His Lass Wears Tartan (23 page)

“Donna go sobbing now, you’ll mess up T’s efforts. It’s your own fault. Ya started this whole romantic affair, my sweetheart, and I expect you to stand strong for me all the years to follow.” Rogue kissed her wet cheek, and Putney placed a duplicate bouquet of white roses and white heather in her hands.

Rafael stepped around the young bride and flashed a sweet smile at Putney. “Come on, Big Mama, it’s time for us to be seated. Where is our little T-Cup?”

“She’s fussing with the cape made for his lordship. T did a beautiful job with the needlework, she did.”

Baillie and Rogue watched the odd couple heading toward the front door, which was wedged open as the portal to the front of the castle. Rafael’s high heels clicked on the granite floor, her hips swinging next to Putney’s yards of material. This little family of friends held an eclectic group of age and beauty, each a gemstone of rare purity.

Gillian tucked the shaking hands of each woman into the crook of his arms. “Let’s not keep our Prince Charmings waiting.” Gillian stood imperially between them. “Shoulders back, heads up. Make me proud.” He moved forward with his right foot.

Stepping into the sunlight of the bailey, Rogue was dazzled by the romantic beauty in front of them. Her aunt and the girls had spent hours decorating the bridge over the moat with garlands of greenery braided with white twinkling lights and heather. A mini garden of magic had been created outside with a dozen chairs set up like a smile, opened in the middle where Gillian would walk them through. Bruce was right, her aunt must have connections with the fairy folk to make something this enchanting.

Rogue hadn’t taken a decent breath since they crossed over the moat. To the left side in front of Robbie stood her red-kilted prince. Her heart stuck inside her throat. She shivered staring at the handsome blond lad waiting for her. For the ceremony, Rafael had pulled the top of Bruce’s hair back into a leather clip, yet a few stray strands now outlined his chiseled cheekbones and deep-set eyes. His delicious lips parted in a dazzling smile.

Her hands became damp clutching the bouquet. She had come so close to losing him to the otherworld, she shuddered in a grateful, numb state. As hard as her heart had pounded, crushed at seeing his limp body in the field, it now thumped for the inconceivable happiness of knowing they would spend the rest of their lives together.

Once Gillian had released her aunt’s arm, Rogue watched her walk toward the new Baillie tartan cape T-Cup had exquisitely sewn for him. To everyone except her aunt, the cape hung in midair draping down to the floor, hollow, moving slightly due to Kai’s nervousness. Rogue imagined the man in his glory as her aunt must see him, standing on the moors, the edge of the cape snapping behind him.

Gillian spoke in the general area of the cape. “Take good care of our girl, Lord Baillie. Keep her happy for us.”

Rogue found her body trembled at the nearness of Bruce. Gillian kissed her cheek and said something in parting, but Rogue couldn’t hear over the loudness of her heart.

Bruce extended his hand toward her. “Ya take my breath away, my love.”

Gillian turned and took a seat next to Rafael, whispering something under his breath before sitting back.

Robbie cleared his throat. “Will both couples join hands?”

Rafael and T-Cup bounced out of their chairs, taking each bride’s bouquet. The intimate group saw Baillie raise her hands waist high, knowing Kai must be doing the same. Casie almost forgot her duties until Gillian cleared his throat and she yanked the tablet from her basket.

“Above you are the stars in heaven, below you are the stones of creation.” Robbie’s voice rang clear; his eyes sparkled. “As time passes remember, like a star, love should be constant. Like a stone, love should be firm.”

Here Aunt Baillie giggled softly. “Not that firm, Kai.” She spoke gently to the crowd, “He said, ‘I dinna want you gettin’ away from me in this life or the next.’”

“Be close, but not too close. Possess one another, but be understanding. Have patience each with the other, for storms will be, but will go quickly,” Robbie said.

“Aye, the old man kens ya well, my Rogue. A tempest follows ya like the moon follows the sun.” Bruce pulled Rogue closer and kissed the back of her hand. “I havena feared a storm no matter how fierce, since knowing you, and with Lady Nell’s help, I’ll not ever again.”

A lyrical “ah” went through the group.

Breathe
, she tried to tell herself.
Everything is going to be all right. The dazzling hunk of man in front of you just pledged his love in front of your family and friends. Uh, did the garden just spin a little? Must just be me. Did I eat anything today? I can’t remember. I’m getting married, concentrate.

