The Marquess's Scottish Bride: A Sweet & Clean Historical Romance (The Chase Brides Book 2) (51 page)

She held it up. “Marry in blue, love ever true.”

“Is that what they say?” Kendra helped her wiggle into it, watching appreciatively as it settled into place. “Oh, it’s lovely! If ever I fall in love, I want a dress just like this, but in green.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t want to wear green.” Cait glanced up from tightening the laces. “Green is unlucky. The choice of the fairies.”

Amy handed her the stomacher. “You believe in fairies?”

“Well, nay,” Cait said, working the tabs. “But it’s not worth taking a chance now, is it? Not on your wedding day. Besides,” she added, looking to Kendra as she sat to draw on her stockings, “Jason told me you have no wish to wed.”

“Not any of the men
he
chooses.” Kendra handed her a pair of blue ribbon garters trimmed with silver lace. “Stodgy old dukes, ancient rich earls, widowed marquesses with children. I’m not looking to marry a boring, acceptable man. I’m waiting for peerless passion. And not,” she added, “a duke. I won’t be ‘your graced’ for the rest of my life.” Tossing her red ringlets, she held out a sky blue satin shoe.

“I need the right shoe first.” The shoes were straight, not made for one foot or the other, but Cait had worn them yesterday to break them in. No sense getting blisters at her wedding.

“For luck?” Kendra frowned at both shoes, then handed her the other one.

“Aye. And that silver coin I left on your dressing table goes in the left shoe.”

“I’ll get it,” Amy volunteered.

“Do you hear that?” Cait froze. Haunting notes floated up through the open window. “Could it be bagpipes?”

“Jason’s surprise.” Kendra moved to shut the window. “Don’t tell him you heard.”

“Please leave it open. I won’t tell.” Cait’s heart swelled as she slipped the coin into her shoe. “Though how he thinks anyone within ten miles could fail to hear a bagpiper is beyond me.”

“I have something for you.” Amy slipped her hand into her pocket and came out with gleaming gold. “The first thing I made in my new workshop. May I pin it on your dress?”

Cait nodded and stood, her gaze riveted to the gorgeous oval emerald stomacher brooch as Amy pinned it in place. Surrounded by diamonds and pearls in a delicate filigree bezel, it glittered through the sudden tears that filmed Cait’s eyes.

“Jason told me you gave him your own emerald,” Amy said, “so I thought it would make a perfect wedding present.”

Cait’s fingers moved to caress it. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned,” she whispered. “I will never be able to thank you.”

“Marry come up!” Amy laughed. “You have just thanked me already.” Stepping back to view her handiwork, she examined Cait from head to toe. “Dear heavens,” she breathed. “You look beautiful. Come to the mirror and see.”

“Nay. I cannot see myself fully dressed for my wedding.” Cait played with the ends of her straight hair, which Jason had requested be left free and uncurled. Self-conscious, she touched the wee heart patch on her cheek and managed a tremulous smile.

“Another sister.” When Kendra gathered them all into a group hug and they bumped foreheads, Cait giggled through her tears.

A knock came at the door.

“Are you ready?” Cameron’s voice came through the sturdy oak. “Colin said you’re taking so long you must be eating in here.”

“Quick,” Kendra said loudly. “Hide the food.”

They all laughed as Cait opened the door.

“Cait?” Dressed in a borrowed deep-blue velvet suit, Cameron looked almost as English as she did. “Crivvens,” he said. “Cait, you look lovely.”

“Thank you.” She blushed, looking down toward large cornflower eyes and a head of bright blond curls. “And who is this?”

“Her name is Mary, and she and her mother are very special guests.” When Cam lifted his hand, Mary’s little hand came up with it. “She, uh, attached herself to me.” He gave a sheepish shrug, but Cait didn’t miss the pleased glow in his eyes. “She may be walking down the aisle with us.”

So this was the Mary that Jason had run off to avenge. Caithren knelt, her silk skirts pooling around her. “Good day,” she said.

“Good day,” Mary returned in a small, polite voice. “I am pleased to meet you, my lady.”

“I’m not—”

“You’ll be a lady within the hour,” Cam interrupted with a teasing smile. “You may as well get used to it.” He blew out a breath, ruffling his straight, wheaten hair. “I, on the other hand, will never get used to being a sir.”

“Aye, you will.” Cait rose and linked her arm though his. “Shall we go?”

Luckily the three of them fit side by side down the corridor and wide stone staircase, because Mary still clung to Cam with an iron grip. The only remaining evidence of the lassie’s ordeal seemed to be a slight catch in her gait and a wee slur in her speech. Cait had taken Kendra foraging around Cainewood yesterday, showing her which plants were useful, and tomorrow she would teach her how to make an infusion to help Mary regain her strength.

The bagpipe music swelled when they reached the double front doors and stepped out into the sunshine. Kendra wandered off to find her twin. Colin was waiting outside for Amy, their infant daughter Jewel cooing in his arms. The bairn between them, he bent to give his wife a sweet, lingering kiss, and Caithren smiled at the three of them together.

A family. She smiled at the thought that she and Jason might be starting a family soon.

It was a glorious day to be wed, the quadrangle redolent with the scent of newly cut grass, the sky blue as her gown and dotted with puffy white clouds. Cait’s gaze swept the castle’s crenelated walls and the ancient keep built on a motte—reminding her of the one outside Stamford. Beyond it was an area where the grass grew high and untamed.

“Gudeman’s croft,” she murmured.

“What is that?” Mary asked.

Cameron knelt down to her. “A place allowed to grow free as a shelter for brownies and fairies.”

