by Fiona Faris
The focus of Siusan's eyes was still fixed on the middle distance beyond her mother's shoulder, on the opulent dream she had conjured up for herself.
"Oh, I am sure it will, Mamag. I am sure it will."
Later that day, just after the noonday meal, Siusan retired to her chamber. She had chosen what she would wear to the feast that evening, and the discarded clothes had been carefully folded and packed away again, mainly by her mother, in their kists and presses.
Siusan suddenly felt deep tiredness overtake her, from the bannocks and broth on which she had supped, as well as from (she had little doubt) the strain that the preparations that morning had put on her nerves. She lay down on her bed and soon drifted off into a light and fitful sleep.
She dreamt that she was standing before the altar in a small but ornate chapel in Inveraray Castle. The altar was seashell-pink marble, with lines of blue snaking like veins through the stone. Behind the altar stood a tall intricately carved and brightly painted reredos, depicting the Immaculate Conception, with a golden blonde Mary who, Siusan noted with a little chuckle in her sleep, had a small white scar on her left eyebrow. Above her, a high cupola was decorated with bucolic scenes that reminded her of places she knew in Glen Orchy. Not a mere priest, but a bishop was officiating, resplendent in his high miter and richly embroidered stole. She was dressed in a long snow-white damask gown and, on her head, a tall conical hennin with several white gauze veils, one of which demurely covered her face. Beside her stood her soon-to-be husband, in a scarlet doublet and breacan trews, a highly polished ornamental rapier looped through a sheath on his belt, and a cap with a long golden eagle feather set jauntily on his head.
Just as they were about to conclude their vows and the bishop pronounce them man and wife, there was a terrible commotion outside the chapel doors. Suddenly, the doors crashed open, and a wild-looking red-haired warrior appeared at the foot of the aisle on a massive white stallion. He wore a kilt and a sleeveless leather jerkin over a white open-necked shirt. His blue eyes flashed as he quelled the room with the sweep of a defiant glower.
The stallion pranced, rearing once, full of energy it could not seem to contain before the warrior brought it under control. With one hand on the reins and brandishing a cutlass in the other, he cried out:
"Where is my Siusan?"
Then, spotting her before the altar, heeled his mount and trotted up the aisle, the stallion all the while champing on the bit and spraying frothy spume from its mouth, its eyes rolling in its head.
When he reached the altar, he threw down his sword and held his hand out to Siusan.
"Come with me, lass," he offered in a deep low voice, which bore as much the edge of a plea as a command.
Siusan hesitated for a moment, then, suffused with a burst of energy, as if chains that had been constraining her soul inside her had suddenly fallen away, grasped the warrior's outstretched hand and let him pull her up in front of him.
His lift was smooth and effortless, the bulging muscles of his arm making light of her weight. Wrapping those strong arms around her waist, he reared the horse around and set off at a gallop back up the aisle and through the chapel doors, her veils streaming out behind them.
Siusan awoke with a start, her eyes round with wonder. A yearning ache left her chest feeling hollow. She swallowed tentatively as if afraid the effort would stop her heart from beating, even though it was palpitating wildly against the inside of her breastbone.
Still lying on the bed, she ran a hand over her stomach and then up over her shoulders. Of course, she recognized the red-haired warrior in her dream. It was the same Uilleam MacGregor who had delivered her from the clutches of her assailants in the Hermitage Wood only days before. In the remnant of her dream, she could still feel his powerful arms around her waist, his hard, muscular chest pressed against her back. She shivered at the prickle of his beard that she could still feel on her cheek and ear.
But how ridiculous! The man was a brute. Even if she were not betrothed, she would hardly choose Uilleam MacGregor to fly away with.
She shifted on top of the bedclothes. She blushed, even though she was alone in the room, then smiled contently, throwing her arms onto the bed above her head and squirming her languid body more closely into the covers, dispelling her dream, and savoring the moment, the sense of deep contentment she felt deep in her bones.
She was to be married; she would live like a princess in the palace of Inveraray.
And no small unsettling thought would blemish that.
Chapter Four
That evening, once the household had assembled and the guest of honor seated with Siusan's father and brother at the top table, Siusan and her mother descended to the great hall by the back stair from the solar. They had deliberately waited until everyone else would be seated before making their entrance, to draw the focus of attention onto the bride-to-be.
As they entered through the side door and mounted the dais on which the top table was elevated above the throng of the clansfolk, Siusan certainly made a stunning sight. She wore a long gown of sky-blue silk, which set off the startling eggshell-blue of her eyes. The gown was girdled by a thin gold-threaded cord just below her bust, giving her the high-waisted look that was so fashionable in polite Lowland society. Crimson velvet slippers peeped from beneath the hem of her gown as she walked in slow, graceful strides across the dais to the chair that waited for her beside her betrothed, and she wore her golden hair combed loose about her shoulders, falling in a thick undulating cloth down her back, the light from the torches in their sconces around the walls giving that cloth a lustrous gleam. Her mother, Shona, matched her stately progress half a step behind, for all the world like a proud artist who was giving center stage to the creation she was presenting.
