by Fiona Faris
Lady Caldwell shook her head indulgently. “Alright girls. If you are done having your measurements taken, it’s time to do your chores before they ring the dinner bell.”
The room emptied, leaving Lady Caldwell alone with the Mantua-maker. “Will the dresses be ready by Saturday?”
She nodded. “I shall have all my dressmakers working on this wedding. The dresses shall be ready on time. I promise you.”
It was a relief. “An extra guinea if they are delivered early. This wedding has to go well.”
“I understand, your Ladyship. Have I not been making your gowns for years? I will not let you down.”
Lady Caldwell reached out and squeezed her arm. “I thank you, Magdalene.”
Emily watched as Philip walked away, leaving her alone to contend with Alexander’s wrath. She did not know why he should be angry - Philip was right. They were not yet married, and in any case, Emily was free to speak with anyone she pleased. She was not a prisoner.
Lifting her chin, she looked him dead in the eye. He towered over her, cold grey eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. It was quite intimidating. He did not say a word, but it was all she could do not to cower in fear.
“Your mother was asking for you,” he said at last.
She nodded hastily and scurried off without a backward glance.
Alexander was fuming after catching his bride-to-be with that dobber, Philip. He knew in his heart, that Philip was trying to rile him, but he could not help but feel angered and betrayed.
He went in search of Rebecca. He needed to either speak with his sister, or run the risk of breaking something in his rage. He would prefer to resolve his feelings non-violently, especially in this strange place, where he was but a visitor and soon-to-be family.
Eventually, he found her, ensconced in the library, reading.
“There you are.”
She looked up with a smile. “Here I am. Did you need me for something?”
Alexander flopped down onto the chair next to her with a sharp exhalation of breath. “I dinna ken what I’m doing, Rebby. Perhaps we should cut our losses and just go?”
Rebecca put her book aside. “What’s happened now?”
“I think I just might kill Philip Bristol.”
His sister smiled. “I’d hold him down for ye. But what’s he done now?”
“He’s whispering in her ear. Turning my bride-to-be against me.”
“He’s an insidious poison, that one. Ye should watch out for him.”
“Aye, I ken it. But what can I do when she is dazzled by his golden locks, flawless skin, impeccable fashion, and green eyes?” Alexander sneered as he described his enemy. “I cannot compete with that.”
“Ye dinna need to compete! He is nowhere near the man ye are.”
Alexander snorted. “Tell that to Lady Emily Caldwell.”
Rebecca shrugged. “She’ll find out soon enough. Once ye are marrit, we shall go off to this new place - Dun Alba - and ye shall have plenty of time to acquaint her with yer charms.”
Alexander laughed. “What do ye know about ma charms?”
The girl shrugged her eyes soft. “I know that yer a guid man, Alexander MacTavish.”
Alexander smirked. “Aye, I am that.”
Their eyes met and they started to laugh.
At the bottom of the garden, there was an artificial lake. It was just the beginning of spring, and it was a perfect setting for a wedding. Lord Caldwell walked the king around, showing him where they would erect the canvas, in case of rain.
“I think we will have a beautiful ceremony.”
The king nodded. “Indeed. It is important that we forge these connections with the Scots, Caldwell. You have done well in proving your loyalty.”
“Thank you, sire. The boy’s stature is raised high among his people due to his bravery and your majesty’s recognition. It will most certainly be a point in our favour should the roundheads launch a new attack.”
The king smiled. “His fighting prowess is not to be dismissed, either. We can use such men as MacTavish.”
“His regiment is loyal, and he commands respect amongst the other Highland regiments. He will be very useful.”
“Now, Caldwell, on to more pleasant topics— tell me more about your wedding preparations.”
“We thought to incorporate some Scottish wedding traditions to make it more inclusive. My wife is consulting with the boy’s sister to see what we can manage.”
The king smiled. “I believe there is a tradition known as a ‘Quaich,’ that is quite quaint and endearing.”
“Is that so? I shall have Lady Caldwell ask about it.”
They walked on quietly, watching the estate workers erect the wedding tent, as well as arranging the chairs, flowers and altar where the couple would be married.
Lord Caldwell looked for a neutral topic that would not remind the king of his brother’s betrayal, or the debt that the Caldwells owed to the Crown. “What is this ‘Quaich’ about?”
“Well, as it was described to me, it is a two-handled, shallow cup, engraved with Celtic writing and filled with whiskey. They call it ‘the love cup,’ as it is meant for the bride and groom to grasp together and drink. The glass is then passed around to the important family members to drink.”
Lord Caldwell laughed. “Somehow, I do not see the boy participating in such a tradition. It seems to me to be tremendously soft-headed.”
The king gave him a sideways glance. “If you have seen him with his sister, you know he has a soft side.”
“Indeed. She is most definitely his weak spot.”
Lady Caldwell knocked softly on Rebecca's door.
“Yes?”
“May I come in?”
“O’ course! It’s yer house isn't it?”
Lady Caldwell walked into the room, an uncomfortable look on her face. “Indeed, it is, but this room has been given to you for the duration of your visit. It would be rude of me to enter without your permission.”
“You English and your rules.”
Lady Caldwell sighed patiently. “I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
Rebecca spread her arms accommodatingly. “Of course.”
“We want your brother to feel as much represented in this wedding as our daughter. Do you have any traditions you would like to include in the wedding?”
Rebecca beamed, nodding her head. “Indeed, I do. An old Celtic blood vow binds the couple together in more than just spirit. My brother has long been deprived of a family. If yer daughter would be willing to make that vow, I know it would mean the world to him.”
Lady Caldwell's face softened with sympathy. “But of course she would.”
Rebecca gave a cynical smile. “Perhaps ye should ask her first.”
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Fiona Faris is an American author of authentic historical Medieval & Scottish romance books. She started writing historical highlander romance after she visited the Scottish Highlands years ago with her husband.
Her books have received startling reviews about the humor, the darkness and the romance they have.
> She lives in Dallas, Texas with her husband and their two sons. Before she started writing romance, she experienced the various occupations: translator, dog-training, and a substitute English teacher for the most part of her life... However, nothing could ever compare to writing stories depicting the majestic and mysterious Scottish Highlands!
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