Sitting at her beloved desk, she consulted the list she’d made.
Her gown, shoes, stockings, veil, plaid and clan brooch were all laid out ready for the ceremony. She was confident Ardblair’s seamstresses would have followed her explicit instructions for Caitlin’s gown.
Dress plaids for the men of her family had been cleaned and a new bonnet fashioned for Shaw. She’d spoken to Rory about a new eagle feather for his, but that was out of her hands.
The entire castle had been scrubbed from top to bottom, the snow shoveled from the courtyard.
The minister had been warned his sermon must not go on for more than fifteen minutes.
Extra cooks and scullery lads were already at work preparing the dishes she’d selected for tomorrow’s breakfast and luncheon.
Shaw’s bedchamber looked less like a hunting lodge.
She’d hidden her father’s whisky flask in the drawer of her desk. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t drink, but it would be harder for him to imbibe surreptitiously. He’d promised to give up whisky completely, but she accepted that would never happen.
Gordon and Logan had been well drilled in the duties of pages at weddings. They were growing into fine young men and she experienced a pang of regret that she wouldn’t be at Drummond to watch over and guide them. However, they were in capable hands with Shaw as their mentor.
She and Shaw had practiced the wedding ceremony in the chapel, he as the groom, she as the bride. She would remember sharing their excitement about the coming nuptials as one of the most meaningful hours she’d ever spent with her brother.
She smoothed a hand over the surface of the desk. “I’ll miss ye,” she confessed, rolling her eyes at her own foolishness. She startled when Gordon burst into the room.
“They’re here,” he shouted hoarsely. “And Major Merryweather has arrived with a message from Stirling.”
Heart pounding, she hoisted the hem of her skirt and followed him to the courtyard. She’d have a few choice words to say to Davidson if all her well-laid plans and hard work had been for naught.
*
Shaw appreciated Merryweather’s patience as he enfolded Caitlin in his plaid and held her close. “I’ve missed ye,” he rasped. “I want to kiss ye but I can wait until we’re alone.”
Snuggling into him, she chuckled, glancing to where Rory and Fiona were indulging in passionate kissing. “An audience doesna seem to bother them, but I can wait.”
Shaw shook hands with Caitlin’s father, pleased to see Brodie had already welcomed Ian Blair. He then bestowed a kiss on Nairn’s knuckles, amused when Gordon and Logan mimicked him.
His arm still around Fiona’s waist, Rory offered to shake his hand.
Finally, when the visitors had entered the castle, he greeted Merryweather and invited him inside.
“I’ve important papers to deliver to Perth,” the major replied, handing over a sealed letter. “I must be on my way.”
“’Tis unfortunate,” Shaw informed him. “On the morrow, we’re celebrating two weddings, mine and my sister’s.”
The dragoon arched a brow. “Fiona’s getting married?”
“Aye. To Rory Blair.”
The Englishman chuckled. “A good match, I’d say. Wish them well for me.”
“I will. Safe journey.”
Caitlin came out to join him and together they watched the dragoon and his troops ride away. She eyed the letter. “Dinna open it. At least, until after the ceremony.”
Shaw considered her suggestion. “Marcus didna react when I mentioned a wedding. Either he isna privy to the contents, or permission to wed at Stirling has been refused. In any case, I agree with ye. We’ll open it after we’re wed.”
A Double Wedding
“I thought I’d be nervous on my wedding day,” Caitlin confided to Fiona, “but I feel calm.”
Shaw’s sister chuckled. “Weel, I thought I’d ne’er get married, so I am nervous.”
Caitlin reached for her hand. “’Tis wonderful to share the day with my brother’s bride. Thank ye for inviting me to dress for the ceremony in yer chamber.”
Fiona eyed her up and down. “’Twas purely selfish,” she replied with a wink. “I had to make sure yer maid fitted yer gown correctly.”
Moira scowled. “’Tisna the first time I’ve dressed my mistress.”
