Authors: Highland Princess
“Of course, of course. Hector should be here shortly. He only stayed to lend the others support if they need it, and to look after the few Mackinnon oarsmen who did not return with us.”
They learned upon entering the laird’s tower that no one at Ardtornish was still abed. Lady Margaret and Elizabeth were in the great chamber with a number of others waiting to greet them, for nearly everyone had watched for the galleys or had commanded servants to watch and wake them the instant any came into view. The only one they might have expected to see who was not there was Alasdair.
“He left yesterday,” Lady Margaret told them when she had hugged Mairi and congratulated Lachlan on his safe return. “He said he had promised to be elsewhere for Easter, but as he did not say where or mention the commitment earlier, one doubts he meant to be anywhere but here.”
Elizabeth smiled. “He said he would come back for the christening of John Og’s bairn, which John Og wants to do here, but I doubt he will. His man told Meg that Alasdair feared being murdered in his bed. I don’t like Alasdair, but it cannot be pleasant to have been so sick, and in front of everyone!”
“I’m thinking it may well have been an attempt on his life,” Lachlan said.
“Aye,” MacDonald agreed. “We know that Niall ordered the gillie to give him the poisoned wine, so I’m guessing it was all part of his plot to win our Mairi and wield more power within the Lordship.”
“If not to control it,” Lachlan murmured.
Mairi smiled, wondering why she suddenly felt like smiling at everything and everyone. Turning to her mother, she met a searching look before Margaret shifted her gaze to MacDonald, her eyebrows lifting slightly.
“Aye,” he said, grinning. “One would think that living amidst this court all her life, as she has, she’d have learned to conceal her feelings better, but she never has, and I fear you’ll be vexed with me, my lady, for I’m going to let them marry straightaway, today. We’re having a feast in any event,” he added coaxingly.
Margaret bowed her head. “It must be as you wish, of course, my lord.”
Mairi glanced at Lachlan, hoping he would not expect such unquestioning submission to his every statement and decree.
He met her look with a twinkle, saying nothing.
Meeting her mother’s gaze again a moment later, she was astonished at Margaret’s expression. Despite her ladyship’s submissive attitude, she had expected to see displeasure. Instead, Margaret’s eyes were twinkling as brightly as Lachlan’s.
“You will want to change your dress, dearling,” she said.
“I should think she would,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Only look at it!”
Mairi’s wedding was not, as she had long expected it to be, an event preceded by months of planning and discussion, of choosing gowns and ornamentation, or those who would attend her. Instead, with the help of Lady Margaret, Elizabeth, and Meg Raith, she bathed as rapidly as one could, after gillies had carried the tub and myriad pails of hot water to her chamber from the kitchen. Afterward, she donned the ermine-trimmed scarlet kirtle and tunic she had worn the day she met Lachlan Lubanach.
Meg brushed her hair until it gleamed and left it loose as tradition required, flowing down her back to her knees in the loose waves that always result when hair that is normally plaited hangs free.
Elizabeth presented her with a garland of spring flowers to attach to the gold circlet she wore for state occasions. The rest of her jewelry was splendid as always, a profusion of necklaces and bracelets, but at Lachlan’s request, relayed through her mother, Mairi wore no rings.
The hour had advanced well past the usual time for their midday meal, but news of the wedding had swept through the castle, and no guest expected the bride to produce herself before she was ready.
She descended to the courtyard to find the entire household gathered there and the yard itself redolent with aromas of the feast, those of roast lamb and venison predominating. When she appeared in the doorway of the laird’s tower, everyone cheered, and she knew that the other boats had returned because Ranald and Godfrey were there, grinning and cheering with the rest.
With his piper walking a little behind him, the Lord of the Isles strode from the crowd to meet her, beaming as he extended his forearm formally, to escort her across the courtyard to the great hall.
After commanding the others to go ahead and find their places, MacDonald said, “This proceeding is coming about gey swiftly, lass, and there is no shame in a woman’s changing her mind. Art sure this man of wiles is the one you want?”
“Aye, sir,” she said softly, knowing she wanted him with all her heart.
