Page 55 of The Archer’s Wish

“Understood,” Liam said, entirely sincere.

Her mother swept Beitris into a hug. “Oh, my heart! I knew ye two were meant.”

As the bakery filled with warmth and laughter and far too many sweet buns, Beitris glanced at Liam.

He looked at her the same way he had the night she first kissed him, like he’d finally found his woman.

She squeezed his hand.

Chapter Fifteen

The great room looked nothing short of magical. Garlands of greenery, woven through with spring blossoms, spilled across the mantels in artful cascades. In the center of the long trestle tables, arrangements of wildflowers and fragrant herbs glowed softly in the candlelight. Dozens of taper candles flickered from wrought iron sconces, bathing the hall in a golden warmth that softened every edge and made the very air shimmer in celebration.

Above the doorways, branches wrapped in colorful fabric ribbons arched like festive crowns, swaying gently each time a draft moved through the gathering. The soft scrape of benches, the rise and fall of cheerful conversation, and the lively thrum of the fiddle and pipes created a harmony that seemed to echo in her bones.

With her arm threaded securely through Liam’s, Beitris let him guide her around the room, their steps slow as they paused to greet each guest. Every congratulatory smile, every lifted cup raised in their honor, only heightened the surreal haze she’d been floating in since morning.

The vows, spoken before a sober-faced clergyman whose expression suggested he’d rather be mucking out the sheep pen, had bound them as husband and wife. Husband and wife. The words still rang like a distant bell in her mind. Even while being fitted into her wedding gown and having flowers and ribbons wound through her hair, she had refused to truly believe it. She’d been so certain that something would halt the wedding. She’d barely been able to stand upright during the ceremony for fear her knees would buckle.

But several cups of honeyed mead had worked their magic. Warmth blossomed in her chest, excitement bubbling through her so brightly she felt she might burst from it.

A lively tune was struck and guests hurried to the dance floor, skirts swirling and boots stomping. Liam gave her a look that was half hopeful, half mischievous, and led her to the center of the room. The dancers parted, creating a circle around them as if this moment, this dance, belonged to them alone.

To her amusement, the consummate rogue, the man who could charm the apron off any lass within the land, danced like a man trying to avoid stepping on a chicken. His steps were careful, concentrated, and terribly awkward. Beitris couldn’t help her laughter, and soon Liam was laughing with her, especially each time he narrowly avoided stepping on her toes.

When the dance ended, her cheeks hurt from smiling.

As they stepped away from the floor, Beitris spotted her mother waving her over with the enthusiasm of someone who had clearly been enjoying the festivities and the mead. Ailith and Effie flanked her, flush-faced and grinning from ear to ear.

“Mam is calling me. I will see what she needs,” Beitris told Liam. He nodded, still smiling, though there was a spark in his eyes that made her heart flutter.

She reached her mother, only to have all three women surround her like co-conspirators.

“’Tis time,” her mother announced, wiggling her brows in a way that instantly put Beitris on edge.

“Time for what?” Beitris asked, dread creeping up her spine.

Effie groaned dramatically. “Must I say it out loud? Sakes, he’s my brother. I dinnae wish to think about it.”

Realization hit Beitris so fast her entire face heated as if she’d stepped too close to a bonfire. The bedding. Saints preserve her.

Before she could consider fleeing, she was whisked down a corridor into a small chamber. Inside, a neatly folded night rail lay across the bed, Ailith’s doing, surely. Her mother clapped her hands together, far too cheerfully.

“Let us help ye out of yer dress and into yer bedding gown,” she declared.

The three women descended upon her like delighted hens. Giddy, slightly tipsy laughter filled the room as they loosened laces, untied ribbons, and eased her out of layers of fabric. Beitris squeaked as Effie pinched her side in jest. Her mother nearly tripped over a discarded shoe. Ailith tried shushing them all with a finger pressed to her tipsy smiling lips.

They slipped her into a soft, velvety nightdress of pale cream, the fabric whispering over her warm skin. Her hair was brushed until it gleamed like polished wildfire.

When they stepped back, pride and affection shone in their eyes.

Each one kissed her cheeks, one after the other, and then, in a flurry of giggles and whispers, they disappeared into the corridor, leaving the door firmly shut behind them.

Silence fell.

Suddenly the chamber felt too small, too warm, too quiet. Beitris’s heartbeat thundered so loudly she wondered if it echoed off the walls. What did brides normally do? Sit? Stand? Lay upon the bed like some painted temptress? Saints, no. Not that. The very thought made her want to hide beneath the bed.

So she paced. Sat on the edge of the bed. Stood again. Tried the chair. Pacing returned. She wrung her hands. She smoothed her nightdress. Where was Liam?