Page 62 of His Beauty
Lyon patted him on the shoulder, then dropped his hand, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Thankye, Keith. For everything. I…I love ye.”
The other man’s brows rose. “And I love ye. I figure I’d better say it now, since ye’re obviously feeling maudlin and willnae mention it again.”
“I’m no’ feeling maudlin.” Lyon settled back into his folded-arms pose, scowling at nothing at all across the great hall. “I’m getting married today.”
“Och, aye, and ye’re full of all sorts of emotions.” Keith’s shoulder knocked against his, and Lyon had to swallow down a smile. “Like love. For me.”
“Aye, but I’ll no’ repeat myself, ye arsehole.”
“Noted, ye wee dobber. Now, are ye ready?”
“Ready for what?”
Keith chuckled. “Ready for the rest of yer life. Because here comes yer bride, and the wedding will start soon.”
Perhaps he said more after that, but Lyon had stopped listening at “Here comes yer bride,” and whirled about to see, aye, Bonnie descending the stairs in that beautiful, stately manner of hers.
She looked…magnificent.
The gown she wore was a simple white one, thanks to the fashions the queen had started, but his bonnie lass didn’t need anything fancy to look like royalty. She held herself as if she possessed all the confidence in the world, and he knew that was what made her so beautiful.
The wounds on her head had healed, and now her scalp was a rough patch of scars, which he assured her would improve in time. Tiffany kept bringing her strange ointments and foul-smelling unguents to rub on the scars tosoften them, but Lyon made certain to kiss them daily and assure her she was still beautiful.
A compliment she regularly brushed off with a laugh, but if she could love him, burns and all, then she’d have to accept he loved her scars as part ofher.
Now they were either both beauties, or both beasts, and they chuckled often, arguing both sides of the debate.
Today, she’d covered her scars with a magnificent turban—white, of course—set with blue stones, which matched the sapphires she wore around her neck and on her ears. Lyon was absolutely certain he’d never seen anything more perfect as his bride descending the stairs to him.
Somehow, he’d arrived at the bottom of the steps to reach her, and when she stepped into his arms, he kissed her. The whole thing felt like a dream…or a fairy tale. Heaven knows there must’ve been some amount of magic to have brought them together so perfectly.
“Are ye ready, my love?”
Smiling, she linked her arm through his. “For ye, Lyon? Always.”
Bonnie shivered as her husband—husband—began to gently unwind the elaborate turban Tiffany had taken such care with. Seated in front of the mirror, she watched Lyon’s reflection as he took care with his task.
“How long do you think everyone will celebratedownstairs?” she asked quietly, and was rewarded by a twitch of Lyon’s lips, even though he didn’t look up.
“Frankly, I dinnae care. I trust Keith and Da and Mrs. Oliphant to keep them in line. Are ye sure ye dinnae mind hosting such a small celebration?”
“No, it was perfect.”
It had been. Bonnie knew she’d remember her wedding day for the rest of her life. Only their families had been present—she’d even invited her mother, who had bragged about her daughter “catching” the laird’s heir, even though everyone, including Bonnie, had ignored her—and the wedding had taken place in the castle’s great hall. The celebration was there too, but there was limited space, what with their new publishing house taking up half the great hall.
She cleared her throat. “I have a gift for you, husband.”
Lyon had finally succeeded in unwinding the last length of white silk, and now dropped a kiss to her bald head. Although she knew her scars had no sensitivity yet, the sight of his tender love sent another shiver of need through her.
“Ye have nae need to gift me anything, love,” he murmured against her skin. “Ye’ve already given me the most magnificent present.”
Smiling, she stood and turned, snaking her arms around his shoulders, and cocking her head to one side. “My wit? My generosity?”
He chuckled, brushing a kiss across her lips. “Aye, those things. And yer love.”
“Oh.” She pretended to pout. “I thought for certain you would say it was my virginity.”
He stiffened, and since she was rather pressed against him, she knew he was stiffall over.
