Lachlan stood at the entrance to the church, his black breeches and black waistcoat accented with gold embroidery. A red and green tartan sash was pinned at his chest with his father’s brooch, which bore the Huntley seal. Beside him, Cameron stood unusually silent. A faint breeze rustled the dead leaves that were covered in frost, making the leaves look like shards of ice dancing between the tombstones when morning light illuminated them.

The castle’s coach arrived and stopped at the end of the cobblestone path that led to him and the church behind him. He held his breath as the coach door opened. Eliza and his mother emerged, both smiling broadly before they stepped aside.

From the darkness of the coach, a slender hand appeared on the frame of the door. Then a dainty foot in an elegant white shoe took its first step outside. His breath caught and his chest tightened. Daphne exited the coach, the fullness of her gown now filling the doorway. He swallowed hard as she stepped to the ground. The pale crème lace netting over the white skirts was old-fashioned, but the silver threading in the shape of swans on her pale blue bodice was exquisite.

His mother caught his eye and smiled again. He recognized the gown as his mother’s wedding dress.

Daphne looked like a fairy queen. Her dark hair, bronzed by the light, flashed with hints of auburn and gold. How had he not noticed that her hair was more than simply dark? Daphne lifted her head and their gazes locked. She reached up, her fingertips touching the pearls around her neck. Emotion flooded him, blinding him with an intense inner light and heat that stole his breath and stopped his heart.

The vulnerability in her gaze was overshadowed by a trust so deep he knew he could never hurt this woman, never betray her. Whatever his reasons for bidding on her that night at the marriage auction no longer mattered. She was to be his wife, his partner in life. He would seek her counsel, seek her love and support. It was what he always longed for, even as a foolish young lad. Love had always been his dream.

Now I have it, at a terrible cost. Indeed, had he not lost his brother, had he not been driven by vengeance, he never would have met her—and she, in turn, never would have saved him. I have been rewarded with a priceless prize.

Daphne lifted her skirt and started down the gravel path. The sun lit glints of silver on her gown so she glowed and sparkled like a gemstone. He’d never been one for angels and God, at least, in the literal sense, but in that moment, as he watched her approach, he believed in something better, something wondrous and endless. It made him feel small, yet connected to everything around him—the wind in the trees, the stones collecting moss by the road, even the chatter of the larks in the heather. For two long months, he’d barely lived, his grief so strong, it threatened to drown him. But seeing Daphne coming toward him, hope shining her eyes, he breathed again for the first time in ages. His gratitude, his affection for her, was overpowering.

When his bride reached him, he raised her hand to his lips and knelt on the ground on one knee, then bowed his head, sending a silent prayer to the heavens that he would never lose her, his precious pearl. All his anger, all his sorrow had been banished by her light.

“Lachlan, what are you doing?” Daphne asked in a confused whisper. He pressed her hand to his cheek before he finally let go and stood.

“I…” He had no words, no way to tell her what lay in his heart at this moment.

“Forgive him, Miss Westfall,” Cameron chuckled. “He seems to have swallowed his tongue.”

“Aye, I have,” he agreed with a smile and held out his arm to her. They entered the church together, the stained glass lighting up the pews with brilliant splashes of color.

The vicar, Mr. McKenzie, waited for them at the altar. Eliza and Cameron flanked them as the priest began his speech. Lachlan spoke his vows and stared at Daphne, smiling as they swore to love, honor and cherish each other until the day death parted them. The priest then pressed her right wrist against Lachlan’s, and wound a plain white cloth around their hands. It was an old handfasting custom. Lachlan saw Daphne’s puzzlement and fought off a chuckle. Then the priest spoke in Gaelic, and, in quiet whispers, Lachlan translated for her, “Two souls made one, two hearts made one. Let none tear asunder what the heavens have brought together.”

Daphne’s eyes widened as she looked up at him, but he saw only excitement with a hint of nervousness within her eyes, no fear.

“All right, lass?” he asked.

“Yes.” As she spoke, a loose curl from her coiffure brushed her collarbone. He was arrested by the contrast of that lock against her pale skin, and the gleaming pearls that hung around her neck like frozen dewdrops along a delicate spider’s web.

My lady in pearls.

“You may kiss your bride,” Mr. McKenzie announced.

Lachlan leaned down, his free hand still curled in hers, their other hands bound fast, and kissed her. Tonight, he would see her in his bed, wearing nothing but those pearls, and he would make her smile, make her laugh, make her as happy as she was making him in that moment. When their lips broke apart, he heard her breathless sigh and reached up to brush her chin with his fingertips.

“You finally belong to me.”

She caught his wrist and stroked his skin beneath the cuff of his shirtsleeve. “And you to me.”

