None of the brothers was married – Grant being the least likely candidate, not simply because of his age, but because he was constantly being offered the chance to sample yet another lovely who was throwing herself at him. Why would he confine himself too just one woman?
Of course, that was all going to change today, and the brothers were doing their level best to make sure that the eldest had as good a time as was possible, despite himself. They were of a mind that Kell took himself and his station entirely too seriously sometimes, and this was one of them. He had banned the usual round of celebrations with his friends, which should have been a week or so of drinking their way from house to house, only to end up here, this morning, to get married.
“What’s she like, brother?” Burke asked. He almost waggled his eyebrows, but decided against it.
Kell sank down in a chair, considering the question seriously. “She’s a tiny little sparrow.”
Grant leaned forward, looking at Kell as if for the first time. “Why, I do believe our dear level headed brother is in love, Burkey.”
Burke, of course, had to assume the same position, leaning forward so far that he almost fell out of his chair. “You think so?”
Kell scoffed at the thought. “How could I be in love with her? I just met her less than a day ago.” He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, and his brothers adopted know it all grins that increased his discomfort several fold. “Besides, whether I love her or not doesn’t mean a thing. I’ve already accepted and largely spent her dowry. She’s going to be my wife, regardless.”
Grant sighed dramatically. “So much for your romantic poet’s heart, big brother.” His tone clearly stated that he was quite sure that Kell didn’t possess either the poet or the heart.
“Is she pretty?” Burke asked boldly.
Kell vaulted out of the chair and out the door, but his brothers were in hot pursuit, not about to let him duck out of their fraternal inquisition. He was the first of them to marry, and the younger two were bursting with curiosity about his bride, and their soon to be sister in law.
Kell ran up the huge staircase as if the hounds of hell were following him, and the closest equivalent on Earth was. Ducking into the room he was using short term didn’t help one bit – they followed him in like they belonged there.
Finally, he turned and confronted them. “Boys, I’m perfectly capable of getting dressed for my wedding with no assistance from you.”
They didn’t take the hint, and they’d deliberately told his French valet, Pierre, to make himself scarce for this particular ritual. There were no chairs to sit in, so they leaned against the sill and the wall, staring at him as if he held the secret to eternal life.
“So, you never did answer the Cheese’s question. Is she pretty?”
Kell wasn’t about to encourage their behavior by revealing that he though that his wife was incredibly gorgeous. If they got a whiff that he was well on the way to falling in love just by spending about five minutes with her, they would never let him forget it. “She’s passable,” he said, deliberately without much enthusiasm, rummaging in the wardrobe and bringing out his outfit for the wedding: full Highland regalia, dress kilt in dress tartan – which differed from the every day tartan quite considerably.
The everyday MacNaughton tartan was a deep, rugged red and hearty green. There were a couple of variations – a “muted” tartan in which the green was almost washed out, that few favored – and a “weathered” pattern where the green was a little more prominent but gray was also included. Kell preferred the every day style over everything, and even in this day and age, when the fashion even in Scotland was trousers and top hats. The dress version of the MacNaughton tartan was done in various shades of blue, from a deep navy to almost a sky, run through with stark white and a tad bit of red in thinner stripes throughout.
But Kell preferred the traditional Scottish garb over just about anything. Being the Chieftain of his clan, he wore the finest of accoutrement – his plaids weren’t merely woolen, but wool and silk combined, which alleviated some of the usual itch that accompanied the wearing of them. He donned a starched white shirt which he tucked neatly into the waistband of his kilt and shouldered his way into a vest, then Burke held the arms of his Prince Charlie jacket and he eased into it, stretching the fabric a bit across his shoulders. It had been quite a while since he’d had to dress so fancily – since his father’s funeral several years ago, and apparently he’d added some weight – all of it muscle across the breadth of his shoulders, apparently.
