Page 139 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

“I will send men.”

Behind them, men carried away the final buckets. Two MacIver warriors lifted a damaged hive frame under the direction of an elderly MacNicol beekeeper, who scolded them both with complete disregard for rank. Near the wall, servants cleared burned heather while soldiers hauled wet timber aside.

Dun Ard had already begun repairing itself not as two clans, but as one household.

Roy rose and offered his hand. Honey, soot and blood stained the leather of his glove. Donaldina placed her fingers within it. When she stood, her gaze traveled toward the castle.

Smoke drifted from the open hall doors. Several windows had broken. The ceremony lay unfinished, the feast overturned, and half the guests would carry the story into every glen west of the mountains.

Yet the gates remained closed against their enemies. MacIver and MacNicol warriors stood watch together upon the walls. The prisoners were secured. The fires were dying. Hammers already sounded somewhere near the damaged side entrance.

Donaldina leaned lightly against Roy’s uninjured arm.

“We should return,” she said.

“Tae the healer.”

“Tae the altar.”

Roy looked at her. She met his gaze without hesitation.

“The day has taken enough from us,” she urged. “I willnae give it the wedding as well.”

Pride moved through him first, followed by something far more vulnerable. He lifted her soot-stained hand and pressed his mouth against her knuckles.

“Nor will I,” he replied. “But I willnae have ye speak vows while blood dries upon yer gown and half the hall is being carried tae the healer.”

Her mouth tightened. “Roy⁠—”

“Cormac willnae take the wedding from us.” His thumb moved over her bruised fingers. “We will stand before both clans in a hall restored, with nae blade at yer throat and nae fire beyond the walls. Ye will walk tae me because ye choose tae, and every man present will have leisure tae understand it.”

Donaldina’s resistance softened, though reluctance remained in her eyes. “How long?”

“A few days.”

“That sounds suspiciously reasonable.”

“I have me moments.”

She studied him, then released a quiet breath.

“A few days,” she agreed. “Nae longer.”

“Nae longer.”

Together, they turned toward Dun Ard. The altar could wait. For now, the castle and the people who had defended it needed them more.

EPILOGUE

Several days later, Donaldina returned to the altar for a second time. The vast hall of Dun Ard still showed signs of that day, with one pillar blackened by smoke even after cleaning. New rushes covered the worst stains on the floor, and the repaired service door revealed pale new timber contrasting with the aged oak.

No one attempted to disguise those scars entirely, and she was glad of it.

The hall had survived. So had they.

The ceremony was smaller now. The visiting envoys had departed, carrying their accounts of Cormac’s attack into the glens. Only MacIver and MacNicol kin remained, gathered beneath the two banners that still hung together above the high table.

There were fewer flowers and no musicians waiting to announce her entrance. The winter heather had been gathered from the cliffs that morning, its purple bells damp with mist and bound simply with green thread.