“Nor will it be the last,” Caitlin assured her, anxious to smooth ruffled feathers. “I’m elated ye’ve agreed to come to Drummond with me.”
“So am I,” Fiona added. “I’ll be taking Sadie with me to Ardblair. ’Tis important to have a faithful maidservant when ye move to an unfamiliar place.”
Sadie paused in her braiding of Fiona’s hair. “I’d worry about ye if I didna accompany ye. Now, let’s see the pair of ye. ’Tis nigh on time to go to the chapel.”
Both maids inspected their mistresses and declared their satisfaction.
“Bonny lasses,” Sadie said hoarsely.
“Aye,” Moira agreed, tears welling.
Caitlin hesitated. “I confess, at first, I didna think much of having our gowns made of the same fabric.”
“And now?”
“The cut and style are very different. ’Twas brilliant, and I thank ye again.”
Fiona took her hands and kissed her on each cheek. “I never had a sister.”
Caitlin swallowed the lump in her throat. “Now, ye do.”
Hand in hand, they entered the corridor, where Caitlin’s father and Brodie Drummond waited to escort them to the chapel.
When Caitlin saw Shaw standing before the altar, his smiling eyes full of love and admiration, she patted her father’s arm. “’Twill be all right,” she whispered. “He’s the right mon.”
Ian kissed her cheek as he passed her hand into Shaw’s. “I ken, lass. Be happy.”
Brodie gave a blushing Fiona over to a broadly grinning Rory and the balding minister cleared his throat.
*
Shaw wasn’t a religious man, but the compulsion to fall to his knees and thank the good Lord for trusting him with a wife like Caitlin was powerful. The gray silk gown emphasized every delicious curve—and the décolletage was deep enough to make a man’s mouth water.
Not only was his bride beautiful, she was intelligent and brave, just the kind of partner he needed to help him lead the clan into a new century.
Happy for Fiona that she’d found a man who would love and cherish her, he smiled at her, but she was too busy gazing into Rory’s eyes.
He kissed Caitlin’s cold hand, looking forward to warming her later, but it would be inappropriate to utter such a promise in front of the stern-faced minister. Did the man not know it was a wedding?
“Dearly beloved brethren,” the cleric began, smiling at last, “we are here gathered together in the sight of God to knit and join these parties together…”
Shaw heard little else as his thoughts drifted to the pleasures of knitting and joining.
“Shaw,” the minister continued, “ye shall protest here before God and His holy congregation, that ye will take Caitlin for yer lawful wife and spouse, promising to keep her, to love and entreat her in all things according to the duty of a faithful husband, forsaking all others during her life, and to live in a holy conversation with her, keeping faith and truth in all points, according to the Word of God and His Holy Gospel.”
Shaw had attended many a wedding and often heard the familiar words that had changed little since the time of John Knox, but now the vows meant something to him personally. He looked into his bride’s green eyes. “Even so, I take Caitlin before God, and in the presence of His congregation.”
The minister looked at Caitlin. “Caitlin, ye shall protest here before the face of God, in the presence of this holy congregation, that ye will take Shaw for yer lawful husband, promising subjection and obedience, forsaking all others during his life, and to live in a holy conversation with him, keeping faith and truth in all points, as God’s Word prescribes.”
Shaw inhale
d deeply when she spoke her vow clearly and without hesitation. “Even so, I take Shaw before God, and in the presence of His congregation.”
The minister turned to Rory and Fiona and they made the same commitments. Rory’s voice was steady, but Fiona seemed uncharacteristically nervous.
For the first time, Shaw noticed both brides wore gowns made of the same material, but each was fashioned to flatter the woman who wore it. He knew Fiona was responsible for the unique designs and reminded himself to congratulate her later. It struck him his sister had talents of which he was totally ignorant. Rory was a lucky man.
The cleric placed Caitlin’s hand in his, settling his wandering thoughts.
He repeated his vows after the minister, never taking his eyes from Caitlin’s. “I, Shaw Drummond, take ye, Caitlin Blair, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight ye my troth.”