The deep blue jacket was short and ended around his waist. The lapels of both the jacket and the vest open, revealing much of his shirtfront. The jacket was plainish, except for the decorative gold buttons shaped like a shield, three of them each side down the front and sleeves of the jacket. Grant affixed his “flying plaid” on his left shoulder with their father’s gold plaid broach and pin, draping the swatch of dress tartan fabric down his back until it ended just above his white kilt hose and flashes.
Kell sat down on the end of the entirely too small bed he’d used last night and slipped his huge feet into his dress ghillie brogues and laced them up his thick calves. Burke handed him his dress sporran and chain, which he looped around his waist, so that the pouch settled just below his privates. Kell allowed himself a small smile, remembering the first time he’d dress in formal Highland garb with his father’s grave assistance, and had commented on the weight and location of his small sporran. His father had lifted one of those bushy gray eyebrows and commented acerbically that its purpose was as a purse of sorts, but that it would also serve as a good reminder that little boys wearing sporrans should conduct them selves like gentlemen.
Kell had given his father a quizzical look, and the older man had bent down a little, as if sharing a secret. “Young man, if you jump and run while you’re wearing a sporran, I can assure you that you’ll only let the cantle hit you in the balls once before you settle down.”
The old man had been dreadfully right, as Kell recalled. It had only taken once for that big silver clasp to knock itself into his privates, and he was quiet – and slightly nauseous – for the rest of the event.
His dress sporran had a solid gold cantle – it had been his father’s and his father’s before that for generations back – that was carved with the family crest. Originally, sporrans were used as purses, since kilts didn’t have any pockets. Now they were really just decorative accessories.
Burke dragged him down to his own bedroom so that he could see himself in a full length mirror. Burke had much more care for what he looked like than Kell ever would. But when Kell looked into the glass, he had to admit he didn’t look too bad. Grant slapped him on the back. “You’re a fine figure of a man, Kell. You’re almost passable, even!” He preened in front of the mirror. “But neither of you’ll ever hold a candle to me. The good Lord saved the best for last in this family.”
Of course, his brothers both had to smack him sharply as they all tromped back down to Kell’s temporary room to finish dressing him.
Aislinn, meanwhile, was being fluttered around by Jenny. The dress Aislinn was wearing had been her mothers, worn years before and carefully preserved by Jenny herself. It was one of the few things that Aislinn had of her mother, and she was determined to wear it, despite the fact that its hooped skirts were out of fashion. The dress hadn’t been the most fancy of dresses even in its time, but it was the finest garment Aislinn had ever worn. Its linen was fine woven and a deep blue – “married in blue, love will be true”. She hoped the singsong bride’s rhyme would bode better for her than it had her mother.
There were two bodices with the ensemble, one for fancy, with lace insets and pearl beading and buttons which she was wearing for her wedding, and one plainer one so that the dress could be worn for more every day events. The lace and bead encrusted skirt was supported by not one but two hoops, and fell to just above Aislinn’s toes. Her shoes were the only part of her outfit that she was concerned
about, since she had only the one pair, but they would have to do. Her train was full court, trailing along behind her like a fabric tail. When it was spread out, the lace designs and beading was breathtaking. For now, though, Jenny bustled the train against her bottom.
Her veil was of an intricate blue lace that complimented the dress, and fell down her back in glorious waves, much like her hair would if Aislinn had had her way. But Jenny prevailed in the area of hair styles, impressing on her charge that she was a woman now, and needed to wear her hair up. Tendrils of it escape from the beautiful coiffure, of course, and formed fine baby hair ringlets around her pale face. Jenny had brushed just the barest touch of color to Aislinn’s cheeks, which generally needed little such artifice, and did the same to her full lips. Aislinn’s eyes sparkled with intelligence and good health, and were surrounded by sooty, thick lashes. There was no need for any sort of assistance there.