A hush fell over the hall. Three pairs of eyes settled upon her, and it seemed as if everyone had forgotten how to breathe. Some of the common clansmen even rose unconsciously to their feet, their mouths open, in awe of the beauty that had come among them.
Angus Gunn beamed proudly, looking from Cailean to Siusan and back again, savoring the moment of his triumph. Did any man in the whole of Scotland have such a beautiful daughter as he? He would wager not. James gazed at his sister with almost religious devotion, shaking his head slowly as if in disbelief at the vision with which he was being blessed.
Cailean gave her a belated glance, almost as an afterthought, before turning his attention back to his host.
"Ye are tae be congratulated, Angus Mor," he remarked, nodding his compliments; "ye hae a beautiful daughter. Takes after her mother, I presume..."
Angus looked at him, his eyes flitting in momentary confusion as if he had just awakened from slumber and could not yet comprehend the meaning of the words he heard.
"Whit? Yes..." he replied uncertainly until his wits were gathered, and he caught Cailean's jest. "I was ne’er famed fer my good looks." He smiled. "Thank goodness my Siusan did no’ take after me."
"A blessing indeed," Cailean observed. "Though I trust she has inherited yer finer qualities."
Angus raised his cup to acknowledge what he presumed had been another compliment, then took a sip of the wine, which left a ruby red line along the edge of his tallow mustache.
Siusan had seen nothing of this exchange. She had kept her eyes demurely lowered as she approached the table and now stood humbly by, her eyes still lingering on the floor, as she waited for her betrothed to seat her at the table.
Taking his cue, Cailean stood and drew back her chair solicitously.
James performed the same courtesy for his mother.
As soon as they were seated, Angus clapped his hands and roared for the food to be brought in.
The babble and clamor of the great hall resumed.
"Ye will find I keep a plain simple table," he advised his guest. "No fancy fricassées or French ragoûts, but good homely fare."
The serving maids brought in large platters of beef and game, along with baskets of manchet
and bannocks of both beremeal and oatmeal. These they presented first to the top table so that the chief and his family and guest might have the first pick before the rest was distributed among the lave in the body of the hall. The bread and meat were followed by pitchers of wine and ale.
As she ate, Siusan took every opportunity to steal glances at her husband-to-be. She saw a slim young man, about her older brother’s age, with short neatly-trimmed pale blond – almost white – hair. He was clean-shaven, and the smooth glistening skin of his jaw gave off a musky scent that made her catch her breath and her tummy turn somersaults. He was dressed in a short dark blue tunic trimmed with silver braid and horn buttons and breacan trews of predominantly green and blue setts. The fingers that wielded his meat-knife and tore small dainty morsels from his manchet were long, fine, and tapered.
Cailean Campbell's reputation was well-deserved, she reflected. He was indeed an elegant, good-looking man.
She wondered what he thought of them. She looked around the great hall and saw it as though through his eyes. The rough stone walls were scarcely decorated with a few tawdry hangings, plain and unembellished by any needle; the raw and unpolished deal table at which they sat was marked with the rings of many a hot tureen and ashet. She saw the tousled heads of the swarthy-skinned clansfolk, their faces weathered by the prickling heat of summer and the harsh winter winds that swept Glen Orchy; she could smell them too, the mustiness of their belted plaids, their earthy body odors. It would all be a far cry from the aristocratic grandeur of Inveraray Castle, with its paneled walls and scented candles and, no doubt, its kilt-and-doubleted lackeys.
Siusan cringed at the rudeness of her surroundings, of where she was from, as they must appear under the gaze of the man whom she was so keen to impress.
Thankfully, however, if Cailean had been taking them in at all, he showed no sign of what he thought of Siusan's domestic environment. What was of much greater concern to her was that he did not seem to be taking much note of her either. He had run a brief appraising eye over her when she had first been presented to him, but the best she could say was that her appearance had not displeased him. She felt as if his reception of her had been that she would 'do', that she passed muster. Since then, however, he had barely given her a passing glance. Whenever he did deign to speak to her, he was courteous and polite but also a little offhand, as if he were more interested in charming her father than in wooing her.
She also noticed that he seemed to be getting on famously with James. The pair of them were well-matched; they were both reserved and reticent, spoke to one another in low measured voices, choosing their words carefully, and their conversation resembled the stiff formality of a courtly dance. Siusan found their talk so tedious that she felt like climbing up onto the table and dancing a Highland Fling, just to loosen the stays of the occasion a little and let it breathe.
But she did not. She resisted the temptation to say something outrageous or controversial, though it irked her to be left on the edge of things while the menfolk knocked about their staid conversation like a shuttlecock.
