Page 101 of The Laird who Craved her

The music fell silent. Conversations faded into hushed anticipation. Every face turned toward the great doors of Rosewood Castle. Finn had faced war, famine, and death without his hands ever trembling. Yet as those ancient oak doors slowly began to open, his heart forgot how to beat.

Finn's name remained unspoken, but felt heavily in the room, "...looks at ye the way every father hopes someone will."

A tear escaped before Claire could stop it, but Lord Abbot brushed it away gently with his thumb. "Yer mother would have loved him."

Claire laughed softly through the tears. "I think she already does."

He offered his arm. "May I have the honor of escorting me daughter?"

Claire didn't answer with words; she simply slipped her hand through his arm. As they reached the door, Molly hurried back inside.

"Oh!" The maid stopped abruptly. "I forgot the veil."

"Nay," Claire said softly.

Molly frowned. "But…"

Claire smiled. "I have everything I need."

She looked once toward the mirror. The woman looking back wasn't the uncertain lady who had fled through a Highland forest believing her life had ended. She wasn't the woman who thought she belonged nowhere. She saw a daughter. A friend. A Highland woman. A MacRae. For the first time in her life, she truly recognized herself.

Then, with her father's arm beneath her hand and the sound of bagpipes rising somewhere beyond the chamber walls, Claire turned toward the door. Toward Finn. Toward home.

The last notes of bagpipes drifted as clans fell silent. The ceremony was beyond Rosewood Castle, where oaks overlooked heather fields toward distant hills. White ribbons fluttered from wooden posts, baskets of wildflowers lined the path to the elder. Finn waited at the end of the aisle.

Douglas shifted beside him, leaning close enough that only Finn could hear. "Ye still have time to run."

Finn didn't even look at him. "I've survived war. I'll survive ye."

Douglas chuckled low in his throat. "I've me doubts."

A few nearby clansmen laughed beneath their breath. Leo, standing on Finn's opposite side, folded his arms across his chest. "If he runs, I'll catch him."

Finn glanced at the MacSween. "I thought ye'd finally decided not to kill me."

"I did." Leo's expression remained perfectly serious. "This would merely be assisting me cousin."

Douglas barked out another laugh. "Poor devil never stood a chance."

Before Finn could answer, the elder lifted one hand, and every conversation faded into reverence. The great doors of Rosewood opened. Lord Abbot stepped forward first, and Claire walked beside him.

For one suspended heartbeat, the world seemed to stop. The wind, the music, the murmured voices, everything disappeared. Finn forgot to breathe.

She wore MacRae tartan draped elegantly over ivory, her dark curls falling softly around her shoulders beneath a delicate wreath of white heather. The fading sun painted gold across her face, and though dozens of people surrounded her, she searched only for one face. His.

The moment their eyes met, she smiled. Finn felt something tighten painfully inside his chest. Douglas quietly muttered, "Ach," beside him, but Finn barely heard it.

Claire reached the elder and turned toward him as Lord Abbot gently placed her hand in Finn's.

"I believe," the Duke said quietly, "she has chosen wisely."

Finn bowed his head with deep respect. "I'll spend the rest of me life proving ye right."

The older man smiled before stepping back to join the others. The elder waited until complete silence settled once more over the glen.

"We gather this day before God, before family, before clan, and before these ancient hills to witness not an arrangement... but a choice." His weathered gaze rested warmly upon Finn and Claire. "Two paths that once walked apart now become one." He nodded toward Finn. "Laird MacRae."

Finn looked at Claire. Her fingers rested in his without a shadow of hesitation. He drew a slow, steadying breath.