Nodding, MacDonald gestured to the piper to play, and the haunting notes of the pipe began to float across the yard.
With the piper leading the way, and Lady Margaret and Elizabeth following, Mairi and her father walked to the great hall.
Inside, Mairi saw that people had been busy while she dressed, for not only had they filled the hall with flowers as usual for his grace’s Easter feast and laid the tables splendidly, but an altar stood before the high table on the dais.
Lachlan, Hector, and her father’s chaplain stood beside it, waiting.
The guests stood at their places as they would have for any meal, save for those whose seats were on the dais. No one stood there but the bridegroom, his brother, and the chaplain. Those others who would sit at the high table afterward stood nearby at the side of the hall.
Her father’s piper led the way onto the dais and stepped aside.
MacDonald escorted his daughter to her place and stood behind her as the chaplain began to speak the words of the ritual.
Conscious of Lachlan at her side, Mairi tried to listen to the words, but she felt as if he were touching her, and she could think of nothing but him and the fact that soon they would be married and not have to seek private places anymore.
The chaplain turned to Lachlan and nodded, whereupon he removed the gold ring from his little finger and said as he slipped it on her finger, “With this ring I thee wed, and with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly chattel I thee honor.”
Mairi’s promises followed, and she repeated them after the chaplain, ending with the promise to be bonnie and buxom in bed and at board until death parted them, “from this time forward, and if holy Kirk it will ordain.”
“What if the Pope does not ordain it?” she asked her new husband minutes later as they took seats of honor at the table and MacDonald’s grand feast began.
“He will,” Lachlan said. “And even if he does not, it will not matter. We have each other now, so eat, my love. You will need your strength later.”
His voice and words stirred her senses as they always did, and willingly she obeyed his first marital command to her.
The Lord of the Isles had sent servants across the Sound to Duart to prepare the castle for their wedding night, and when Mairi arose to leave the feast first, as tradition required, her new husband rose with her. Everyone else did, as well, for his grace had arranged a parade of boats to escort the newlyweds to their new home.
At Duart the servants came out to meet her, the children with flowers. Ian was there, her own gillie now, to look after the horses she preferred to ride.
“We’ve brought food for a wedding supper an ye want one, lass,” MacDonald said, giving her a hug.
“Ye can eat your supper wi’ the lass in hell, MacDonald!”
The words, issued in stentorian tones, shocked everyone to silence.
Fingon Mackinnon stood at the entrance to the castle in his canonical robes, his arms spread wide. A host of armed Mackinnons stepped forth from the woods near the castle, their swords unsheathed.
Lachlan put a protective arm around Mairi, and Hector stepped in front of them both with battle-axe in hand as MacDonald snapped, “By God, Fingon Mackinnon, ’tis yourself that will burn in hell. Lads!”
“Hold, sir, if you will,” Lachlan said, laying a hand on his arm. “With your permission, I would speak to him.”
“Aye, if you think to slay him and his evil lot with words,” MacDonald said. “He goes too far this time.”
“He is still a priest, your grace. You do not want his death on your hands.”
Touching Hector’s arm next, Lachlan nudged him out of the way, faced the Green Abbot, and said in a voice audible to all, “Fingon Mackinnon, just as his grace does not want a priest’s blood on his hands, you do not want to answer to man or to God for his death or those of these wedding guests. You swore loyalty to his grace on your knees, and your brother did likewise. Both of you betrayed him, but only you still have the opportunity to repent and do good.”
“I have not come to do murder but to put a fatal curse on the house of MacDonald. My men accompany me only to see me safely home again.”
“With your great power, ’tis murder all the same, and on a sacred occasion, as you must know it is, since you meet us here. You can have known we would be here only had you likewise known of our wedding. Have you considered what his holiness will make of such an act leveled against the Lord of the Isles and King of the Hebrides? ’Tis to betray your prince, Fingon. Think you the Prince of the Roman Kirk will look lightly on such a foul deed against a fellow ruler, or have you forsaken all hope of ever becoming Mitered Abbot of the Holy Isle?”
“My curse will shrivel MacDonald,” Fingon snapped.