While Aislinn had disappeared this morning, much to Jenny’s dismay, Jenny had busied herself doing an errand that Aislinn had presented her with upon waking. It was no mean feat. But the last touch she added to the young woman’s ensemble – after the diamond teardrop earrings that was the only jewelry her mother had left her – was to use a plainish brooch of her own to fasten a good sized square of the MacNaughton tartan she’d found by rummaging around the place. Luckily, it was also blue and white, and it matched the dress perfectly. Aislinn had decided that it might do nicely to try to adopt something of her husband’s into her dress, and an homage to the family – the clan – she was joining.
Finally, she was ready for the short trip to the church, which was on the castle grounds. Once the ceremony was over, they would return to the great hall for a hearty meal, dancing, and music. Once Aislinn had fallen asleep, Jenny had found the man who was to be her master to find out the details of what was going to happen on their wedding day, and had translated them as best she could to her mistress this morning.
The coach that brought them to the church was a simple one, but it had been adorned by someone – they didn’t know who – with all sorts of flowers and ribbons in both blue and white. The trip was thankfully short. Jenny could see that Aislinn was growing more and more nervous by the minute; she kept fidgeting with her hair and her dress, and fretting aloud about her shoes.
When they came to the stop, the footman jumped down and tried to open the door, but Aislinn held it shut, saying, “Not just yet, please.” She was trying to decide whether to give in gracefully and get it over with, or see how far she could run before the train got caught in the bushes.
Chapter 3
Jenny put her hand over Aislinn’s and waited for the young woman to notice her. She could almost see panic in those frightened eyes. She leaned out the door and told the footman to go away until he was called. Then Jenny switched sides of the carriage and hugged the girl to her tightly, rocking just a bit as she had when Aislinn awoke screaming from a nightmare. “Now, a lot has happened pretty quickly for you, hasn’t it? And now you’re going to become that young man’s wife, and you barely know him.” Aislinn nodded against her chest. “But I can tell he’s a wonderful man, my girl. Just from meeting him last night. He’s seen to your comfort, hasn’t he? He gave you a right proper room, didn’t he? And I could tell he was none to happy when you told him that your Uncle had probably spent the money he’d left for your trousseau. He looks like a healthy, brave man, and you’re going to settle into life here before you know it. We both will. Why, you’re going to be a fine lady, and I’m going to be forgettin’ to bow and scrape to you, like I should!”
Aislinn almost laughed at the idea of Jenny bowing to her, and that was just what the older woman was after. It wasn’t like Aislinn to be frightened. She’d been through a lot in her young life, and she generally met things head on. But this was different, somehow, and Jenny understood her hesitation. In a few minutes, Aislinn was going to confer upon a total stranger the right to share more than just her company – he was going to have complete and utter rights to her. All of her – including her body. Aislinn was as pure as the driven snow – Jenny knew that for a fact. She’d never encouraged any man to court her because of her father – she never knew if the young man would come over on one of her father’s “bad days”, and the older she grew, the fewer and few good days there were.
Jenny had wanted to talk to Aislinn about what she could expect – Jenny’s husband Arthur had stuck by Aislinn’s family right along with her, functioning as a jack of all trades, and they had been married for almost thirty years. But that kind of thing wasn’t discussed in polite company, and there had been no openings that Jenny had seen to begin such a conversation. Jenny couldn’t even be sure that the girl was a true version – there was no telling what kind of evil mischief that Uncle of hers got up to when she wasn’t around to guard her chick. There was very little that Jenny would put past Bertram Montgomery. He was pure snake in human clothing.
And if Lord MacNaughton found out that Aislinn wasn’t a virgin – if she wasn’t – Jenny was sure that they’d all be tossed out in the cold on their ears, with no place to go. They certainly couldn’t go back to Aislinn’s uncle, not that they would even consider that. They wouldn’t. So they would be left penniless in the street if Aislinn’s uncle hadn’t been able to keep his hands to himself.