Caitlin’s eyes were bright as she repeated her vows. “I, Caitlin Blair, take ye, Shaw Drummond, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, until death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give ye my troth.”
Gordon produced the ring. The minister blessed it before leading Shaw in the last of his promises as he slipped the ring on Caitlin’s finger. “With this ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”
“Those whom God has joined together, let nay man put asunder,” the minister intoned. “I pronounce ye Man and Wife.”
Shaw restrained the urge to kiss his bride deeply. Fiona and Rory still had to make their vows. It wouldn’t do to set the chapel afire before they, too, were pronounced man and wife.
Florentine Pie
Fiona tucked herself against Rory as they exited the chapel, grateful for the protection of his big body against the shower of rice pelted at them.
Shaw was similarly protecting Caitlin with his plaid.
It was all in good fun, and a sign clan folks were happy for the newlyweds.
The jubilant crowd followed them to the Great Hall, where Fiona sniffled back tears as she embraced her brother. “I wish ye and Caitlin every happiness. I canna think of anyone I’d rather share my wedding day with.”
He hugged her. “I feel the same. Funny how life works out sometimes.”
She kissed Caitlin on each cheek. “Welcome to our family, Sister.”
“And ye to mine,” Shaw’s wife replied. “I ken ye and Rory were meant to be together.”
Fiona laughed. “Well, it took both of us a while to realize it.”
She shut out the hubbub as family and friends exchanged kisses and good wishes, her attention wholly on her new husband. She could scarcely believe she was married to the handsome, self-assured man who accepted well-wishes with a broad smile. She itched to suggest they leave at once and ride for Ardblair, but there was still the luncheon to get through. As the hostess who’d organized the menu, she could hardly be absent.
Thinking to provide guests with a luncheon they wouldn’t soon forget, she’d selected a traditional Scottish dish and an Italian one.
After the newlyweds were seated at the head table, the guests took their places, then everyone stood again for the minister to intone a blessing. She coughed loudly enough to serve as a reminder he should keep his prayer short.
“I hope they enjoy the meal,” she whispered to Rory when the crowd was seated and servers emerged from the kitchens. “Drummonds are nay famous for their love of foreign food.”
He took up his spoon, inhaling the aroma of the soup placed before him. “I think I’ve tasted this before when an Edinburgh classmate invited me north to Cullen.”
“Aye,” she replied. “’Tis called Cullen Skink.”
His eyes widened after he took a sip. “Mmm. Smoked haddock, right?”
She nodded. Rory liked it, so what did it matter if no one else did? “And potatoes.”
He downed the entire bowl in short order, then leaned closer. “I was going to suggest we forego the banquet, but I’d have missed this incredible soup. Will ye teach our cook at Ardblair how to make it?”
“Aye,” she agreed, tasting the smoky tang when he pecked a kiss on her lips.
The crowd whistled and cheered.
Fiona hoped they all felt as enthusiastic after eating the Florentine Pie.
*
The quality of the food served at Ardblair had been of concern to Rory for some time. Fiona’s expertise with keeping ledgers should result in better economies and, therefore, more coin for good quality victuals.
He’d thoroughly enjoyed the Cullen Skink. As the aroma of the next dish stole up his nostrils, he was more confident than ever his bride would work miracles with Ardblair’s cooks.
Having no idea what was inside the generous slice of pie placed before him, he held up an unusual utensil. “Do I eat it with this?” he asked softly.
“Aye, ’tis a new invention called a fork. Ye can use it like a spoon,” she explained as she used the fork to slice open the pie.
The pie had smelled tantalizingly good; the rich meats and gravy that oozed out made him salivate. “Looks like it has everything,” he quipped, digging into his own piece.
“’Tis an Italian dish called Florentine Pie,” she explained, licking her lips after tasting it. “Rabbit, chicken and oysters.”
