Authors: Patricia McAllister
Merry had seen other castles and baronial manor houses that could not rival Edzell. Clearly the definition of barbaric Scotland was limited by one’s traveling experience. Darra sensed her amazement and laughed softly.
“Aye, charming is it not? For a little castle, of course.”
Lady Deuchar slipped her arm through Merry’s and led her about as if they were old friends, even sisters. It was impossible not to warm to Ran’s spirited sister. Meanwhile Kinross removed with Ran to the adjoining drawing room for a glass of port, and to discuss unpleasantries like battle out of the women’s presence.
“Since your family cannot attend the nuptials, I shall serve as your present kin, with your permission,” Darra said as she led Merry to an elegant chair and offered her sherry. “I understand your trunk was left behind. I would be honored to offer use of my own wardrobe.”
“Thank you, Darra. ’Tis most kind. However, as this is but a marriage of expediency, such trivial details are quite unnecessary.”
“Oh, you are wrong, m’dear. This will be a treasured memory for your children, too, someday, and should be recounted with pride.”
Merry flushed at the mention of children. She looked at Ran’s sister shyly. “Why are you accepting me so readily into the family? A stranger, an Englishwoman?”
“A charming young woman who will do the House of Lindsay proud.” Darra smiled at her. “I get feelings about certain people, Merry. I tend to trust my intuition. The moment I met you, I decided there was no contest between you and the former Lady Lindsay. Oh, Ran may not agree, but you are twice the lady Blair Maclean ever was.”
“Simply because of the feud?”
Darra shook her head. “Nay. Blair was … sly. There is no other word which describes her quite so well. Ran was blind to it, as men often are, but he wore those blinders willingly during their courtship and marriage. In time, I pray he will wake up and realize he is better off with a sweet
Sassenach
for a wife than a sly Highland hussy.”
Merry took a fortifying sip of sherry, let it warm her insides.
She was still shaken from the attack. Not only did it seem a dark omen, but merriment hardly seemed appropriate in light of three deaths. Ever-practical Darra pointed out that the wedding would be a welcome distraction from talk of war. It would occupy the more hotheaded clansmen until the first rush of anger passed and reason set in.
Ran and Lord Deuchar soon finished their conversation and rejoined the women. It was agreed the matter of the vows should be handled promptly, both to satisfy the queen’s decree and free the men to attend the less pleasant chore of recovering the dead and reporting Maclean conduct to King James. Not that the Scottish monarch would react; indeed, he tended to turn a deaf ear to the clan feuds and squabbles of Highlanders, unless they personally crossed him.
Thus, it came to pass on Martinmas, November 11, Ranald Cameron Lindsay and Erin Meredith Tanner were wed with benefit of witness in the small family chapel at Edzell by Father Pettigrew. There were few guests on such short notice, but the important ones were there. Gilbert beamed with satisfaction, for he adored Merry despite her tendency to lecture; besides which she was a marvelous card player, something even Hugo did not aspire to.
Nell, wearing her best Sunday gown of blue brocade, held the bride’s bouquet during the ceremony. Grady was still unconscious, but Lord Deuchar’s personal physic had come to Edzell and allowed there was a better chance than previously believed. Nell’s spirits had risen accordingly. During the ceremony, she felt eyes resting on her and glanced over to find Hugo Sumner studying her closely. She blushed, the blond giant flushed, but after that their eyes met more often than usual. For the first time since Fergus’s death, the comely young widow had noticed a man.
Wearing a gown of candlelight-colored silk borrowed from Lady Deuchar, delicately embroidered with tiny seed pearls and ivory lace, Merry was assured by the women she made a beautiful bride. It was not a wedding gown proper, so the dress was plain, without a train or veil, but Merry felt every inch a bride as she joined Ran before the altar. She was terribly nervous, and could hardly manage to repeat the complicated Latin phrases Father Pettigrew spoke, but at last the words were done, and Ran slipped a heavy signet ring onto her ring finger. As he did so, a signal was made and the great bell of St. Lawrence rang seven times, for it rang at the birth, marriage, or death of a lord or lady of Lindsay.
