Chapter Twenty

Ian’s mother, while a kind, warm woman, turned out to be not very trusting of her son’s ability to curb his baser urges. Though Ian had offered to sleep in his office so Juliette could take over his room, Juliette was, instead, deposited at the home of one of Margaret’s many friends until the wedding could take place.

Determined that their union be as respectable as possible in the eyes of the English, Ian went to the trouble of procuring a license and calling in favors to make the event as much like a traditional wedding as possible. Juliette had dubbed their situation an elopement, but she deserved so much more than a hasty wedding, no matter how his body yearned to be with her once more. He took great pleasure in procuring a well-appointed suite for them at a hotel in New Town for their honeymoon period where they could have all the time and privacy they desired. From there, travel was arranged to take them to the Continent. The trip he was planning was nearly as exciting as the wedding itself. He could not wait to open up the world to his beloved, to expose her to new and exciting things of which she’d only read, and to show her some of his favorite places. He wanted to experience these things through her eyes and savor them with her. He wanted to make new memories and build a future.

Meanwhile, Margaret took Juliette to purchase a ready-made gown from a modiste on Princes Street. The shopkeeper was flustered when Ian’s mother let slip that Juliette was the sister of an earl and there would be no time to design or alter a gown befitting her station. The time constraints of their short engagement meant there were only three dresses from which to choose where alterations could be made in a day.

The first was virginal ivory, but it had far too many frills and made Juliette feel like a young girl. The last thing she wanted was to look like a child’s doll on her wedding day. The next was better, but the neckline of the sapphire blue gown was too high. The third, the shopkeeper told her, was an abandoned order where the lady had changed her mind about the color. It was a nearly finished satin gown in the richest green Juliette had ever seen. Lighter green rosettes decorated the cap sleeves which fell just below her natural shoulder to lend a hint of daring; the neckline was trimmed in deep green lace; the waist would be cinched in with a beaded ribbon once it was finished. The hem was a tad too long and the waist an inch too large, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed with relative ease and skill. As Juliette examined herself in the looking glass, smoothing the skirts and touching the rosettes, a choked sob hiccuped from behind her.

Ian’s mother watched her, hands clasped before her face in a futile attempt to staunch her tears. “Ach,” she snuffled. “ Cho breagha… ”

Juliette smiled and held out her hand. The older woman took it and squeezed it in her own weathered, callused one. “Thank you, Mama ; I certainly feel beautiful.” It was difficult to not allow herself to grow emotional as well when faced with this immensely strong woman’s joy, but she somehow managed.

Measurements were made, alterations were agreed upon, and Juliette purchased the dress with a small portion of the funds she’d brought on her journey. Juliette took great satisfaction knowing this task brought her one step closer to being with Ian forever.

∞∞∞

The day of the wedding dawned bright and sunny. Though the morning chill had yet to burn off by the time the small gathering arrived at the church, Ian still felt as if it was the perfect day to marry a woman far too good for him.

His mother had spent the prior evening alternating between crying, telling him how overjoyed she was that he’d found a life partner, reminding him that the lively gel would keep him on his toes; how she believed the two of them to be perfect counterbalances to one another. This, his mother believed, was the key to all successful marriages: Balance.

She believed Juliette would lighten Ian’s seriousness; he, in turn, would ground her. His parents had had a marriage of balance, and Ian looked forward to discovering that sweet point of equality where he and Juliette were partners working in tandem for a singular future.

The ceremony, itself, was traditionally Scottish. The church was decorated with little sprays of native flowers—Scots bluebells, thorny thistles, and heather. The air was filled with the ghosts of Ian’s childhood memories, thick with where he’d come from and all he had yet to achieve. It struck him so ferociously that he had to stop a moment, close his eyes, and simply breathe it in. And, when he opened them again, an angel draped in the green earth of the Highlands was floating toward where he stood at the end of the aisle. Words could not describe how beautiful Juliette was to him. Her black hair was plaited and pinned to her head and only when she was closer could he see the little bluebells woven in the delicate strands. Swathed in green silk, draped in a swath of the navy blue, hunter green, black, and gray plaid of his family’s ancient clan, she was the softer, more perfect, more feminine version of his attire. He, too, was carried a length of the dyed wool plaid; the very same one his father had worn on his wedding day, and it felt as if a part of him was there beside Ian.