“Indeed.” I will not let the past destroy us. The pain of William’s death was finally muted, like a painting left in a sunny room, the colors bleached white, leaving barely a hint of what had once been so vivid. Daphne would paint new memories for him, ones of joy, not sorrow.

His throat tightened as the priest removed the hand bindings.

“I present Lord and Lady Huntley.”

Cameron clapped loudly along with Eliza and Moira, who both wiped their eyes. For some glorious, ridiculous reason, Lachlan laughed, unable to contain the joy in his heart.

“I suppose you have a feast ready at home, Mother?”

Moira smiled despite her tears. “Of course. It’s not every day my wee bairn takes a wife.”

“Wee bairn?” Cameron laughed harder than Lachlan. “He’s not been wee in over twenty years!”

“Mother, you mustn’t embarrass me in front of my wife,” he teased. “No man wishes to be thought of as wee on his wedding day.”

Cameron laughed. “Indeed! Or Daphne will worry what else is wee on you tonight when you—Oomph!” Cameron doubled over as Eliza elbowed him hard in the chest.

Daphne giggled and Lachlan curled an arm around her waist.

“I promise, lass, there’s nothing wee about me.” He laughed again as she blushed scarlet.

The small wedding party exited the church and for the first time in two months, Lachlan embraced the warmth of the sun on his face. Daphne was his wife and tonight he would show her a world of pleasure. Perhaps Stirling had been right after all.

She will heal me. She’s already begun to.

***

Married. I am married.

Daphne couldn’t stop smiling as she waited in Lachlan’s bed chambers. It was close to midnight, but she wasn’t tired. They’d spent the remainder of the day feasting and playing games in the drawing room with Cameron and Eliza. It had been the most fun she’d had in such a long time.

She plucked nervously now at the nightgown she’d changed into. The only thing she wore aside from it was her mother’s pearls. Lachlan had stopped her in the corridor just before she’d left to change for bed. He caught her by the waist and leaned close to whisper, “Wear the pearls, and nothing else.”

She couldn’t very well wait in his chambers completely naked, but she assumed he would insist upon her removing her nightgown once he arrived.

The sound of footfalls outside the door made her tense. She curled her fingers into the fabric of her nightgown.

Lachlan entered. He carried a delicate decanter of wine and a pair of glasses. He froze when he saw her standing there by his bed, barefoot, her hair unbound, wearing nothing but her nightclothes. He blinked and then gave his head a little shake.

“I thought you might wish for a drink.” He gave the decanter a slight whirl and she nodded. A drink would help calm her nerves.

“Yes, that would be nice.” She fidgeted for a moment before sitting down in the chair next to his desk. He poured two glasses and, after slipping one glass into her hand, drank his in two long gulps. He refilled his glass and brought it to his lips.

“Lachlan…” she began, noticing his hands shaking a little. Was he nervous? The thought was laughable. The worldly Scotsman, nervous on his wedding night?

“I…” He chuckled and set his glass down. “I am a wee bit…” He didn’t finish, but his cheeks darkened to a ruddy shade beneath the candlelight.

“You’re not the virgin, I am,” she blurted out, and then covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a nervous laugh. Lachlan approached and played with the strands of her hair with his fingers, making her shiver with a secret thrill.

“I’ve not been with a lass that I cared about the way I do you.” He brushed her long dark hair away from her neck. She reached up and touched the pearls at the same moment he did. Heat flared between them when their hands met.

“You care about me?” the words that escaped her were barely above a whisper.

His short nod was followed with a smile so faint she almost wondered if she’d imagined it.

Daphne held her breath a long moment before she replied, “I feel the same about you.”

His look of boyish wonder as he cupped her face and gazed into her eyes melted away every concern she’d had about marrying him.

“I doona deserve you, lass. But I swear on my bones that I will strive every day, with every breath, to care for you and make you happy.” There was an almost violent flash of pain in his eyes. She threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him. She slipped off the chair and they tumbled onto the floor, Lachlan holding her in his lap as he leaned against the bed’s frame.

Daphne breathed in his comforting, enticing masculine scent and pressed her lips to his neck. His hands tightened around her waist as he held her very still. She examined his face, the hard jaw with a hint of stubble, his blue eyes now as dark and endless as the surface of a lake.

She trailed her fingertips down his nose to his lips, memorizing every curve, every faint line, even the barest hint of freckles on the bridge of his nose, which she hadn’t noticed before. He was beautiful physically, but there was something else, a nobility in his face that seem to come from within. It had nothing to do with bloodlines or titles, but a nobility of the soul. She realized she trusted him more than she had ever trusted anyone except her mother. Her father’s crimes had cost her much, including her trust in others, but now, for the first time, she felt like she could trust another person. She could trust in Lachlan.

