Celebration

A t the celebratory meal that followed the handfasting, it fell to Tavish to make the toast to the bride and groom. Makenna's parents were absent. Had they been present, it was unlikely either of them were conscious enough of what was happening that they could cobble together a suitable speech. He had no trouble thinking of what to say about Makenna, although it struck him he'd never considered that, to all intents and purposes, she was an orphan. However, she never criticized her senile parents or complained about her lot in life.

Halstead was a different matter. Tavish had long resented the man for his part in Niven's disappearance and had known him only a few days. The circumstances that had brought him to Glengeárr were far from ideal. Still, this was supposed to be a happy occasion, so Tavish had best mind his tongue lest Piper take him to task later. Although, come to think on it, sometimes he ended up soothing his wife's scolding in ways he knew pleased her.

He noticed the Englishman politely declined every glass of wine offered. He toyed with the idea of mentioning the man's efforts to avoid the demon drink but thought better of it.

After everyone had polished off the Dundee cake served as the sweet, he rose, tumbler of Uachdaran in hand.

Makenna appreciated Tavish's willingness to offer the toast to her and Ash. Truth be told, he was a better orator than her father had ever been. She was confident her employer and friend would say good things about her, but Ash?

"What can I tell ye about Makenna Guthrie we all dinna already ken?" Tavish began.

"Aye," the guests replied.

Heat flooded her face.

"Modest."

"Aye."

"Hard workin'."

"Aye."

"Clever."

"Aye."

"Kind."

"Aye. "

"Reliable."

"Aye."

"Beautiful."

"Och, aye."

The last response was shouted with more force than the first. She worried that Tavish was stoking his audience to a fever pitch.

"In other words, Makenna Guthrie is the perfect Scottish lass, and I ask ye to raise yer glasses to her health and happiness. Here's wishing health and happiness for Makenna Guthrie-Halstead."

"Makenna," came the shout as the guests gulped their whisky.

Ash took a sip from his glass—the first. He was as nervous as she about what Tavish would say about him.

Ash braced himself. He'd been part of the plot to kidnap Tavish's brother and been forced into exile in Scotland because he'd wasted most of his allowance on liquor and easy women. He was a disgrace to his family name and Tavish couldn't be faulted for being critical.

"Now, as for Ash Halstead, what can I say?" Tavish began. "Ye all ken he's the son of a good friend to me and my family. But for the late William Halstead, Duke of Withenshawe, I doubt we'd be operatin' a famous distillery today. He trusted us wi' his investment o' coin and provided free shipping for our whisky."

Heads nodded.

Ash swallowed the lump in his throat. He'd let his father and his family down .

"Makenna's new husband is unusual. He's an Englishman who'll freely admit he's made mistakes."

Laughter ensued.

"But who among us hasna?"

More nodding heads.

"I met Ash but a few days ago. However, he's worked hard in the distillery, and it seems to me he's making an effort to get his life back on the right footin'."

Humbled, Ash meshed his fingers with Makenna's when all heads turned to look at him.

"If Ash turns out to be half the man his father was, his new wife's a lucky lass. And could a man make a wiser decision than asking for Makenna Guthrie's hand in marriage?"

"Aye," resounded, followed by cheers and laughter.

"So, raise yer glasses and drink to the health and happiness o' the luckiest man on earth, Ash Halstead."

"Ash Halstead," everyone shouted.

"Papa," Ash whispered as he took a swig of the whisky his father had helped make famous.

Tavish was well pleased with himself as he regained his seat next to his brother. Piper's beaming smile confirmed he'd said the right things and augured well for splendid bed-sport this night.

"Naught amiss wi' remindin' a man he has a lot to live up to," he told his brother.

"Indeed not," Payton agreed. "Ye did well. "

"I hope for Makenna's sake he'll be the husband she deserves."

"She'll be good for him," Piper said.

" Sí ," Alba confirmed.

As Ash rose to respond to the toast, he scanned the expectant faces of the guests—Lady Maureen and Sir Jock, Mr. and Mrs. Simon, the King brothers and their wives, a couple of Makenna's friends from the village, a handful of senior distillery employees. The small group gathered in the kitchen of Lockie House was a far cry from the ornate ballroom of Rochevaux Abbey where a society banquet would have been catered for hundreds of guests if he'd married in London. One thing he knew for sure. Makenna would have felt like a fish out of water at such a palaver.

Strange thing was, he felt at home with these people and in surroundings he'd been determined to hate.

"Tavish is right," he began. "I'm the son of an honorable nobleman and I haven't lived up to his expectations of me. However, I vow to do my utmost to be a better man."

The silence that greeted his words was unnerving, but he carried on.

"I'm married to a beautiful and capable Scottish lass. I don't deserve her but I'll cherish and provide for her as my father did for my late mother. They enjoyed a very happy marriage and I intend for Makenna and myself to live a long and happy life. "

"Wi' a passel o' bairns," the housekeeper quipped.

"Aye," he replied with a smile. "Though I might not follow my mother's tradition of naming her sons after trees. Ye ken my brothers are named Rowan and Hawthorne."

It took a moment, but laughter eventually rang out.

"Weel," Mr. Simon shouted. "Best ye get started on those bairns."

Needing no further encouragement, Ash scooped up his blushing bride and carried her up the stairs.