Highlander's Trials of Fire

Jonet had gone to Rinalda about it, worried for her father, and Rinalda had agreed to speak to him. Jonet decided she would no longer care about Freya, that she would not give her a sliver of her attention on a day so special. She hoped her father would too.

Her earsaid, in the burgundy and green colors of her clan, was wrapped around the cream dress that bloomed around her legs. Her hair had been styled in a series of

braids, similar to the one her mother had worn to her own wedding procession. Jonet was trembling with excitement and as she stared out the window. She pictured Matthew in his own room, filled the with same anticipation.

“I hope ye arenae thinkin’ about jumpin’,” came Christal.

Jonet huffed a laugh, lifting the heavy dress to turn around. Christal had been the one leading the charge of maids helping her prepare for her wedding. She had disappeared to fetch a few accessories Jonet was missing.

“I would choose a very bad time for it, daeneae ye think?” Jonet smiled.

“Aye, I think it would put a dampner on the mood once people realize they would have to scrape yer body off the ground.”

“Kind as always, Christal.”

Christal actually smiled as she pinned the brooch Matthew had given her to Jonet’s chest. Her tartan dress moved fluidly around her as she turned. Her heart warmed at the memory of the gift and she was even more eager to see him. They had needed to take a couple of months in order for him to fully recuperate before the wedding.

“Are ye ready?” Christal asked.

“I daenae think I’ve ever been so ready for anythin’ else in me life.”

“I’ll take that as an aye then.” Christal took Jonet by the arm and led her from the room.

The entire Castle was bustling with excitement. The servants had been up since the crack of dawn, preparing for the reception. Christal had been working through both of her positions that day, as the cook and as Jonet’s bridesmaid—and she had done splendidly. She looked lovely herself, wearing a dress in the clan colors, which was something Jonet had never seen before.

Jonet wanted to fill the silence with her nervous chatter, but her mouth was dry. The closer they drew to the courtyard, where the Laird had decided the wedding would be held, the more anxious she grew. It was the good sort of anxiousness, the one that filled her stomach with butterflies. To ease her mind, she thought of Matthew, of seeing his face as he stood there waiting for her.

It was all she could do now not to take off running toward him.

For such a time she had longed for this day, but she never thought it could possibly make her this happy. So many years ago, she had believed that Murdock was the one for her, that he was the love of her life. Yet now he paled in comparison to Matthew. To think that, after all the suffering in the darkness, there had been light in the distance.

The trip to the courtyard was a small one. There was a hum of chatter in the air, with almost the entire clan invited to the procession. Jonet did not see a single one of them. The moment she stepped outside with sunlight pouring over her face, she saw Matthew standing there, looking more handsome than she had ever seen him.

He was smiling, eyes twinkling. His blond hair swayed in the gently breeze that wafted over them, the colors of his kilt seemed even brighter than usual. His sporran, hung from his waist, jumped when he moved to take her with his left hand, pulling him to her side. Christal drifted into the background.

“Ye look beautiful,” he murmured down to her.

“And I’ve never seen ye look so handsome,” she whispered back.

“Is that so?” The sparkle of humor in his eyes was enough to drive away any remnants of her anxiousness. “And here I believed ye thought to me to be the most handsome man ye’ve ever kent.”

“Me statement still stands.”

He gripped her hands tighter, his eyes falling to her lips. They had to stay away from each other while he recovered, and Jonet was happy to see that it was affecting him just as much as it was affecting her.

The procession was short and precise. Once their vows were said, the Laird and Rinalda presented the quaich to them both at once, standing in the place of Matthew’s parents. They drank whiskey from it at the same time as Rinalda held the horseshoe Jonet had been given by Christal’s young son for good luck. Cheers rose into the air once the ceremony was over and Jonet almost felt like joining in. She ould not believe that she could now call Matthew her husband.

The march to the dining hall led by Jonet, Matthew, and her parents, was a loud and hearty one. Their steps seemed to move to the rhythm of their excitement, everyone eager to take part in the food, music, and dancing. Jonet too hoped to enjoy the festivities, but the need coiling inside her was much too potent.

“Somethin’ appears to be on yer mind, me love,” Matthew said to her once the ceilidh was well underway, not needing to whisper. People were already dancing and Jonet spotted Christal trying to teach Georgie how to dance without tripping over himself.

She could hardly smile at the sight. Matthew’s breath skittered across her skin and she shuddered, her need rising up to choke her.

“We shouldnae leave,” she took a large glup of the whiskey she held, ignoring the burn. “It’s our own weddin’.”

“Aye, which means we can do whatever we want.”

She was tempted. Oh, God did she want to leave with him. She took another large gulp. To suppress the urge.