by Regan Walker
“Do you wish to view more of the ruins?” asked Nash, “or might we return?”
Ailie was grateful for his suggestion. “Let’s go back. All I want now is a fire and a warm drink.”
“Here,” said Muriel, thrusting a silver flask into Ailie’s hand. “Have a drink of Madeira to tide you over.”
“We want to get married!” Nash exclaimed when their fellow travelers returned to the inn. They had gathered in the common room with Muriel and her grandfather, warming themselves in front of the fire.
Only a few shocked faces greeted Nash’s announcement. William, Muriel and the Ormonds—who had witnessed his kissing Ailie at Dunnottar—appeared unsurprised. Robbie just smiled.
William said, “Finally!”
Muriel followed this with a doleful, “So soon? I had hoped for some time with Aileen in London.”
Nash couldn’t resist a smile. He raised Ailie’s hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “You’ll have time with both of us in London, Countess.
Hugh’s face took on a puzzled expression. “I’m all for the marriage, but shouldn’t the banns be read first?”
“No banns, Hugh.” Again, Nash smiled. “Don’t need ’em here. Brilliant of the Scots to make it so easy to wed.”
Ailie explained, “We just announce our intention to marry before witnesses—as we have done—and then live as man and wife.”
Robbie let out a whistle. “Good show, Brother. My felicitations to you both.”
“You know,” said Nick, “having been cheated out of a wedding, Mother will want a large reception.”
Muriel’s face brightened. “I daresay one can be arranged. A soiree in the ballroom at my London house would be just the thing.”
Emily fixed her husband with a suspicious look. “You don’t seem at all surprised.”
William gave his wife a sheepish grin. “Nash asked to court Ailie some time ago and I gave my consent. He didn’t want anyone to know until the lass looked upon his suit with favor. Still, ’tis not out of the question to arrange a wedding and I’d prefer it be done properly. Grandfather Ramsay knows the minister at the Dunnottar Parish Kirk in Stonehaven. He might be willing to read the banns all at once.”
Angus pursed his lips. “Aye, I ’spect so.”
“There you have it,” said William. And to Nash, “Wedding tomorrow soon enough?”
Nash shifted his gaze to Ailie, who nodded.
“Tomorrow’s fine,” he told her brother.
“Hogmanay be the time tae hav’ a weddin’,” said Angus, his fingers rubbing across his jaw in what appeared to Nash to be a growing interest in the idea.
“Tomorrow it is!” enthused William. Facing Nash, he said, “I do believe your brothers, Ormond and I will require your attention for the afternoon. There are details to discuss, my sister’s dowry, for one.”
Content he would have the woman he loved in his arms tomorrow, Nash allowed himself to be pulled away.
Chapter 22
31 December
Ailie stood before the mirror in her room in the inn, admiring the gown Rhona had helped her to put on. Behind her, Muriel raised her quizzing glass to study the gown’s fabric. But Ailie had no doubt the pale gold muslin with sprigs of heather embroidered in gold thread had been the right one for her Scottish wedding.
Her maid’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “I canna believe this is yer wedding day.”
“I expect you thought never to see it,” Ailie teased.
“Enough of that, Aileen,” Muriel protested. “The gown suits you. I do believe you made a fine choice. The man as well.”
The afternoon before, Muriel and all the wives had hurried Ailie from the inn’s dining room to immerse her in a flurry of gowns, petticoats and ribbons in search of the gown that would transform her into a bride. They had insisted Ailie try on every gown they had brought with them that might qualify. The whole affair reminded her of the time they had gathered in the parlor in Arbroath to decorate baskets. That auspicious day seemed like ages ago and now she was to be wed the man she had come to love, spy though he be.
In the end, she had decided to wear the gown Rhona had suggested Ailie bring with her to Stonehaven.
“Ye can wear it for Hogmanay,” Rhona had said. She could not have known how fitting the choice would prove to be.
When the wives asked her why she chose that gown, Ailie explained, “Heather is the flower of good fortune for a Scottish bride.”
