cold air from the crack in the wall touched her skin for a moment before Alistair's mouth did. There was no bandage to avoid now, no wound that required care.
Diana's hand traveled along his side and stopped over the red line where, weeks earlier, she had pressed cloth against him to hold back the blood. The skin was whole beneath her fingers now, and she simply touched it.
Alistair held his breath when her fingers moved lower.
Diana knew that response already. She knew the place on his back that made him arch into her hands as well, and used the knowledge without mercy.
He laughed, low and rough, against her skin.