I want to give him everything, all that I am.

“Are you ready to go to bed?” she asked, stroking his lips. He moved one hand up and down her back, the way a man would calm an untamed horse.

“Aye. Are you?” he asked. Worry marred his face until she nodded.

She slid off his lap and they stood, smiling hesitantly, both embarrassed.

“Why don’t I take off my shirt?” He stepped back and reached over his head to pull off the white garment. Once exposed to view, his bare chest made her mouth run dry. He tossed the shirt away and lifted one of her hands to his chest, placing her palm over his heart.

“I am yours, lass, look your fill. Touch.” He stroked the back of her hand. “As you will.”

Daphne explored him, marveling at the muscled plains of his abdomen and the corded steel of his arms, awed that something so beautiful could be hers. Then he unfastened his trousers and removed his shoes. She stepped back with wide eyes when she saw his fully bared body. He was unashamed and waved her closer with a coaxing hand. He stepped back and leaned on the edge of the bed, inviting her near.

“I doona bite,” he chuckled when she drew close enough. She placed one hand on the top of his hard thigh, a secret delight surging through her when his muscles leapt beneath her fingers.

“Now for you.” He reached for the front of her nightgown, unfastened the buttons at her breasts and then lifted the gown over her head.

When she stood naked before him, she stiffened, her nipples pebbling in the cool air. He parted his knees and gently pulled her to stand between his thighs so he could touch her. He cupped one breast, and his rough, calloused palms sent delightful tingles through her. She clenched her thighs as wetness grew between them.

Lachlan plucked one nipple, the gentle tug making her hiss out a soft moan. She arched her back, clutching his shoulders as she offered him her other breast. He bent his head and fastened his mouth to it, kissing, sucking, nibbling until she couldn’t stop from trembling. Everything he did was thrilling, even frightening, but exquisitely wonderful. She reached for his erect shaft, needing to touch him as intimately as he was touching her, but he caught her wrist.

“There will be plenty of time for that, lass, but not yet. A man needs to pleasure his woman thoroughly before he sees to himself.” He slid his hands down to her bottom and lifted her onto his lap. His shaft slid between her wet folds and she whimpered as a hard edge of need rolled through her. She needed him to do something to her, to ease the hunger she barely understood.

“Shhh…” He kissed her hungrily, their lips melding as he clenched her buttocks and rocked her against him in his lap. She arched, her knees sliding on the bedding on either side of his slender hips. Daphne was desperate to feel him inside her, even though she was afraid he wouldn’t fit, that he was far too big, but her hunger was stronger than her concerns. They broke the kiss and she implored him with begging eyes to give her what she needed, what they both did.

“Aye. You’ll be the death of me, wife.” He fell back on the bed with her before he rolled them over so that she lay beneath him. Her knees gripped his hips, trying to close even though his body lay between them. Blood surged from her fingertips to her toes.

He lowered his mouth to hers, and his kiss burned like morning light through the darkness of her weary soul and she surrendered everything to him. The unexpected pinch she felt as he slid inside her faded beneath the fire of his kiss. He spoke to her between kisses as he withdrew and thrust back inside her. She recognized the words, the Gaelic from the wedding ceremony.

“Two souls made one, two hearts made one. Let none tear asunder what the heavens have brought together.” She closed her eyes as the tension building inside her broke in a sudden crest. The pleasure was as pure as it was explosive. Daphne gasped in sweet agony. She clung to him, her inner walls fluttering around him and she pressed frantic kisses along his cheek, lips and chin as he thrust twice more and collapsed on top of her, his weight heavy but welcome.

Lachlan kissed the shell of her ear, smiling as he lifted his head to gaze down at her. A deep peace settled inside her, as if she stood in a meadow at dawn, with the birds beginning to chatter softly, sunlight beginning to bathe the ground, and a breeze rustling the grass.

There was something about a beginning. It seemed to fill one’s soul with hope, with love. What she and Lachlan had shared this night was a new dawn, a beginning all their own.

Lachlan brushed stray wisps of hair back from her face and swallowed hard. “How do you feel?” he asked.

Daphne smiled, feeling like her whole body could float away. “As though you gave me wings to fly.”

With a chuckle and a glint of mischief in his eyes, he nuzzled her cheek. “I’ve not even showed you the best parts.”

“Oh?” She couldn’t possibly imagine that what they had just done could get any better.

“Aye, there’s a few hours yet before we should sleep. And I know just how we can pass the time.” He kissed her, and she was swept away by his embrace, his touch and his passion. Lachlan had given her the one thing she longed for above all else. Happiness. She would cling to it as long as she could.