It was a cold day in Scotland, with the winds blowing off the loch. Thankfully, the castle's fireplaces were stocked with logs and roaring fires can keep the halls warm. Soap was standing in his suite, adjusting the bow on the top of his white dress shirt. He already had on his kilt, the hose, and sporran. His sgian-dubh knife hung on his hip, a heirloom from his late father that he always wanted Soap to wear on his wedding day.

And here it is. His wedding day. Soap was nervous, which is why he casted every attendant out of his room, determined to get himself ready for the big day. He has to admit, the idea of an arrange marriage wasn't appealing to him. He trusted his council, but as laird to the MacTavish lands, his council insisted on selecting a partner for him. After a few weeks of going over potential partners, the council made their selection. Soap hasn't even met them yet, which only added to his stress.

John MacTavish isn't afraid of most things. A hardened Highlander, he's trained with the broadsword, he's excellent on horseback, and he has the weight of one of the biggest clans on his shoulders. But getting married to a lass or lad that he didn't know, even never seen before? That was one of the few things he could say he was afraid of.

His mind races as he left his room, intending to go down to the chapel and meet with the priest before tonight's ceremony. His intended is hidden off somewhere in Dunvegan Castle, the largest and most grand castle on MacTavish lands. His boots echo down the halls as he winds his way through the castle. Admittedly, he wasn't really watching where he was going, his body on mostly muscle memory, but suddenly he slammed right into someone as he rounded the corner.

"O, tha mi cho duilich!" Soap exclaimed, and he reaches out to steady whoever he just ran into. His bright blue eyes scan over the poor person that he just almost mowed over. To his immense surprise, he immediately realized... this was the person he was marrying in just a few short hours.