This morning, Muriel asked to come to Ailie’s room to help her dress for her wedding. Since Ailie had been nervous the day before, she believed Muriel had come more for encouragement, which endeared the countess to her.
Muriel sat watching Rhona brush out Ailie’s thick hair that she would wear long. In the mirror, Ailie caught the wistful look on Muriel’s face. “What are you thinking, Countess?”
“Just the memory of another bride long ago.”
Ailie imagined the countess as a young woman, beautiful and spirited. Even in her sixties, she was still beautiful. “You are remembering when you were a bride?”
She smiled. “It was a day much like today when two impetuous people wed in a precipitous manner and loved very well.”
“Oh, Muriel.” She went to the countess and kissed her cheek. “Thank you. It means much to have your blessing.”
When Ailie’s hair had been brushed till it shone, Rhona took a sash of Ramsay tartan and fixed it over Ailie’s right shoulder, securing it with a brooch at her waist. “This is the plaid of yer mother’s clan. With the sash, yer bridegroom will have no doubt he’s marrying a Scot.”
“Humph,” Muriel muttered. “I believe Nash Powell is well aware of that. More’s to his credit that he prefers Aileen to the ladies in London who would jump at the chance to have him.”
Last night after dinner, Nash had walked with Ailie along the harbor, sharing his vision of their future together. “You will never have to worry about my fidelity,” he assured her. “There will be no other for me.” Ailie believed him and the knowledge she could trust his love had calmed her bride’s fears.
When Rhona left Ailie and the countess alone, Muriel came to kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you downstairs, Aileen. Don’t be long. I’m certain Nash is champing at the bit to get you to the church.”
Alone in her chamber, Ailie went to the window to gaze out at the harbor. How appropriate she would marry on Hogmanay, the end of one year and the beginning of another. It would be a new year and a new life for her.
In the hall outside her door, she heard Emily say, “Everyone is ready, Ailie!”
Before she went to join the others, she scratched a few lines in her diary.
31 December
They are calling for me so I must go, but I had to record this day. I am to be wed to Nash Etienne Powell in Dunnottar’s Parish Kirk. Yes, I know he’s English, but so is Emily. After all, love recognizes no borders and considers no obstacles insurmountable. I have forgiven him for not telling me what he was sworn to keep secret. Doubtless, there will be many more occasions when each of us must forgive the other.
A new life awaits me and I am excited for it to begin.
Nash turned away from his brothers’ teasing and fixed his gaze on the top of the stairs, impatient to see his bride. A moment later, she appeared, a golden goddess with a blue tartan sash across her shimmering gown. Behind him, the conversations ceased.
Ailie descended the stairs and he held out his hand, his heart swelling in his chest. “My love, you are truly the most beautiful bride.”
She blushed. “And you are ever so handsome.” He had worn the gold brocade waistcoat and dark blue tailcoat with velvet collar over his buff trousers because Muriel had insisted. Now he understood why. He and Ailie complemented each other in dress, a matched pair for their wedding, as he believed they would be in life.
William had arranged for carriages to transport them to the Dunnottar Parish Kirk in Dunnottar Woods a half-mile south of Stonehaven, and he had persuaded
the minister to call the banns yesterday to allow them to wed today.
They entered the small country church, constructed of stone blocks, with its arched roof of oak, and made their way down the aisle to the chancel where he and Ailie took their place between Robbie and Emily. They were married there in the simple setting with light from the one window falling onto Ailie’s copper hair like a halo around her.
The ceremony was blissfully short. Nash answered at the proper time but his thoughts were all for his bride, the gift the Good Lord had seen fit to give him. He slid the gold ring he had procured the afternoon before onto her finger, as they repeated the words that made them man and wife.
And then he kissed her. Not wishing to embarrass her, he did not allow himself a long kiss but he put his heart into it. Lifting his lips from hers, he told her, “You’re mine now, Aileen Stephen Powell.”
Her smile in reply was winning. “So I am.”
They left the church hand in hand and were greeted by the women, who circled around Ailie wishing her well, and the men, who teased Nash about marrying above his station.
