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breath and tried not to stare, feeling the hot blood flow to his loins as his cock thickened in appreciation.
    Once again her dress bordered on indecent, something more suitable for one of King James’s masques than a wedding. Most Scotswomen would choose to wear a brightly colored gown or arisaidh to their handfasting. But not Isabel. She had chosen an unadorned ivory damask gown that in its simplicity was anything but simple. The shimmering fabric draped provocatively across her shapely figure, tantalizing the senses with the glory of her lush body as the gown clung to her narrow hips and gently rounded bottom. The bodice was daringly low, cut in a deep square down the front of her chest. Her firm round breasts were barely covered, threatening to spill out at the slightest provocation. Rory thought, or just imagined, he could discern pale pink tips below the lacy edge of her bodice. Even as his body hardened with desire from all that bare skin, he had to acknowledge that there was something innocent and virginal about her dress. The unconventional bridal color suited her perfectly.
    The realization hit him: Without a doubt, the next year was going to be the longest of his seven and twenty years.
    Suddenly aware that her family was watching his reaction with unconcealed interest, he plastered a blank expression on his face. “Mistress MacDonald, I hope you have found your room to your liking.”
    “Yes, thank you. It was delightful. We were very comfortable.”
    Pleasantries dispensed with, he cast a glance around to make sure the others were ready. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Deidre standing next to Isabel’s tiring woman.
    Isabel caught his glance. “I hope you don’t mind…” She hesitated. “But I invited her.”
    “So I see.”
    His tone must have alarmed her, because she began to fidget. “Well, when I sent for her this morning to thank her for arranging the bath at such a late hour, she mentioned that she’d served your family since your older brother was a bairn. I just thought she might want to be here.”
    Disconcerted by her kindness, Rory didn’t speak. He looked into her eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity.
    “Are you angry?” she asked in a small voice.
    “No. Merely chastened not to have thought of it myself.”
    A wide smile lit her face, and Rory froze. Her eyes twinkled with a joyous effervescence that transformed her face from regally beautiful to playful and enchanting. A tiny dimple at the corner of her mouth lent a mischievous twist to her lips that made him think of naughtiness in other places. Like the bedchamber.
    He shifted his gaze to Glengarry and spoke. “Let us begin.”
    Glengarry looked to his daughter. “Isabel?”
    Rory’s eyes narrowed. It seemed as if Glengarry were giving her an option. Seeming surprised but enormously pleased by the deferral, Isabel simply nodded.
    With Glengarry officiating, Rory turned to face his bride, standing close enough to smell the sweet lavender of her hair and discern the previously unnoticed spattering of freckles across her nose. The freckles charmed him; the slight imperfection suggested a surprising lack of vanity in one so beautiful. This was a woman who enjoyed the outdoors, who valued the sun shining on her face more than the veneration of a flawless complexion. He scowled at the direction of his thoughts, realizing that he’d done just what he’d vowed not to do.
    A beautiful object, he reminded himself.
    Still, as they stood in the courtyard before the witnesses to their handfast, he was uncomfortably aware of how small and delicate she looked. And nervous. His hand moved about five inches before he pulled it back to his side.
    What the hell was he doing?
    He cleared his throat, telling himself to stop acting like a fool.
    Clasping right hand to right and left to left, Glengarry took a piece of plaid and tied it around their hands, binding them together. Rory stared at her tiny hand in his, so soft and tender in his