I turned to Jamie in sudden panic. “I can’t marry you! I don’t even know your last name!”
He looked down at me and cocked a ruddy eyebrow. “Oh. It’s Fraser. James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser.” He pronounced it formally, each name slow and distinct.
Completely flustered, I said “Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp,” and stuck out my hand idiotically. Apparently taking this as a plea for support, he took the hand and tucked it firmly in the crook of his elbow. Thus inescapably pinioned, I squelched up the path to my wedding.