“Only if others believe in it as you do. If those others choose instead to believe his holiness, you will no longer wield power here or elsewhere. I stand fearless before you now. Do you think others will not stand with me?”
Mairi stepped up to stand on one side of him, Hector on the other. MacDonald moved up next to Hector with Lady Margaret’s hand in his, and Ranald and Godfrey moved to Mairi’s side. Moments later, every man and woman of their party stood with them—a silent, strong force, gazing solemnly at Fingon.
Rustling sounds behind Lachlan, followed by clinking steel, made it nearly unbearable for him not to look, so certain was he that Fingon’s men-at-arms must be closing in. Only Hector standing quietly by him made it possible to do the same.
The silence lengthened until Lachlan said, “Your powers now are still great, Fingon. Consider that, and unless you mean to curse all here, or kill us, think hard.”
Fingon lowered his hands. Moments later, he and his men were gone.
Mairi moved into Lachlan’s arms, sighing deeply as they closed around her. Having feared that they had won all only to lose all, she wanted to stand right where she was until everyone else left. But courtesy and duty required that she lead the way into Duart Castle with her new husband, and smiles of welcome.
The great chamber walls were draped with colorful arras cloth. A fire roared in the hooded fireplace, and against the nearby wall, the bed that stood ready to receive them was lush with blue and gold curtains, coverlets, and pillows. On two gold silk pillows, someone had embroidered little black ships. She smiled when she saw them, recognizing Elizabeth’s work and realizing that she had worked them for their father but had decided to give them as wedding gifts instead.
The men carried Lachlan off to another chamber to prepare him, while the women undressed Mairi and helped her beneath the coverlets, where the fine linen sheets were so soft as to invite the new owners of Duart to linger often in bed.
The women laughed and chatted as if it were an ordinary day, but the men soon returned, laughing even louder, many of them merry with too much brogac or wine, pushing Lachlan ahead of them. He wore only a thin robe, but when one man a bit the worse for drink reached to throw back the coverlet, he caught the fellow’s arm and held it with ease.
“If you would please me, sir,” he said gently, “do not touch that bed. ’Tis my privilege, and I would look most unhappily on the man who stole it from me.”
The other shook his head but moved away, still laughing, and Lachlan climbed into the bed beside Mairi, his robe still covering his body.
MacDonald’s chaplain stepped forward to bless the bed, and then at a word from MacDonald the company abandoned them. Thus, the great chamber, filled with people, laughter, and chatter one moment, was utterly silent the next.
Lachlan got up and looked around as if to be certain no one had lingered. Finding a jug of wine on a nearby table, with two goblets, he filled the latter, set the jug back down, and returned to the bed.
For a long moment, he stood beside it and gazed lovingly at his bride.
Her cheeks glowed, her eyes sparkled, and her lips were slightly parted. She showed none of the shyness associated with maidens, and despite her previous acquaintance with coupling, one could scarcely think her anything more.
He wanted to savor the sight of her, but even more did he want to feast on her beauty. This woman he had won was not what he had expected her to be the day she had walked into him, thinking only of saving another man’s life. On learning her identity, he had believed her no more than the spoiled, indulged daughter of the most powerful man in the Isles, a chit of a girl who would preen and demand all a princess could demand, and think herself greater and grander than all other females.
Instead he had found a warm, vibrant, compassionate woman, determined to do what she believed was right, even in defiance of those she cared most about.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice husky with desire.
“I’m thinking I offered for a girl and won a woman,” he said. “I’m thinking I negotiated for a prize and won more than I’d ever imagined.”
“What did you win?”
“You,” he said simply.
“But you wanted me from the outset.”
“I wanted MacDonald’s daughter, sweetheart. Hector told me I was a fool.”
“For wanting me?”
“Nay, you know better—for seeing wealth and power as necessities and you only as the means of gaining them.”
“But power is seductive, sir,” she said with a teasing smile, “and you will wield great authority now, for his grace told me he means to name you to take Niall’s place as High Steward and Master of his Household. Moreover, the lands he has granted you will not be mere vassal’s holdings at his pleasure but will bear hereditary rights, as well. You will wield all the power you could hope for.”