“Be free in the giving of affection and warmth. For the love of friends, family, and God are with you, now and always.”

Tears trickled down Putney’s flushed face, and T-Cup dabbed at her own eyes before offering one of the many handkerchiefs she carried like a bouquet to the cook.

Robbie turned slightly and continued, “Is it your wish, Catharine Anne Baillie, to become one with this man?”

Baillie whispered, “I do. With all my heart, I do.”

Turning slightly to the side, Robbie spoke toward the floating cape. “Is it your wish, Lord William Andrew Kai Robert Baillie the fourth, to become one with this woman?”

Baillie gave a slight nod.

Robbie turned to the younger couple. “Is it your wish, Rogue Baillie Bruce, to become one with this man?”

Rogue took a nervous breath.
To become one, forever after, to share our days together. Funny, I never really thought of marriage or needing a man by my side. Yet, how would I live without him now?
“I do. I do with all my heart and soul.”

Turning to the kilted groom, Robbie asked, “Is it your wish, Bruce William MacKenzie, to become one with this woman?”

Clearing his throat, he whispered, “I do.”

“Does anyone in this universe say nae that these two couples should not join?” Robbie waited two heartbeats. “Then as friends, family, and God are witness to these rites, I now proclaim them husbands and wives.”

A single tear drifted down her cheek as Rogue lifted her head for the sweet, delectable first kiss as a married woman. She sent a silent blessing to her aunt, hoping she felt as magical at this moment.

She finally stepped back and turned to look at the group. The sweet sound of shouts and cheers lifted her heart. “Huzzah, huzzah!”

“You are mine forever more now, my Rogue. I’ll never let you go. What’s the line from your favorite character in those
Outlander
books of yours? ‘Dinna fash, yourself,’” Bruce said. She giggled in spite of the happy tears.

Bruce put his arm around Rogue’s waist while they stood next to the other newlyweds, forming a receiving line in front of the altar for their guests. The line of people formed to the right, giving them a moment together before the best wishes started. Bruce’s other hand slowly moved down and covered the front of her dress. Shivering, she swayed a bit, suddenly light-headed.

Bruce leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Aye, are ya not taking good care of yourself?”

She blinked. Was this man serious? “Uh, it’s been a little nuts this week, mind you. I’m not used to feeling like Alice in Wonderland seeing ya as a lover one moment, a ghost when I thought I’d lost you forever, and now here beside me in kilt and proper as my husband.”

“Aye, true, but I’m needing ya in fine health for our wee Andrew.”

Her spine stiffened, and her eyes widened. The girls in the slowly moving row murmured not so softly, “If that boy hurts her after all this, I’ll kill him.” She heard T-Cup growling.

Rogue tried taking a deep breath as a nauseous cold sweat swallowed her. She made a thin smile to ward off the girls’ smothering attention. “And who is this wee Andrew ya speak of? I donna ken anyone of that name.”

“Our son ya be carrying, of course.” And he squeezed her gently against his side.

The world went black before she hit the ground.

• • •

As his wife crumpled unconscious, he heard Baillie gasp, “What happened? Bruce?”

The crowd surrounded the fainted bride, murmuring concerns, and Bruce pushed them back by raising his free arm. “Stand away, give my sweet wife some air. She’ll be fine.” Lord Kai’s tartan robe flew through the air to Putney, who stretched it out and, with Bruce’s help, laid Rogue carefully down, getting her off the grass.

Baillie dropped to her knees and rubbed her niece’s cool, limp hand in hers. “Rogue, c’mon, sweetie.”

The girls babbled incoherently to those around them, dangling long lace handkerchiefs in front of their faces, as Gillian stepped through the tight circle. “Surely, she just fainted from the excitement. You know how brides are about not eating anything.” Gillian looked at Baillie who shrugged her shoulders before turning back to the pale face below.

“Kai?” Baillie snapped.

Bruce watched her head jerk up, her eyes furiously staring above the crowd in front of her. “Are you insane, man? This is nothing to be laughing about.” She clinched her teeth in anger. “Sorry, Bruce, I don’t know what he’s thinking, laughing like a lunatic.” She looked up again. “What do you mean?”

Bruce patted her shoulder. “Everything will be fine, trust me. What did your man say?”

“He said ‘Ask Lady Nell.’”