Everyone adjourned to Edzell’s banqueting hall for the wedding feast. Families living at the castle were naturally invited, along with Lindsays and their septs from the surrounding countryside. They were dazzled by the glitter of gold and silver plate, immense gold candelabra in the corners of the hall, and gold sconces placed along six tables groaning with all manner of delicacies. There were numerous kinds of meat—roe, chicken, mutton, beef, pheasant, and grouse. There was freshly caught salmon, pike, perch, and eels, even oysters in buckets of ice brought from the coast. A dozen or so varieties of cheese were offered, and rare fruits like oranges and persimmons. Lord and Lady Burnett of Crathes Castle had even brought a giant marzipan cake.
For refreshment there was ale, table beer, red and white wine, malmsey, hippocras and aqua vitae. Spirits flowed like a never-ending waterfall, and even children partook in a limited fashion, though Darra kept a watchful eye on the proceedings, especially since her own young sons, fair-haired Pierce and darkly handsome Thierry, who favored his mother, were among the first in line.
After the feast, the traditional bounty was bestowed upon the demesne by the generous “Kitchen of Angus.” Each day, after the family dinner, the parish poor gathered in the courtyard, lining the stone benches in fair weather or foul, outside the entrance door. Here they were served meat and bread from the hands of the lady or daughters of the proud house of Edzell. This time, Merry was invited to dispense the remnants alongside Lady Deuchar, and the two women sent the assembled throng home, arms filled with bounty from the union of The Wolf and his
Sassenach
Flame.
Inside the hall, three pipers played songs, including “Gillie Callum” and the “Reel of Tullichan”, while a set of dancers performed upon a raised dais, lit by the glare of the torches. A winsome lad called Fash Sinclair leaped and spun with great agility, a Highland sword dance, to the “Ballad of Sauchieburn,” his feet flying so fast it seemed they must strike sparks.
During the revelries, Merry looked at her lord husband whenever she could feasibly do so without appearing to stare. Never had she seen Ran looking so handsome as he did on this, their wedding day. For the first time he seemed to be smiling without effort, and in his dress Highland of velvet and tartan, bonnet sporting a heron’s plume, he appeared every inch a chief.
Ran cut a striking figure in the crowd. When their eyes met once, separated by a sea of well-wishers, Merry read the admiration and silent promise in his dark gaze. She blushed, prompting a chorus of giggles from the young women surrounding her. It seemed The Wolf was not shy about letting everyone know he anticipated full consummation of the vows.
As the hour grew late, and the well-wishers straggled off into the night, Darra tactfully suggested Merry might wish to retire. After farewells to the others were completed, Darra led her to Stirling Tower, to a room where Mary Queen of Scots had once stayed during a council at Edzell.
Decorated in golden damask and frosty pale velvet, the room was an exquisite concoction boasting a large hearth, already crackling a welcome, and a large suite of furniture. The bed was an enormous canopy carved of finest satin-wood, with gilt ornaments along the moldings. The corners were twisted pillars, entwined with wreaths of the Rose, Thistle, and Shamrock, and marquises’ coronets. The canopy hangings were rich white satin, lined with peach-blossom silk, trimmed with gold bullion fringe and tassels. The counterpane was of the same material, as were the bolsters and pillows, with sheets of finest lawn and snowy blankets of cassimere trimmed with white satin.
Darra lit several sconces in the room, and stayed to visit awhile, sensing Merry’s uneasiness at being in a strange household, especially on her nuptial night. Merry did not request Nell’s or another tiring woman’s services. In deference to Merry’s sensitivity, Darra had not permitted the usual shivaree, wherein the rowdy clansmen bore the bridegroom up to his wife, and unmercifully teased the new couple about their prescribed duties. Instead, she offered Merry a silken nightrail the hue of a newly blossomed rose, palest pink, a bridal gift. After a murmured reassurance and a warm hug, Darra left the new bride to herself.
Merry exhaled shakily as the door closed behind Darra, hugging herself before the hearth. She supposed the correct thing to do would be to put on the nightgown, slip into the bed and huddle there, waiting, but she preferred the freedom of pacing. She knew what would happen, for her mother Bryony was nothing if not practical and blunt with her daughters, but it did not mean she was not nervous. She wondered how different it might have been if she awaited Sir Jasper instead. Right now, she felt everything from sweet anticipation to trepidation, but she knew as Wickham’s wife she would have also felt distaste.
