Page 83 of Wanted By the Wicked Highlander

“Give it an hour.”

“Aye, well. Enjoy the hour ye have, then.”

Enough clansmen had gathered to empty half the Highlands, or so it seemed to Alba, standing at the edge of it all in a gown Margaret had spent two weeks fussing over.

Fergus stood beside Sebastian near the front of the gathered crowd, tugging at the collar of a formal doublet like it had personally wronged him.

"I daenae ken why a man cannae stand up for his friend in his own plaid," he muttered, shifting his weight for what had to be the tenth time in as many minutes. "This collar's trying to strangle me before yer vows are even said, and it isnae even me weddin'."

“Ye look distinguished,” Sebastian said, not bothering to hide his amusement.

“I look like a man bein’ punished for somethin’.”

“Ye are. Ye agreed to stand up here with me.”

“Aye, and I am regrettin’ it with every passin’ minute this collar remains fastened.”

Hamish appeared at Sebastian’s other side just long enough to clap a heavy hand against his shoulder, grinning beneath his beard in a way that promised no mercy whatsoever. “Never thought I’d live to see the day the Beast of Blackthorn standin’ still long enough to be wed.”

“Ye’ll live to see a great many things ye didnae expect, apparently.”

“Aye, seems so. Ye nervous?”

“Nay.”

“Liar.”

Sebastian did not dignify that with an answer, though the muscle working in his jaw said enough on its own.

Nearby, Margaret sat on a cushioned bench that Isobel had insisted on dragging out for her, heavily pregnant and glowing. Lily sat in her lap, small fingers tangled in the ribbon at her mother’s collar, while Isobel fussed over them both with a fan she had conjure from nowhere despite the mild weather.

“Sit still, both of ye!” Isobel said, adjusting Lily’s grip before the girl could tug the ribbon free entirely. “Yer mother’s about to burst as it is without ye pullin’ her apart at the seams first.”

“I am nae about to burst!” Margaret said, shifting Lily’s weight with a wince that rather undercut the claim. “I have weeks yet.”

“Ye said that a fortnight ago as well.”

“And I was right a fortnight ago.”

A cluster of arriving guests near the Gate drew Isobel's eye, and she pressed the fan into Margaret's free hand before rising."Alasdair will want me at his side to greet them properly. I'll nae be far."

Brian stood just behind them, practically vibrating through the whole affair, unable to keep still for longer than a breath at a time.

He tugged at Philomena’s sleeve every few minutes to ask some new question—when would Alba come out, was Sebastian nervous, did handfasting mean they would finally stop arguing about which Hall smelled worse—until Philomena finally crouched down to his level with the long-suffering patience of a woman who had spent years managing exactly this kind of energy.

“If ye ask me one more question, lad, I will put ye to work carryin’ chairs instead of watchin’ the ceremony.”

“But I only wanted to ken if?—”

“One more question.”

Brian clamped his mouth shut, though his whole body still hummed with barely contained excitement, bouncing lightly on his heels as he craned his neck toward the Keep’s entrance for any sign of movement.

“Do ye think Sebastian’s more nervous than ye are?” Brian asked, tugging at Philomena’s sleeve for what had to be the fifth time.

“I couldnae say, lad. Why daenae ye go find out for yerself.”

“Truly?”