“I am only too aware of that fact,” he admitted.
“Congratulations, Brother,” said Robbie. “You have won the heart of The Mistress of the Setters.”
Angus Ramsay came to Nash’s side. “Treat ’er weel, Sassenach, or I’ll be seein’ ye. An’ consider namin’ yer first bairn Angus.”
The smile on the old fisherman’s face belied the warning and the request, but Nash did not take either lightly. “I intend to love her well, Angus. And if God gives us a male child, we shall find a way to add Angus to his names.”
Nash tucked her hand in his arm and they walked out of the church and passed through the gravestones toward the carriages.
Suddenly, Muriel said, “Why, that’s amazing!”
Everyone came to see what had drawn the countess’ attention. “What is it?” asked William.
The countess bent over a stone marker, her quizzing glass held in front of her as she read the carved words. “It’s a memorial stone to mark the Covenanters who died prisoners in Dunnottar Castle in 1685. Look,” she said, pointing to the stone, “it speaks of two women whose names they didn’t know. I wonder…”
Angus glanced at her. “Be ye thinkin’ o’ the ghost?”
Muriel lifted her head from reading the stone. “I am.”
Ailie tugged Nash closer to the stone. “The inscription reads ‘for their adherence to the word of God and Scotland’s covenanted work of reformation’.”
Nash watched Ailie’s face, wondering what her thoughts might be. “Heroes of the faith?”
She squeezed his arm. “I’m glad they’ll be remembered.”
“Time for the wedding feast, said William, “and, since it’s Hogmanay, we might as well indoctrinate the groom into proper food.”
Nash laughed. “Why not?” Today he would eat most anything.
“’Tis haggis,” Ailie told her new husband when Nash inquired about the “strange” dish the servant had just placed before him. “Remember, I described it for you. ’Tis sheep’s intestine, oatmeal and spices cooked in a sheep’s stomach.”
“Right,” he said, his face contorting into an expression of pain. “Perhaps I’ll begin with the soup. But what’s that floating with the chicken and leeks?”
“Prunes. ’Tis the traditional way it’s made.” She could tell by the look on his face, Nash did not favor prunes, though they added much to what was essentially chicken soup.
“Well then,” he said, “I’ll have some salmon and potatoes.”
“Tatties,” she corrected, trying hard not to laugh. Glancing around the table, she noticed the others had declined the haggis, too. All except her grandfather, Captain Anderson, who’d been invited to the wedding, and Robbie.
Angus lifted a large bite of haggis onto his fork. “Food fer warriors.”
“I’m for trying it all,” quipped Robbie. “Else how can I describe the taste when asked?”
“Brave lad,” said the eldest Powell brother. “I might have a go at the other dishes, but I’ll be leaving the haggis to you.”
“Personally,” put in Tara, “I try to stay with what I recognize. Roast game, fish, steak pies and almost any dessert.”
Ailie remembered Hugh’s family had an estate in Scotland and wondered what foods he may have eaten. “Hugh, might you have tried some of our food while you were in Scotland?”
“Ah… once or twice. The fish is always fresh and the shortbread tasty.”
Will shot him a side-glance. “Very diplomatic.”
Emily leaned in to the countess. “And you, dear Muriel, what say you to the Scottish dishes? Will you have some?”
“Possibly,” the countess replied. Through her quizzing glass, she gave the haggis a skeptical look. “I don’t suppose there is kale in that mixture of things? That would be a bit much, I would think.”
Chuckles ringed the table.
“No kale,” said Will. “I urge you all to remember that dessert will follow shortly. We’ve some fine Scottish specialties: Dundee cake, clootie dumpling and shortbread. All go well with champagne.” Lifting his glass, he said, “A toast to the bride and groom!”
Fourteen glasses were raised into the air. “To the bride and groom!”
Nash brushed her temple with his lips. “They are toasting us, my love.”
She turned to gaze into his hazel eyes seeing only love and hoped it would always be so. “Aye, my husband, they are.”
