The Border Trilogy (10 page)

Mary Kate suddenly wondered if he had failed to tell her out of fear that she would scorn his love for the place. She was silent. For the first time she considered his feelings, how her attitude must be affecting him. If he truly wanted her for his wife, whatever his reasons, it must be particularly frustrating to him always to encounter her disfavor. Not that he had seen much of that during the past week, she reflected. She had been polite, even cheerful, in his company. But she had also maintained a distance, mocking him with her eyes whenever he exerted himself to please her.

She rallied at the last thought. Had he not confessed that he had wanted her merely to satisfy a whim? Did he not look upon taming her as a challenge? No matter how charming he could be, no matter how disarming his roguish smile, he was still an impudent border knave who thought he had only to crook his finger to bring her to heel like a well-trained bitch. Let him learn his error. He had certainly never claimed to love her. If he feared her scorn, so much the better. She let Margaret chatter on, enthusing over improvements she would make at Tornary if she were but granted the opportunity.

They were still discussing the castle when Morag returned. That kindly dame shooed Mistress Douglas off to her own chamber to dress, promising that if she were quick in her preparations, she might return to help put the finishing touches to the bride. With Margaret safely out of the way, she turned her attention to Mary Kate, working with such efficient speed that that young lady was soon dressed.

Though it was customary for a bride to have a new gown in the first style of elegance, there had been too little time to have one made, so Mary Kate wore her mother’s wedding dress, its ivory lace fitting snugly at the waist and then belling out over a cloth-of-silver underdress. Full sleeves trailed lace to her fingertips. Her hair was unbound, and the wreath of wild-flowers, woven to a circlet of pearls, lay ready upon a nearby table. Morag twitched a fold of the skirt into place and smoothed away an imaginary wrinkle before stepping back with a melancholy sigh to survey the total effect.

“’Tis the spit o’ yer dear mither ye be, lassie. A pity it is ye’ve nae memory o’ her. Such a fairy creature she were, all light and laughter. But ’tis proud she’d be this day, God rest her soul.” Morag brushed a tear from her eye.

“None of that,” Mary Kate told her. “I’ll have only smiles on my wedding day. This marriage may not be entirely to my liking, but I mean to enjoy my wedding all the same.”

“Aye, lassie, ’tis a happy day. Ye mun forgive an auld woman.” She hugged Mary Kate again, then said she would see if Sir Adam and the others were ready to depart, adding that she would kindle a wee fire under Mistress Douglas, too. She was gone on the words, returning moments later with Duncan in tow.

He wore no mere plaid but his finest black velvet mantle over an emerald-green-and-black tuft-taffeta doublet and embroidered canions and netherstocks, and he sported a heavy gold chain across his chest in honor of the occasion. He did not wear a sword, however, for not even a Campbell or a MacGregor would dare profane a wedding celebration by starting a fracas. Smiling at his daughter, he took hold of her shoulders and kissed her soundly. Then he stepped back, the better to admire her.

“By my faith, daughter, you’ve the look of your mother all over again,” he said in an unconscious echo of the housekeeper’s words. He spoke with great tenderness and then was silent for a long moment. Recollecting himself with visible effort, he reached into a pocket cunningly concealed among the folds of his mantle and extracted a slim carved box, which he held out to her with uncharacteristic diffidence. “These were hers, lass. I’ve kept them by me for this day of days.”

Taking the box, she opened it with trembling fingers. A long strand of shimmering, perfectly matched pearls lay revealed against a soft black velvet cushion. She drew in a deep breath but could find no words to express her emotion. She could not remember her mother, but gazing down at the pearls, she missed her. A girl’s mother ought to be with her on her wedding day, she thought. That hers was not seemed suddenly most unfair.

Duncan gently took the pearls from her. “Here, lassie, let me put them on ye.”

She held up her hair while he wrapped the string twice round her throat and fastened the gold clasp; then she turned.

“Oh, Father, I cannot…I don’t—oh, thank you!”

He grinned at the disjointed speech. “Nay, lass, calm yourself. She wanted ye tae have them.” He became serious again. “I will miss ye, daughter.”

“I, too.” Blinking back tears, she cast herself into his arms as love for home and everything familiar washed over her, underscored with fear of the unknown life ahead.

