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“Nae. I am taking Angus willingly.” She leaned a little closer to Angus and whispered, “Very willingly.”

He returned a smile that felt polite and strained on his face.

“And are ye of age?” Father Nicholas asked.

“I am,” she said.

He turned to Angus. “Do ye, Angus Mackenzie, take Euphemia of Ross willingly and by yer own accord?”

Angus’s throat tightened before he could answer. Was he? Was it all his own accord? Yes, he’d come to her. Yes, he’d proposed. But he was—again—following his duty. Not his heart.

Not his desire.

“Wait!” someone cried from the distance.

Father Nicholas narrowed his eyes at the marketplace. With the smile washed off her face completely, Euphemia turned her head, her eyebrows snapped together, her eyes wide. Everyone else was looking, too.

And that voice… He went as stiff as a statue. By God’s blood, the voice sounded like it belonged to Rogene… He turned and looked.

“Wait! Please!” A woman was running towards them, navigating through the small crowd of people. Behind her, a tall, broad-shouldered young man hurried, with a huge sack on his back that swayed as he ran.

As she came closer, the raven hair flapped on the wind, the red skirt of her dress was bright and rich, and she had a bag over her shoulder that he’d never seen before…

“Wait!” Her hand was up in the air as though she were carrying something towards them.

Towards him, as her eyes were on him. And then she was close enough that he could see.

His heart must have stopped. He blinked to make sure this was real, that she was real.

Euphemia turned to him, an expression of sheer panic on her white face. “Lord Angus, ye were about to say aye, I believe?”

“Uhm…” Angus couldn’t look away from Rogene, taking in every movement, every detail that he could see from this distance.

“Lord Angus!” Euphemia cried.

And then, an eternity later, Rogene stood before him, panting.

“Wait…” she said as she doubled up and breathed, holding her knees. A murmur went through the crowd of wedding guests.

“Lady Rogene?” he said quietly.

“Ye said she was gone!” Euphemia gritted through her teeth.

He didn’t reply to her. The woman of his heart stood before him, and his whole being was focused on her. Nothing else existed. No one else mattered but her.

“Lady Rogene?” Father Nicholas said. “I am glad to see ye’re well, but why should we wait with the wedding? Is anything the matter?”

She straightened up and looked at Angus. “You’re not supposed to marry her, Angus,” she said. “You’re supposed to marry me.”

Euphemia grabbed Angus by the upper arm and turned him to her. The expression on her face was terrifying. Nostrils flared, glaring at him from under her eyebrows, her teeth bared, she looked like a wolf ready to tear his throat out.

“Angus,” she growled. “Did ye lie to me?”

“I didna,” he said, returning her stare. Without saying another word, he freed his arm of her and slowly walked to Rogene. It felt like a storm was cooking somewhere nearby, so charged was the air between them, so slowly went the time.

When he stood before her, and she straightened and breathed easier, their eyes locked. And he was lost. All the reasons to stay away from her—Scotland, Euphemia’s threat, his son—all that didn’t matter anymore. Because only now that she was by his side did he feel like everything was right in the world.

Like life was better. Fuller. Like his heart could beat again inside his chest, instead of aching like an open wound.