“Oh.” Mary’s eyes widened. “Do you know stories of brownies and fairies?”

“Many. But they’ll have to wait for later.” With his free hand, Cam ruffled her golden curls before he stood and faced Cait. “It’s really the old tilting yard. Colin told me they don’t groom it since it’s long been in disuse.”

“I knew that.” Her lips curved in a soft smile as she regarded her new home. A hundred rooms, she remembered Jason telling her. “Can you believe this place, Cam?”

His hazel eyes met hers. “You always were meant to live in a castle, dear cousin.”

“Aye,” she said, thinking of Da’s tiny castle at home—Cameron’s castle now. “But who’d have ever guessed it would be such an enormous, historic one…and in England?”

Her head reeled with the impossibility of her new life. Nothing Jason had told her could have prepared her for the sheer size and grandeur of Cainewood Castle. She could scarcely believe she would be living within its four-foot-thick stone walls. As the Marchioness of Cainewood, no less.

“You’ll do fine.” Cam leaned to kiss her forehead, then looked up. “There’s your man now.”

Her gaze flew to Jason, and suddenly what had seemed impossible was gloriously real. She was going to live here, in this castle, with the man she loved.

Clearly comfortable in this place, he walked beside the gray-haired parson, deep in conversation. He wore a forest-green velvet suit that brought out his eyes, trimmed in gold braid that matched the stiff ribbon bows on his formal heeled shoes.

When he looked over at her and smiled, her heart did a slow roll in her chest.

A young woman in a simple but fetching pink dress came up to take Mary by the hand. “It’s time,” she said gently, and reluctantly the wee lass released her grip on Cameron. The little girl looked over her shoulder, her blue eyes lingering on him as the woman led her away.

“Her mother?” Cait guessed.

“Aye. Her name is Clarice Bradford.” Cameron’s gaze followed the two as they walked toward the gatehouse on their way to the family’s private chapel. Clarice’s bright blond hair gleamed beneath a pink-ribboned straw hat. “I think you’ll like her.” He turned to take Cait by both hands. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“More ready than I ever thought possible.” Smiling at him, she squeezed his fingers. “You know, Mam always said it’s better to marry over the midden than over the muir.”

“I’ve heard that said, that it’s wise to stick within your own circle.” Did she only imagine it, or did his gaze flick toward Clarice? “But I’m not sure I believe it.”

“I don’t believe it, either.” Her own gaze trailed to Jason, waiting for her by the barbican. She was sure she’d never glimpsed so romantic a vision as her husband-to-be standing with the soaring castle behind him, his blue-black hair ruffled by the slight breeze, his clear green eyes locked on hers. “I reckon even mothers are wrong sometimes.”

THE PARSON
cleared his throat. “Caithren Leslie, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor, obey, and serve him, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him so long as you both shall live?”

Beneath the hammerbeam roof of Cainewood’s ancient chapel, dappled by the multicolored light that filtered through the stained arched windows, Jason squeezed Caithren’s hand. She looked around her at the people gathered there to see them wed.

Cameron, who’d insisted on staying for her wedding before going home to his new life in Scotland. Kendra and Ford, who’d stood by her side that wrenching night in London. Colin—like Jason, but different—and Amy and their beautiful bairn. Mary and Clarice, whose tragedy had set Jason on the path that led him to find her.

They were all looking toward her, so expectantly.

“I will,” she said. “All except the obey and serve part.”

Cameron snickered. Kendra smiled. The parson appeared stunned.

“I accept those conditions,” Jason said loud and clear.

The parson still looked confused.

“Go on, will you?” Jason prompted. “Before she changes her mind.”

MOST OF THE
wedding party sat around the dining room table, waiting for Colin, who had gone to settle the baby in her cradle, and Ford, who had told them he wanted to fetch something. A stack of marzipaned wedding cakes sat in the middle of the long mahogany table, which was set with the sort of fine china and crystal that Caithren had only read about in books. She kept looking down at the wedding ring that Jason had slipped onto her finger during the ceremony.

“Do you like it?” he murmured from his seat beside her. “Father sold off most of the family jewels to help finance the war, but I could have found something, or had Amy make—”

“It’s perfect.” She smiled at the now-familiar gold band studded with emeralds, remembering how he bought it from the Gypsy woman without dickering. “There’s no other ring in this world I’d rather wear.”

“Whenever I see it, I think of your dance,” he said low. “And the moment you stole my heart.”

Her own heart melting, they shared a smile.

“I’m famished,” Kendra announced. She reached for a cake, then froze. “Did you hear something?” She sat up straighter, twisting her head toward the high, arched windows.

Cait turned to look, too. But the dancing flames in the fireplace reflected off the beveled glass, making it difficult to see anything.

“Hear something like what?” Cameron asked.

Kendra frowned. “Like…scratching.”

“I was sipping.” Jason rolled his eyes, draining his crystal goblet with a prolonged slurp. “There. Was that the sound?”

“No…wait! Listen…”

“I hear it too,” Amy breathed. “It’s—”

“The ghost!” Kendra’s eyes widened. “The Parkinson ghost!”

“What’s this about a ghost?” Clearly unshaken, Cameron swirled the wine in his goblet appreciatively.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Jason declared.

“Well, now.” Cam paused for a swallow. “You won’t be finding a Scot admitting to that.”

Kendra glared at her brother. “Just because you cannot explain ghosts doesn’t mean they don’t exist. The Parkinson ghost is hardly a new legend. And haven’t you heard about all the sightings in the week since we’ve been back?” She turned to Caithren, apparently looking for support. “Did you know this room was once a private chapel, built by Henry II when the castle was in the hands of the Crown?”