She didn’t know if that was the case, but then and there Jenny made up her mind to do something to assure that the Master had no doubt at all as to Aislinn’s innocence in their marriage bed. There were always ways around things, and Jenny knew them all.
Someone knocked sharply on the carriage door. “Is everything all right?”
Even after such short acquaintance, both Jenny and Aislinn recognized the owner of that no nonsense voice. “Yes, everything’s fine,” Aislinn answered, proud that her tone revealed no tremor at all, despite the fact that butterflies were still somersaulting in her stomach.
“We’re ready,” he said, subtlely letting her know that they were waiting for her.
“That’s good,” Aislinn answered, not aware that she sounded somewhat flippant to her anxious groom.
Kell wasn’t at all happy with that response. He had a whole church full of people – relatives, friends, townspeople, who all had waited what they considered to be an inordinate amount of time for him to select a bride. They were interested in waiting much longer, to say nothing of the fact that they were anticipating the ales and lagers that would flow – as well as the feast – at the reception.
It was in Kell’s mind to pull open the door and drag her out, but Grant and Burke each laid a hand on his shoulder when he made a preemptive reach for the handle. “Give her some time, brother,” Burke advised, speaking low and slow, as he would to a wild animal he was trying to calm. “She’s not one of your men to be ordered about and forced to your will. She’s new to you – new to here – new to everything. Let her come to you in her own time.”
Kell gaze down at his a man who was a mere year his junior with a sharp eye. “How did you get to be so wise?”
“I had a good teacher,” he smiled back.
Kell let himself be corralled back to the alter, where he tried to wait for his bride as patiently as possible, fidgeting the entire time and causing small smiles to be exchanged between his brothers, who found a nervous Kell – which was a heretofore unknown commodity – vastly amusing.
Aislinn, meanwhile, had taken several deep breaths and made peace with herself and her future, at least to the extent that she’d asked Jenny to get the footman to help her get out of the carriage.
What surprised her was that the two men who appeared to assist her weren’t the footman she’d seen when she entered the carriage. They reminded her of her husband to be, but each of them was just a bit different from him.
Before she could say a word, they each offered her a hand and assisted her to the ground. Jenny manned the train, unbuttoning it from the bustle but draping it over her arm until they got into the vestibule. “Pleas
e allow us to introduce ourselves,” one of the gentlemen addressed her. “I’m your groom’s brother, Burke MacNaughton.” He was grinning from ear to ear, and it was positively infectious.
“And I’m the cute one of the brothers, my dear new sister, Grant MacNaughton, at your service,” he winked rakishly at Aislinn as he bowed, also smiling goofily.
Aislinn was feeling better by the minute. “It’s wonderful to meet you kind sirs. I’m Aislinn Montgomery – soon to be a MacNaughton, too.” she executed a deep, formal curtsey to each of them, a smile of her own wreathing her face.
But Burke could see those cloudy eyes. She’d been crying. There were no streaks in her make up, thankfully. Kell hated made up women. Eager to reassure her, Burke said, “A most welcome and beautiful addition to the family, I must say.” His brother nodded eagerly in agreement.
“We knew you didn’t have a father or an uncle in attendance at the wedding, so we’ve deserted our brother in hopes that you’d do us the honor of escorting you down the aisle,” Grant offered graciously, as they wandered slowly into the church.
Tears came unbidden and spilled down her cheeks. That two complete strangers would have thought of her – cared enough about a woman they didn’t know to want to do that for her. She was touched beyond belief. “I would be honored to be on your arms.”
Jenny fanned out the elaborate train and gave Aislinn the once over, not hesitating in the least to push either of the brothers aside to get to the young woman she considered her daughter. “Smile, lovey. This is your day of days. Today you are queen.”
When Jenny pronounced her ready, the brothers produced a small bouquet of roses and orange blossom – the roses for love, and the orange blossoms a sign of purity and innocence. Aislinn didn’t know what to do when faced with such kindness.
The MacNaughton Bride Page 3
