Over the Highland Mountains

Chapter 4 • Runaway Bride

If someone told him this was heaven, Alasdair would have believed them.

Here he was, standing in the middle of a room bustling with people and the most beautiful lass he had ever laid eyes on was in his arms.

Alasdair hadn't been able to hold back his surprise when he had recognised her as the lass from the river at their first meeting and from then on he couldn't take his eyes off her. The fact that the very lass he was willing to search for had turned out to be his betrothed had rendered him speechless, but once he got ahold of his senses again, the wedding couldn't be soon enough.

He had seen she was pretty from the distance, but up close, Alasdair could make out her gorgeous features: bright blue eyes, pink lower-heavy lips, full cheeks, alabaster skin. In all honesty, it had been a great surprise to him to see that his mother's choice for him had been such a beauty, but he repeatedly blessed her and thanked God for the good fortune that had befallen him.

It had torn him to see that his men were right as she came shaking like a leaf down the aisle. It had caught him off guard to see the lass who so bravely dove into treacherous waters, so fearful while walking towards him. Alasdair never considered that the exaggerated rumours of his war efforts would affect his life negatively. Before meeting the Leslies, they had brought nothing but good fortune. He made up his mind to convince her he would never hurt her and that he meant to honour their wedding vows. In that moment, as he held her protectively, possessively, and studied her person, he willed her to put aside her fear, but he knew he would have to work harder than that if he wanted her to truly trust him.

A hand roughly clapping down on his shoulder jolted him out of his thoughts. They were surrounded by his men and Gavin Leslie. He had only had one conversation with his bride's brother, but he seemed to be a decent man with a protective love for his sister which Alasdair could respect. All the men started clapping their hands on his back and arms forcing him to let go of Lily as they formed a circle around him. He saw her nimbly scoot out from the circle of men where her 'bonnie' friend hooked arms with her and they went to sit down again. The men were singing and jumping drunkenly, or as drunkenly as one could with the watered down mead, pulling and pushing him in a rough, playful way. Of course, Alasdair was strongly encouraged, some would say forced, to drink large amounts of the mead. Alasdair didn't often drink, never having developed a taste for it, and it didn't take long before his head started spinning. He managed to extricate himself from the group and he plopped down into the seat next to Ivor who had been looking on with a rare ghost of a smile. Ivor had had one too many experiences where he was too intoxicated to prevent a bad happening, and so out of guilt and determination to not be in that situation again, he always kept his head clear of too much drink. Once the room was looking stable again, Alasdair cast his eyes to where he had last seen his wife... How he loved calling her that...

Not there.

Not too strange, she was free to move around. He scanned the room for her, becoming more and more sober and rigid as his search continued.

"Where's yer bride?" Ivor had noticed too.

"I do no' see her," Alasdair mumbled grimly, starting to get angry... and anxious - that was new. He stood up and searched for Lily more earnestly, vaguely aware that Ivor was close on his heels. He stopped a few servants on his way, asking if they had seen their lady. No luck.

"Would she have run away?" Keir asked, apparently having joined them.

"If so, it had better be a Leslie custom or something of the sort," he answered darkly, his face clouding over, "Else, someone will end up dead before sunrise."

His scrutinising gaze found Laird Lachlan on the other side of the room with his back facing them. He stomped over, grasped the older man's shoulder, and spun him around forcefully.