“There, there, lassie,” Duncan growled huskily, holding her close. “Ye’ll muss your dress gin ye greet so. It will be well. Ye’ll see.” He paused, holding her away to look anxiously into her eyes. “Ye’re no still fashed wi’ me, lass, are ye?”

She smiled. “No, sir, it will be well.” She owed him that much, and his unmistakable relief touched her. He sighed deeply, clapped her on the shoulder, and called her a good lass.

“Well, this is a touching scene!” exclaimed Margaret from the threshold. She entered, yellow silk skirts arustle over her wide French farthingale, grinning at the pair of them. Then she winked at Morag, who stood forgotten near the bed. “I am certain my own father will send me off into wedded bliss with just such a boisterous farewell.” When, with an audible sniff, Mary Kate dabbed her lacy handkerchief at a tear rolling down her cheek, Margaret cried, “What’s this, then? Have you been crying, Mary Kate? Not that I wouldn’t weep floods of tears if I had to marry Adam, but yours is surely a different case. Wipe your eyes, goose. ’Tis not the end but merely a new beginning. And if the thought of Adam saddens you,” she added impishly, “just remember you are also getting a new sister. Me! There, that is much better. I knew I could make you laugh.”

Indeed, Mary Kate was chuckling. “How ridiculous you are, Margaret. I shall be glad to have you for my sister.”

“And a good thing, since you will be stuck with the kinship. But the parson awaits, not to mention my no doubt impatient brother, so pull on your gloves.” She picked up the wreath and, under Morag’s supervision, settled it atop Mary Kate’s head. No pins could be used to fasten it, for to use them would be to bring bad luck. For the same reason, every garter, shoestring, hose-point, or petticoat lace on either the bride’s or groom’s person would have to be loosened before they entered the kirk.

Mary Kate worried about that last custom. There would be fervent attempts to rob her of her garters, possibly even before the wedding party left the kirk. She had twisted extra silver and blue ribbons around her sleeves in hopes that the rowdier lads would be satisfied with the substitute, and so long as the word had not yet spread that she and Douglas meant to deprive their guests of a bedding, she thought she would be safe enough. She had heard tales of brides being stripped naked before the altar by enthusiastic wedding guests, but surely Parson MacDole, a stern and dour man, would not allow such goings-on in his kirk.

She wondered what Douglas would think of the highland ceremony. No doubt it would be different from what he expected, for although the Reformed Church of Scotland had been the official church of the realm for twenty-seven years, the resistant high-landers held firmly by the traditions of the old faith while paying no more than lip service to the new. Still, she thought, if Margaret proved to be right and her brother did intend to travel on the Sabbath, it was a good sign that he would not be unduly distressed by any differences.

Her train of thought was interrupted when Duncan gave her another hug. He went outside a few moments later to assure himself that the boys who were to prevent stray dogs from passing between bride and groom—another harbinger of bad luck—were ready to attend to their duties, and soon the pipes began to skirl in the yard. It was time to leave.

Mary Kate hurried down the stairs, stepped into her pattens and out into the garden. The din of the pipes was nearly deafening, but the procession formed quickly. First went Duncan with his particular friends and honored guests, including Lord Strachan and his friends. They were followed by the pipers. Next came the young cupbearer with the silver bride cup, decked with blue ribbons and rosemary, followed by little girls strewing dried rose petals, myrtle, and more rosemary.

Mary Kate followed, escorted by four grinning lads who sported silver; blue, and gold bride laces tied with the ubiquitous rosemary about their sleeves. Behind her, led by Margaret, trailed all the unmarried maidens of the district, carrying bride cakes and garlands of gilded wheat, symbols of wealth and fertility.

Friends and neighbors who had not taken part in the procession awaited them at the kirk door, and soon Mary Kate found herself inside, kneeling beside Douglas, listening to the words that would make her his wife. When she stole a glance at him, it was a shock to find him gazing down at her with enough tenderness and warmth in his eyes to make her forget for a moment the emotional distance that she had attempted to erect between them. She bit her lip, unable to look away until a slight change in the parson’s voice reminded her of his presence and the brief spell was broken. She faced forward, lifting her chin proudly, forcing herself to listen to the parson’s words rather than dwell on the lingering, teasing memory of Douglas’s expression.