Bruce nodded his head like a bobblehead doll, his smile blinding in the sunlight. “Aye, let the witch explain, a wonderful idea, Kai. She’ll probably do better with the details than myself ever could.”

Gillian tried to help the psychic move closer. As people separated, Diva instead grabbed the opportunity and pushed her way through, licking Rogue’s face and whimpering. Bruce watched his wife’s lashes flutter; then she moved her hand against the dog. “Get off me, ya dog.”

“She’s alive!” The girls squealed, clapping their hands.

The chorus of noise grew as Bruce cuddled the revived Rogue into his arms.

Gillian let out a shrill whistle, and the air echoed into silence. “That’s better. Now will someone explain this vulgar display of emotions about Rogue fainting to the rest of us? As in what are we asking Lady Nell?”

Lady Nell raised her hand and the circle parted, letting her get closer to the newlywed couple and confused aunt. “There’s nothing to be concerned about. Truly, as Gillian had suspected earlier, the poor girl only fainted. I have it on good authority from the otherworld that it was partly from the stress of the day, not eating anything this morning, and the teensy-weensy fact she’s with child.”

Rogue turned her head sideways at her aunt and nodded.

Gillian turned his head toward the crowd. “Anyone have smelling salts for Baillie? We may have another fainter here.” His smirk tilted one edge of his lips.

“I’m pregnant,” Rogue whispered to her aunt. Not a full second ticked off the clock before the huzzahs and screams exploded.

Bruce kissed his new bride soundly on the mouth before reaching down and untangling the women, helping Baillie up from the ground. “Lord Kai, the missus is all yours now.” The throng of guests stepped back and let her slip by.

Then he gently took Rogue’s hands and pulled her to her feet, brushing a tangle of curls from the strap of her dress before kissing her softly. “I’m sorry, I dinna mean to slam the sweet news in yer face. I’ve the grace of a goat sometimes. While I was gone from ya, I met our son, our wee Andrew, who helped me get partway back to ya, at least back to the castle. He’s a bonny lad, I tell ya.”

Rogue dropped her flushed face against Bruce’s warm chest as murmurs of tender words and cooing surrounded her.

Putney, blowing her nose, looked over her shoulder and asked, “Are ya all right over there, our new Mrs. Baillie? Ya got a crazy look in your eyes, ya have, and your mouth’s wide open.”

Everyone turned to look at Baillie, her arms wrapped around the open air above her, and watched her face turn a bright crimson red. “This gorgeous husband of mine had the nerve to say, ‘Ye mean to tell me I just married an old, wrinkled grandmother?’”

Whoops and catcalls filled the air as the party at last made their way back toward the castle where the reception and celebrations began.

I knew there would be a sequel to
Her Ghost Wears Kilts
before it was even published, as the characters demanded more story time. Such a boisterous group, right? But also because of the delightful nudges from my husband, Bob, while actually attending a writers’ conference at Hever Castle in England years ago.

My sincerest gratitude goes to Tara Gelsomino at Crimson Romance for supporting my Scottish ghost stories and jumping into the fun with title selections. Major applause goes to Julie Sturgeon, also at Crimson Romance, for helping me keep Baillie and Kai from overprotecting Rogue and hogging the spotlight. Helping, forcing, assisting, pushing—it’s the final result of a romance book that matters, right?

My list of first draft beta readers was kept short for many reasons, but their assistance and support are priceless. My home court included Bob and the wonderful Shani Bruce. I also reached out to an admired contemporary, Rowena May O’Sullivan, as well. Her romantic comedies and paranormal romances are delightful and entertaining reads.

The year of 2015 was the best and worst of times for my family and me, and the conception to completion of a new book seemed impossible. “Not writing” wasn’t an option though, as it is a core part of who I am. Completing the first draft of the book during the extreme roller coaster of emotions of 2015 became cathartic, distracting, painful, and peaceful. The rewrites and edits kept me going. Special thanks to Tara for encouraging me to continue writing during the dark times, as well as my sold-out stadium of friends and readers. 

Kathleen Shaputis, author/ghostwriter, lives in the glorious Pacific Northwest with her husband, Bob, a clowder of cats, and two pompously protective Pomeranians with little social aptitude, Brugh and Bouncer. If not writing, she’s busy reading and watching romantic comedies, her ultimate paradise.