It was very late before the merriment finally drew to a close below, but since Lady Deuchar had long retired, the newlyweds were not to be spared the Scottish version of a shivaree after all. Ran’s kinsmen had done their best to get him roaring drunk. After waving aside all but a sip of the best Scotch, the groom laughingly informed his would-be tavern mongers that he had had enough. At this, the menfolk moaned and groaned in good-natured dismay, but did their best to dishevel Ran quite thoroughly before he was sent stumbling up the stairs at the head of a wave of eager onlookers.
As yet unaware of the boisterous crowd surging up the steps, Merry sat before the mirror brushing out her hair, wavy from the plaits Nell had sculpted from her locks. The routine of the gilt-backed brush was reassuring, and the auburn waves fairly crackled with electricity. The air was heavy with promise of another storm,
On the bed was the flowing silk nightgown of palest shell pink, but Merry had stalled the inevitable by requesting a bath.
A large tub of steaming water awaited the new bride’s pleasure. She still wore her makeshift wedding gown.
When the shouting and laughing drew near, Nell’s cry from the hall warned her of what was to come. Merry leaped up from the satin bench before the mirror, and rushed to bolt the door. She was a second too late. The sea of rowdy men carried Ran right on through, and to her outrage Merry saw her groom was missing his breccan and bonnet. Even his kilt was askew. Seeing her dismay, Ran quickly gained control of the situation, pausing only to grab Nell by the elbow and hurl her into the hall to block the incoming tide, then slamming and bolting the door home himself.
Outside the men howled and pounded their disappointment upon the door, but the sturdy bolt held fast, and after a few more minutes of merry catcalls and suspicious noises, the hall at last quieted and Ran turned to face his bride.
He saw Merry’s gray-green eyes were wide and she looked like a young girl with her flaming hair tangled about her hips. He decided she had never seemed more beautiful to him, except perhaps today in the chapel, as she took his name and signed the document binding them as man and wife, Lord and Lady Lindsay. A ray of sunlight had streamed down from the chapel window, catching her hair and picking out golden highlights in the fiery locks.
“We’re alone now,” Ran said, realizing that his bride’s discomfort probably had much to do with the fact she was fully dressed and he was not. Glancing down at his shirt where all the buttons had been ripped off but one, he slanted her a rueful grin. “Lindsays tend to be a wee bit enthusiastic at weddings, lass.”
“So I see,” Merry said with a nervous little laugh. “I … I’m sorry, I’m afraid I wasn’t ready yet …”
“Take as much time as you need, Merry. But if ’tis assistance you need, I’ll be your lady’s maid,” Ran offered softly. When her eyes widened further, he added, “Don’t worry, lass. I’ll go very slow.”
With that, he stripped off the remnants of his fine lawn shirt, tossing the shredded material in a heap on the floor. His shoes and stockings swiftly joined the pile. Wearing only his red watch kilt, Ran gently turned Merry around, unfastening the rows of tiny buttons with impressive speed and skill.
Her breath caught in her throat. “I see you’re no stranger to undressing women,” she whispered.
“I never claimed to be a saint,” he responded quietly, but sensing her tension, paused and placed a single kiss at the nape of her neck where he had swept her long hair aside. “Would you prefer a green lad, Merry? Or Wickham, mayhap?”
She shuddered. “Nay.”
Ran tasted the skin trembling beneath his lips. “Like ivory silk,” he whispered, and when her gown slid free in a heap to the floor, he turned her to face him and devoured her mouth with a leisurely fire which left her gasping.
By contrast Ran’s calloused hands felt like rough wool against her flesh. Merry quivered with a mixture of apprehension and aching delight when he caught her fiercely to him. She felt her bare breasts glide sensuously against his broad chest and shivered at the feeling of his hand entangled in her hair. He arched her back like a bow, feathering little kisses up and down the column of her throat.
“Sweet flame,” he murmured against her flesh. “I wonder how brightly you’ll burn for me this night …”
His other hand slid down to her most intimate area, and Merry gasped softly with surprise. His fingers found, parted her womanly cleft, gently teasing the hidden jewel nestled within until she moaned with rising desire.
“No need to be so shy, sweetheart.” Ran chuckled. “They will not hear us way up here.”
His finger teasingly flicked the seat of her pleasure until Merry whimpered with need. She moaned with rising passion, and he paused only long enough to strip off his restraining kilt, sweep her up into his arms and carry her to the bed.