After the meat platters had been cleared away, the serving maids brought in large dishes of black blood and white suet puddings, still contained in their shiny pig-gut casings, and haggis puddings in their sheep's stomachs. A haggis was ceremoniously placed on the table before Angus, along with a stone decanter of uisge beatha. Angus solemnly poured a measure of 'the water of life' into three silver quaichs, one of which he presented to each of the other men at the top table. Then he stood, drew his dirk, and brandished it above his head.
"Tae the haggis!" he cried in a loud booming voice that carried across the hall, filling its entire space, and ringing among the rafters.
"Tae the haggis!" the whole of the assembled company roared back at him, while Cailean and James drained their quaichs.
Plunging he dirk into the sheep's stomach, Angus then 'slew' the haggis, letting its entrails gush from their casing, warm, reeking, rich, onto the silver salver on which the beastie had been served up to him.
As soon as he had sat back down again, Siusan and the others, all except Cailean, she noticed, dug in eagerly with their horn spoons, transferring dollops of the spiced minced offal onto crisp oatcakes, which they greedily consumed.
Cailean, she reflected, clearly did not have a taste for such homely fare.
As the meal proceeded, the men's talk turned to the local clan rivalries.
"I will no’ mince my words," Angus warned. "I am a man fer plain speaking as well as plain fare."
"And I respect yer candor." Cailean nodded in salute of Angus' undoubtedly admirable qualities. "It is well-kenned that a man can take Angus Mor at his word, that he speaks his mind an’ leaves one in no doubt as tae his true position on matters. No’ something that can be said o’ many others."
Angus grunted in acknowledgment.
"Some o’ us," he continued, "the chiefs o’ the smaller clans like the MacColls, the MacGillemichaels, an’ the MacLeays, are worried aboot the Campbells an’ their expansion intae the three glens above Argyll. Intae Glen Orchy, fer example. That is a fine new castle ye hae built at the Glen Orchy end o’ Loch Awe, I cannae help but think."
Cailean's face brightened with a smile.
"Ah, Kylquhurne," he exclaimed. "Aye, a fine fortress. Built in the latest German style, ye ken..."
"An’ commands the mouths o’ three glens, Orchy, Strae, an’ Mhoille," Angus interrupted.
Cailean studied the well-manicured nails on his right hand, his left arm draped over the back of his chair. It was a few moments before he spoke again.
"It has been strategically placed," he went on, choosing his words carefully. "Primarily, tae counter the MacDougalls, the Lords o’ Lorn, but also the MacGregors, who as ye well ken are little more than a band o’ brigands an’ cattle thieves that disturbs the peace o’ everyone within a fifty-mile radius o’ their lands in Glen Strae, which includes oorselves, the Campbells. The power o’ the MacDougalls is on the wane in Argyll, an’ we would like tae keep it that way. Kylquhurne will help us keep them contained in the lands ‘round Loch Etive, where they seem content tae bide. The MacGregors, on the other hand, are a thorn in everyone's side with their constant raiding an’ general trouble-making. We would use Kylquhurne as a base from which we may drive them from Glen Strae an’ make the north a happier place fer everyone, the Gunns, MacLeays, an’ MacGillemichaels included."
"I agree," James interjected. "The MacGregors need tae hae their wings clipped. I hae no worry over Kylquhurne Castle, nor o’er a future affinity with the Campbells through the marriage between Cailean here an’ oor Siusan."
Angus shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"I agree aboot the MacGregors, though I am loath tae act against them since they hae been good friends tae the Gunns in the past." His face twisted in a pained expression as if he had just shifted his backside onto a canker. "Ye see, Cailean Campbell, the problem is that when the MacDougalls were strong, there was a balance o’ power in the land between them an’ yer family, which meant that we could get on with oor lives more or less unmolested while the two o’ ye vied. We would just bend in whichever direction the wind was blowing. But now that the Campbells hae emerged as the undisputed power in the land, that balance has been broken an’ there is nothing tae stop ye from riding roughshod o’er the rights an’ liberties o’ the other smaller clans like oorselves. Ye say that Kylquhurne Castle will help keep the MacDougalls contained an’ the MacGregors pacified, an’ that may be right, but who is tae say that it could no’ also serve as a base from which the Campbells can expand intae Glen Orchy as well?"
Cailean shrugged.
"Once yer daughter an’ I are wed," he pointed out, "the Campbells an’ the Gunns shall be kin. Why would we move against oor own kinfolk?"
"Exactly!" James exclaimed. "Ye talked aboot how the Gunns hae always bent tae whichever way the wind is blowing; well, this is the way the wind is blowing, is it no’? A marriage uni
on between the Campbells an’ the Gunns is the most sensible an’ pragmatic course fer us now."
Angus raked his fingers through his coarse tallow beard.
"Perhaps," he murmured, scrutinizing Cailean closely. "Perhaps it is the only way I can protect my people from being swallowed up by yer own."
There was a deep pregnant pause while all three reflected in silence on the matter.
