Page 64 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

Aileana giggled, looking up at him with softness in her eyes; James wanted to bask in such a glow forever and never again see the angry scorn that she’d once bestowed upon him.

“No going back this time,” he whispered.

She shook her head. “No going back.”

He reached into his sporran, withdrawing two folds of fabric—cuts of MacDonald and Grant tartan.

Her eyes widened, and she touched them, too. “Ye kept them?

He nodded, then felt a smile etch into his solemn face. “Do the honors, brother-of-marriage.” He held them forth to Seamus.

Seamus, groaning at the title, took the fabric, joined their hands together in an intertwined fist, and knotted the tartan around it.

“James Moidartach MacDonald of Clanranald. I give ye my wee sister, Aileana Grant, again. What are yer terms this time?”

James looked down at Aileana, who returned his gaze. She smiled. Sakes, what was she about to demand?

“To live a long, happy life together, with fidelity betwixt our hearts and peace betwixt our people. For the reaves and retaliations to cease, for the cause of such feuds be put to rest. And for any child born of us to never be a bastard.”

James’s heart clenched. He squeezed her hand in response, nodding once.

“Then let it be so that yer marriage remain until death parts ye,” her brother said. “The deed is done—wait.”

James grinned as he swung Aileana up in his other arm, their hands still knotted, carrying her fireside.

“Wait one bloody second,” Seamus continued, snarling, grabbing his shoulder. “How could yer child be born a bastard unless…” His brow grew stormy. “Ye dishonored my sister? Ye whoreson—”

“’Twas no dishonor,” came Aileana’s soft voice—so solemn, considering only moments ago, she’d been giggling.

Seamus stopped and looked at her, his face softening in the doting way only an older brother could look at his sister. “Aileana, he promised he’d respect ye.”

“And he did,” she said pointedly. “Peace, brother. From today onward, and always. Is such an oath so quickly discarded?”

Seamus backed up a step, his temper causing his lips to quiver, but nodded. “Aye, peace. Such a thing would be quite the accomplishment with this lot.”

And as snow drifted down, as the fire crackled and filled the enclosure with woody scents and Seamus Grant departed to leave them alone, James settled his furs over them, as they’d lain their first night together. Quite the Yuletide boon indeed.