“I, Jack Tamerlaine, hereby take you, Adaira, to be my wife. I will comfort you in sadness; I will lift your head and be your strength when you are weak. I will sing with you when you are joyful. I will abide beside you and honor you for a year and a day, and thereafter should the spirits bless us.”

Torin made another knot around their hands, this time to represent Jack’s vow. After that, Alastair provided a golden coin. It had been broken in half, and each piece strung onto a chain. The laird bestowed one half of the coin on Adaira; the gold flickered as the chain settled against her collarbones. He next draped the other chain over Jack’s head.

Adaira hadn’t wanted rings to symbolize their vows. Perhaps because she knew Jack was particular about his hands. But the truth was that Jack hadn’t cared for either one—ring or half coin—until he listened to the chain settle and felt his piece of the coin rest close to his heart. He was glad to have something tangible to portray his promise to her.

“I hereby pronounce you bound as one,” Torin declared, and a cheer rose from Frae. “Would you like to seal your vows with a kiss?”

Jack felt Adaira’s hand stiffen in his. He watched her eyes narrow as she slightly angled back, a graceful warning. They hadn’t discussed this, but it was evident that it was the last thing she wanted.

Jack hesitated only a moment before he lifted their bound hands and kissed Adaira’s knuckles through the plaid.

It was over and done with. It had scarcely taken five minutes, and Jack felt weak in the knees when he thought about how much his life had just changed.

His mother was kissing Adaira’s cheeks, and Sidra was squeezing his arm, and he didn’t know what came next. They weren’t sharing a bed; they weren’t partaking in a wedding feast. I don’t want a celebration, Adaira had said to him the day before. The days are too heavy, too somber for such things.

“Shall we return to the hall?” Alastair asked, rising from his chair with Torin’s assistance.

“I . . .” Adaira began, but then frowned. “Da, I said I didn’t want a feast.”

“Adaira,” the laird said, his voice a gentle rasp. “You are my only daughter and the heiress. Did you think you could escape a handfasting without a little celebration?”

Adaira glanced at Sidra and Torin. “The days are too dark for such things.”

“The days may be dark,” Sidra said. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t feel joy. We want to celebrate with you.”

“And perhaps your bard will play a song for us, Adi?” Torin added, brow arched as he met Jack’s gaze.