“For this night,” William said, “Captain Anderson has taken a room in town to give Ailie and Nash his great cabin on the Albatross. Having slept there myself on one trip, I can assure you the bed is most comfortable.”
Ailie’s cheeks flamed at the thought of sharing a bed with Nash. She wanted to be his wife in all ways, but they had not talked about the wedding night. Thinking about it gave her anxious thoughts because she knew so little. Her mother in Aberdeen had given up on her rebellious daughter ever marrying. Emily had told Ailie not to worry, that she would find pleasure in the marriage bed.
“Very kind of you to make those arrangements for us, Will,” said Nash. Then he lifted his glass to Captain Anderson, sitting farther down the table. “And very generous of you, Captain, to give up your cabin.”
Captain Anderson smiled. “I’d do that and more for Miss Stephen, the young woman I have seen grow into womanhood to become Mrs. Powell.”
Ailie was very fond of the often dour captain who, today, appeared quite jolly. “Thank you, Captain.”
“You will have your privacy,” said William, “and from the deck you will be able to see, and doubtless hear, the Hogmanay celebrations in town.”
Having been assured by Ailie’s brother that all aboard the Albatross had been made ready, Nash walked with Ailie to the ship. The sun was just setting behind the hills, casting a lavender blanket over the waters of the bay and turning the sky over the North Sea a stunning violet.
She gripped her tartan shawl tightly around her. “A beautiful night, aye?”
The nervous tremor in her voice was unmistakable. “Not so beautiful as my bride.” Before she could reply, he slipped his arm around her shoulder and cuddled her against his side. “You have nothing to fear, Ailie. It’s our first time together, that’s all. Trust me, you will like our joining.”
“I will?”
He smiled. “I know what I’m about, my love, and I promise to be gentle. Remember that I love you. Of all the women in the world, and I have seen many in my travels, I chose you for my wife.”
She let out a deep sigh, her breath coming out in a cloud. He hoped her sigh meant she found comfort in his words. Only once had he taken a virgin. Both he and the girl were too young to know what they were about, much less did he know about loving a woman. Since then, all his partners had been experienced women. He was glad, for what he had learned from them would allow him to treat his bride as a precious gift.
“Tonight we begin what we ha
ve a lifetime to enjoy.”
She tucked her head into his shoulder. “I know. Muriel said you’d explain everything to me.”
He chuckled. “Did she now?”
They walked up the gangplank and were greeted by the junior officer. “Welcome aboard, Mr. and Mrs. Powell. Your chamber awaits you. Unless you call for service, you will not be disturbed.”
With that, he left them and headed for the forward hatch. Nash escorted Ailie to the aft hatch and down the ladder.
At the end of the companionway, the captain’s door stood ajar. He pushed it open and stepped over the threshold bringing her with him. A lantern cast its subtle light over the large interior. Because of the raised overhead, the cabin had windows on both sides, covered now with dark blue curtains.
Ailie took off her gloves and he helped her to shed her cloak, hanging it and his own on the pegs near the door. She went to stand before the stove where coals burned brightly, warming her hands. The ship rose and fell beneath them like the breathing of a sleeping sea.
Her gaze drifted toward the round pedestal table where a bottle of champagne and two glasses rested beside a tray of fruit, cheese and bread. “They went to a lot of trouble for us, didn’t they?”
He took her hands in his, raising them to his lips. “As I would expect from those who love us.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “We only have one wedding night, Ailie. It should be a special event.”
“I’m a bit shy about it, I know, but I do want you, Nash. I mean not just for my husband, but for the marriage bed.” Her cheeks flushed. She let go of his hands and glanced toward the shelf bed, where the cover had been turned down and someone had laid out her nightclothes. She quickly looked back, biting her lower lip.
He took off his tailcoat and hung it over the back of a chair. His waistcoat and cravat followed. Ailie had seen him wearing only his shirt when she had come to change Robbie’s bandage so he didn’t think it would startle her.
He joined her in front of the stove and drew her into his arms, kissing her forehead, breathing in her sweet smell of lily of the valley. “One of our friends has a sense of humor, I think.”