The light filtering through the high, narrow windows caught on the silver brooch at Juliette’s shoulder where it held the two halves of her plaid together. It was the same brooch his da’ had given to his mother the day before their wedding. It was simple but dearly cherished. When he had watched as Juliette teared up after his mother had given it to her and explained its significance, he could have carried her off and married her right then and there for being so accepting of his heritage, of his past, of his family. This woman took him as he was, wanted him to be nothing more than he was, and loved him for it all. It was blindingly baffling to Ian, but he vowed to accept it, cherish it, nurture it, and return it to Juliette tenfold. Everything about that day was simple and perfect, but it was the love in Juliette’s eyes that was truly stunning.

Together, they recited their promises and he slid a thin gold band of interwoven threads onto her finger. When they kissed, Juliette threw her arms around Ian’s neck with such enthusiasm that she nearly knocked him from his feet. A few chuckles and a smattering of embarrassed coughs bubbled up from the guests present—mainly Margaret’s closest friends—but it was of no consequence; especially when he held his wife’s face in his hands, pressed his forehead to hers, and told her he loved her in as many languages as he could think of.

∞∞∞

The hastiness of the nuptials meant there hadn’t been time to plan a proper wedding breakfast, though his mother had certainly tried to convince them otherwise. Neither Juliette nor Ian minded, though, because they were better able to take their leave more quickly after accepting the well-wishes of the small number of those gathered to celebrate. The moment it was remotely respectable, Ian quickly ushered her into a carriage and they were whisked away to a lavish hotel in New Town.

Aside from the occasional coaching inn, Juliette had never stepped foot inside a hotel—had never traveled far enough from family or friends to require it—but this one far exceeded any expectations she might have had. Hotels in London were beginning to gain notoriety for the luxury and extravagance they afforded; as she looked around at the polished wood and glittering gilt trim, the glowing chandeliers and the immaculately-dressed staff, she had to believe this one could compete with whatever England offered. Surely a room at this hotel would come at no small cost. She nibbled her lip and tried to guess at just how much a night might set one back, but she had no point of reference from which to draw. The last thing she wanted was for Ian to spread himself too thin trying to provide her with the things he believed she wanted or needed. All she needed was him.

They were shown to their room and all of her worries were forgotten the moment Ian swept her in his arms and slung her over his shoulder.

“Ian!” she attempted indignation, but could only manage breathless laughter as he carried her to the oversized bed like a heathen warlord.

“Now, I can finally do what I’ve wanted to since you showed up in my mother’s home, covered yourself in flour, and charmed her with your linguistic skills.” He landed a playful swat to her bottom before gently depositing her atop the thick mattress. Standing above her, legs wide and fists at his hips, Juliette’s heart began to race and her stomach flipped in anticipation as she examined her husband. Her husband. They could be together without fear or shame. They could explore and share and learn together. Pulse pounding, skin tingling with desire and awareness, she opened her arms to Ian and invited him to lie with her. Together at last, they took their time savoring one another, relearning each other’s body and how to both give and take their pleasure.

Ian’s accent thickened as she neared a shattering release; the words wove around them like an intimate cocoon, as tangible to her as his hands and his teeth and his tongue. Long after they’d both found their release, she closed her eyes and sank into the memory of his rough voice.

“What are you thinking, my love?” Ian asked, his words still slightly breathless with the airiness of satiation.

“How much I enjoy the way your diction loses all its crispness when we lie together.” She opened her eyes and grinned at him. “I quite like it.”

Ian shot her a wolfish grin and rolled atop her, pinning her arms over her head, stealing her breath with the sudden excitement of it all. “And would ye like to be ravished by an animal rather than a mon, lass? I dinna think yer wee body could take it.” His words were thick with an exaggerated accent, bordering on satirical. She couldn’t help it, she laughed until she felt his body shaking mirthfully above hers and he pressed a kiss to her exposed throat. He rolled and carried her with him, nestling her against his side within the crook of his arm. And Juliette felt safe, cherished, respected. She couldn’t have dreamt of more.

Ian shifted again and placed his large palm upon her chest, just above the beat of her heart. “ Bidh thu a 'cumail mo chridhe agus bidh an-còmhnaidh ,” he whispered and Juliette held her breath to catch and clutch his every word. “ Thug an dàn sinn còmhla agus fuirichidh sinn còmhla. ”

Despite her efforts, she could only translate a handful of the words he’d spoken and she was forced to concede. “It’s lovely; what does it mean?”

There was a thoughtful moment before Ian replied.

“It means, you hold my heart and always will. Fate brought us together and together we will stay.”