An hour later, having promised honor, submission, and obedience to him until the Almighty in His wisdom saw fit to part them in death, and having listened to more than she wanted to hear from Parson MacDole regarding the wifely virtues of submission, obedience, and fruitfulness, Mary Kate stepped forth from the kirk a married lady. She was Lady Douglas and wondered suddenly why she still felt like Mary Kate MacPherson. All the preaching in the world about wifely virtues would not change her, she decided, glancing up at Douglas, who grinned at her in his usual impudent fashion. He would learn.

She had little time to think about such things, however, for after retiring briefly to repair the disorder of their dress, the bride and groom were enthusiastically escorted by the wedding party in the traditional walk around the kirk. To ensure good luck and good fortune, it was necessary to keep the walls always upon their right hand, not so easy a task as one might have thought, since a good many of the gentlemen had been celebrating the nuptial day since breakfast and, in consequence, experienced more than a little difficulty with their navigation.

Mary Kate was escorted back to Speyside House by the married gentlemen and accompanied by triumphantly skirling pipes, while Douglas, the ladies, and all the unmarried men followed after. Altogether, theirs was a merry company, and during the next two hours it became merrier still. Just as much drinking of good Scotch whiskey took place as the eating of tasty victuals: The bride cakes were ceremoniously crumbled over the bride’s head, and the bridegroom was toasted until by rights every gentleman present—including the groom, who punctiliously returned each toast with one of his own—ought to have collapsed under the tables in a drunken stupor.

The new Lady Douglas had lost all of her ribbons, but the rest of her costume was still intact when Douglas gave the prearranged signal for her to retire. Since no one was expecting her to leave the festivities so early, the exuberant dancing and general rowdiness covered her exit. Only Margaret, who had also been watching for Douglas’s sign, saw her go. She, too, slipped away, joining her new sister in Mary Kate’s bedchamber.

“Godamercy!” Margaret exclaimed, shutting the door and leaning back against it. “What can Adam be thinking of? There will be a riot when he announces that you are leaving.”

Mary Kate grinned, her head disappearing into folds of silver and lace as Morag, who had been awaiting her, pulled the dress off over her head. Shaking herself free, Mary Kate reached for her hairbrush. “Here, Margaret, be useful as well as decorative. You may brush the cake crumbs out of my hair.” She sat on a stool and stretched out her legs, flexing her bare toes in front of the crackling fire. Margaret took the hairbrush and obediently began brushing the glowing red-gold curls. The maid Polly entered with mugs of ale and a platter of thick-sliced bread, cold lamb, and cheese.

“I mean what I say, Mary Kate.” Margaret absently took a piece of cheese and nibbled at it while she brushed. “Those men below are nearly ape-drunk already, and they expect to take part in a proper bedding. I’ve heard them talking.”

“Pass me some of that bread and meat, if you please. You trouble yourself without cause.” Mary Kate bit into the slab of bread and meat and washed it down with a generous swallow of ale before adding, “Adam said he will attend to everything, and don’t forget, a good many of those men below are his own, drunk or sober. They may not like his orders, but they will obey him.”

Nodding, albeit doubtfully, Margaret observed that she wasn’t certain she had the same blind faith in Douglas’s ability to control his men as Mary Kate had. “But then,” she added with a twinkle, “you have never seen him wrestled to the ground by a mere stableboy. ’Tis true that Adam was but fifteen at the time and the stableboy was three or four years older, but nonetheless, there it is.”

Laughing, Mary Kate bestirred herself and soon changed into her traveling dress. The plain safeguard and black jerkin that would protect her gown during the journey and the dark-green-wool hooded cloak she carried over her arm, seemed plainer than ever by contrast to her rich bride clothes, and despite what Douglas had said, she knew she would cause a sensation when she appeared thus attired before the rowdy wedding party. Drawing a long breath, she turned toward the door and the stairs beyond.

H
OW HE MANAGED IT
, she would never know, but Douglas had also changed from his bride clothes into more practical gear and awaited her now in the nearly empty hall below. His secretary, Johnny Graham, stood near the outer door, and a smaller, more wiry man stood alert near the door into the noisy front parlor. Mary Kate had seen the latter about the house only a few times, but she recognized him as Lucas Trotter, Douglas’s personal servant. Both men appeared to be completely sober.