“What was that blasted wish, anyway?” Hawk said, disgruntled.

“That Grimm Roderick find the woman who would heal his heart as you healed mine, my love.” Adrienne would never call a man “radiant”; it seemed a feminine word. But when her husband gazed down at her with his eyes glowing so lovingly, she whispered a fervent “thank you” in the direction of the Nativity scene. Then she added a silent benediction for any and all other beings responsible for the events that had carried her across five hundred years to find him. Scotland was a magical place, rich in legends, and Adrienne embraced them because the underlying themes were universal: Love endured, and it could heal all.

It was a traditional wedding, if such could be between a woman and a man of legend—a Berserker no less, with two more of the epic warriors in attendance. The women fussed and the men shared toasts. At the last minute, Gibraltar and Elizabeth St. Clair arrived. They had ridden like the devil the moment they’d received the message that Jillian was to be wed at Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea.

Jillian was elated to see her parents. Elizabeth and Adrienne helped her dress while they resolved that both “das” should escort the bride to the groom’s side. Ronin had already been solicited for the honor, but Elizabeth maintained that Gibraltar would never recover if he wasn’t allowed to escort her too. Yes, she knew that Jillian hadn’t expected them to be able to make it in time, but they had and that was the end of it.

The bride and groom didn’t see one another until the moment Gibraltar and Ronin escorted Jillian down the elaborate staircase into the Greathall, after a long pause at the top that permitted all and sundry to exclaim over the radiant bride.

Jillian’s heart was thundering as her two “das” lifted her hands from their forearms and tucked her arm through the elbow of the man who was to be her husband. Grimm looked magnificent, clad in ceremonial tartan, his black hair neatly queued. Jillian didn’t miss it when Ronin’s gaze flickered over the plaid. He looked momentarily astonished, then elated, for Grimm had donned the full dress of the McIllioch for his wedding day.

She hadn’t thought the day could be any more perfect until the priest began the ceremony. After what seemed like years of traditional benedictions and prayers, he moved onto the vows:

“Do you, Grimm Roderick, promise—”

Grimm’s deep voice interrupted him. Pride underscored each word. “My name is Gavrael.” He took a deep breath, then continued, enunciating his name clearly. “Gavrael Roderick Icarus McIllioch.”

Chills swept up her spine. Tears misted Ronin’s eyes and the hall fell silent for a moment. Hawk grinned at Adrienne, and far in the back of the hall where few had as yet seen him, Quinn de Moncreiffe nodded, satisfied. At long last, Grimm Roderick was at peace with who and what he was.

“Do you, Gavrael Roderick—”

“I do.”

Jillian nudged him.

He arched a brow and frowned. “Well, I do. Must we go through all this? I do. I swear a man has never ‘I do’d’ more fervently than I. I just want to be married to you, lass.”

Ronin and Balder exchanged amused glances. Keeping them apart had certainly heightened Gavrael’s enthusiasm for the matrimonial bonds.

Guests tittered, and Jillian smiled. “Let the priest have his turn, because I would like to hear you say it all. Especially the ‘loving and cherishing me’ part.”

“Oh, I’ll love and ravish you, lass,” Gavrael said close to her ear.

“Cherish! And behave.” She teasingly swatted at him and nodded encouragingly to the priest. “Do continue.”

And so they were wed.

Kaley Twillow jostled for room, rising to her toes and peering over heads anxiously. Her precious Jillian was getting married and she couldn’t see a dratted thing. It just wouldn’t do.

“Watch where yer pokin’,” an irate guest barked as she strategically jabbed her elbow in a few tender spots to squeeze past.

“Wait your turn to greet the bride!” another one complained when she stepped on his toes.

“I practically raised the wee bride, and I’ll be damned if I’m sitting in back unable to see, so move your arse!” She glowered.

A small path appeared as they reluctantly permitted her passage.

Wedging her ample bosom and hips between a cluster of guards created a small furor as dozens of men eyed the shapely woman with interest. Finally she pushed through, crested the last wave of guests, and surfaced beside a man whose handsome height and girth took her breath away. His thick black hair was streaked with silver, revealing his mature years, which, in her experience, meant mature passion.