Duncairn Cathedral, The Highlands Two months later…

“You and your new lady wife have all our good wishes and felicitations.” The beaming Bishop of Duncairn reached yet again to pump Iain’s hand. “‘Tis rare to see a lovelier bride than Lady Madeline.”

Madeline nodded her thanks … again.

Iain kept his smile in place and didn’t show a single sign of agitation.

Even though the rotund bishop had kept them standing on the cathedral steps for nearly an hour.

Indeed, if the gregarious churchman didn’t soon stop pressing his hospitality on them, dusk would soon settle and the wedding feast awaiting them at Abercairn would begin without the bride and groom.

Sliding a glance at her new husband, Madeline tried to catch his eye, but the bishop looked her way instead, rewarding her with another of his warm and jolly smiles.

“My regrets that, in our excitement to prepare for your nuptials, we misplaced your wedding gift,” he said. “Brother Jerome will find it soon, rest easy.”

“We must be away.” Iain’s brow creased. “We have guests at Abercairn.”

“You will be there soon, son” The bishop patted Iain’s arm. “Have patience.”

“We do,” Madeline assured the man.

For good measure, she also edged closer to Iain and discreetly nudged his toe.

Only her father didn’t seem to mind the wait.

Much improved in health in recent weeks, Sir John strolled the cathedral’s tree-shaded grounds with Gavin and Nella, perhaps planning the smaller wedding they’d celebrate at Abercairn in a fortnight, before leaving for Gavin’s home of Doon.

Madeline’s heart squeezed.

She’d miss her friends, but wished them well. They certainly made a jovial pair. Just now, they were smiling at the tail-wagging affections of the bishop’s young hound. The black-and-tan whelp jumped and cavorted about her father’s legs, and she caught his laughter at the dog’s playful antics.

Such was a joy she’d never tire of, just as she loved seeing Silver Leg’s two greyhounds trail her father’s every step through Abercairn, adoration in their great round eyes – and her father’s, too.

John Drummond had always loved dogs, but never been able to keep one, and now it seemed every needy canine in the realm found its way to Abercairn’s door.

Much to the old laird’s delight.

None of Abercairn’s leeches could explain why dogs no longer made the laird sneeze. Madeline and Iain suspected it had something to do with Iain’s sacred relic having been secured in Sir John’s bedchamber in the weeks before Iain delivered the reliquary and his other gifts to the cathedral.

“Ahhh… here comes Brother Jerome at last.” The rosy-cheeked bishop rubbed his hands together, his eyes twinkling. “So sorry to have kept you waiting, but the gillie who delivered your gift claimed it was of the greatest importance that you receive it on your wedding day.

“We would have sent the courier out to Abercairn otherwise,” he added, then shrugged. “Better now, moments after your blessed union, eh?”

The words spoken, Brother Jerome joined them on the cathedral steps and offered Iain a large linen-wrapped package.

“Here, my sweet.” He handed it to Madeline. “Today is your day, too.”

“Nae, sir.” The bishop placed a beringed hand on Iain’s arm. “We were instructed you are to open the gift.”

“Me?”

Both churchmen bobbed their heads. “It was made quite clear,” the bishop declared.

Puzzled, Iain took back the package, opened it, and withdrew the most beautifully worked sword belt he’d ever seen. Of finest leather, the belt was clearly priceless. But it wasn’t the value in coin that made it so dear.

He shook his head. “I dinnae believe it.”

“What?” Madeline gripped his arm. “You know the belt? Is it yours?”

“No’ the belt…” Heat stung Iain’s eyes as he gazed in wonder at the two Highland quartz crystals set into the belt’s clasp.

Devorgilla’s faery fire stones.

And they shone with a light brighter than a thousand suns.

“‘Tis the stones.” Iain pulled his bride close, resisted the urge to shield his eyes from the stones’ brilliance. “They are a blessing for us, a gift from Doon’s crone.”

“Truly?”

“Aye.” He leaned in, kissed her cheek. “I will tell you the tale later, when we are abed.”

“I will hold you to it.” She ran a finger along his jaw, touched his lips. “Among other things.”

“Whate’er you desire, my lady.” Iain smiled, sure he knew.

She peered at the belt, its precious stones.

“So beautiful.” Seizing the belt, she fastened it low around Iain’s hips.

Stepping back to admire him, she smiled. “Now you truly do look like the Master of the Highlands.”

Iain shook his head. “I dinnae care much about being Master of the Highlands, lass.”

“Nae?” She blinked. “I thought you liked the title?”

“Och, I do.” He dropped a kiss on her brow. “I’d just rather be the Master of Your Heart.”

“But you are, my love.” Madeline slid her arms around his shoulders, leaned up to kiss him. “You were all along.”

As she said the words, the faery fire stones gleamed even brighter. And far off in the distance, on the fair Isle of Doon, some may have heard a cackle of delight.