He closed his eyes, savoring the flavorful gravy and tender viands. He wasn’t fond of oysters, yet the dish tasted wonderful. “We’ll add this to the menu at home. Ye’ve outdone yerself.”
She smiled, but still looked uncertain.
“Ye can tell folks like it,” he reassured her. “Notice how quiet it is?”
Farewell Fiona
“Ye’ve outdone yerself,” Shaw told Fiona, “but our guests are enjoying themselves so much, I doot they’ll leave anytime soon.”
Rory nodded. “We should slip away. I want to get on the road.”
Shaw agreed, but his motives weren’t entirely selfless. Once his sister and her husband departed, he and Caitlin could while away the afternoon consummating their marriage. However, there was little hope of escaping without being noticed. He stood and called for everyone’s attention. “As ye ken,” he began, “Rory and Fiona must be on their way to Ardblair. My bride and I will see them off. Please stay and help yerselves to more wine.”
He escorted Caitlin off the dais amidst the cheering. Rory and Fiona followed.
“I think we should go to my solar first,” Fiona suggested. “I’m sorry to say this, but we must open the missive from Stirling.”
Once they arrived, both brides sat on the sofa.
Rory leaned forward behind Fiona, his hands on her shoulders.
Shaw hated the uncertainty in Caitlin’s eyes and hoped the letter didn’t make it worse. He broke the seal and opened the message. A quick scan of the contents eased his worries.
“I willna read the preamble,” he said. “The gist of it is Sir John says he canna grant permission in the midst of the busy Yuletide season.”
“So, we dinna need to fret that we’ve already married,” Caitlin exclaimed with a smile, hurrying to link arms with Shaw.
He handed over the letter. “Nay, but read the rest. Along with all clans in the vicinity, the lairds of Drummond and Ardblair are invited to attend the Hogmanay celebration at Stirling.”
Rory scowled. “I planned to see in the new year at home.”
“As did I,” Shaw replied. “But ’tis an invitation we canna refuse, lest we lose standing among the other clans. Our absence would be noted.”
“By Sir John especially,” Fiona added. “’Tis a clever test. By refusing permission, he’s scolding both clans for the fiasco of the betrothal, then giving us a chance to prove our commitment to end
the feud and thus our loyalty to the king.”
“Let’s adjourn to my chamber and ye can help me get changed,” Fiona suggested to Caitlin. “Our husbands will make the decision.”
Shaw chuckled as the women left. “My, my,” he told Rory. “’Tis unusual for my sister to defer to anyone else’s judgement. Marriage has mellowed her.”
Rory shrugged. “I expect we willna always see eye to eye, but I love her feisty nature.”
“And I ken ye’ll take good care of her.”
“And I’m overjoyed to see my sister happy.”
“So, what’s yer opinion, Laird Blair?”
“As I see it, we dinna have a choice.”
“Hogmanay at Stirling it is, then.”
Rory nodded. “We’ll come to Drummond the night day before, and ride together.”
Shaw extended a hand. “Agreed.”
Rory accepted the gesture. “’Tis hard to believe it’s taken hundreds of years for two neighboring lairds to come to an amicable agreement.”
*
Caitlin snuggled into Shaw, glad of his plaid draped around her shoulders. The heat of his body warded off the chilly wind swirling through the courtyard. She swallowed the lump in her throat caused by Nairn’s departure with Rory and Fiona. Her sister had wept. “’Twas hard to say goodbye to Nairn,” she confessed.
“I never thought I’d say this,” he replied as the departing horses disappeared from sight on the horizon. “But I’m sorry to see Fiona go.”
“Me too,” she replied truthfully.
“Drummond willna be the same without her.”
She understood what he meant, but it brought home the daunting task that lay ahead. “I hope I can fill her shoes,” she murmured.
“I’m nay worried,” he assured her. “Let’s get inside. I want to warm ye.”
His wink sent a thrill spiraling into her womb. “What do ye have in mind, my laird?”
Kilty Party Page 19
