Blaine shrugged. “Not really. I need your consent for a formality only. I will do this anyway. I would just like to do it properly. That is all.”
His lordship glared at him. His face had changed from red to blanched white. His eyes were wide. He opened his mouth and closed it, lips a hard line.
“You leave me no choice, I see.”
Blaine wondered where his own words were coming from. He would never, in his wildest dreams, have imagined he could talk like this. Be so confident, so settled. He was transformed at least for the present. He cleared his throat.
“I leave you choice,” he said reasonably. “With your blessing or without it. This marriage will happen. It is your choice how.”
His lordship laughed. “Fine,” he said lightly. “But know this. You will have no support from me. You will be cut off forever. Penniless. I will not help you.”
Blaine took in a shuddering breath. As a man-at-arms, he had the hope of finding a patron – much as he had here – and earning his board. He could try out for some secular order of knights, and pray they took him in.
With Chrissie by my side, any hardships would be almost enjoyable. And everyone would like her so much that the knights would take us in just to have her around.
He nodded to his lordship.
“Very well. I accept that condition. Now, may I go and speak to Chrissie? I think she needs to know.”
“Pah!” Lord Brien waved a dismissive hand at Blaine. “Go! Don't come back. I wash my hands of both of you. Marry in some pauper-church if you will...you shan't have my blessing, nor wed below my roof.”
Blaine blinked. He could understand his lordship's ire towards him. However, why would he mistreat Chrissie? His own great-niece? His brother's grandchild, raised from birth here in his household? He must be heartless!
“Very well,” Blaine said frostily.
He turned his back, then, and walked out. Whatever his fate might be, he was glad to no longer be working for the likes of Lord Brien. The kind of man who could be so cruel to his own kinswoman was not the kind of man he wished to serve.
No longer. I will seek my own way.
As he walked down the hallway, heading briskly for Chrissie's bedchamber, he suddenly recalled his friends – the brothers Broderick and Duncan of Dunkeld. They might take him in.
As he thought about it, he realized how ideal a situation it was. They respected his work with the men-at-arms and their own chief guardsman was old now. Perhaps they would offer him a similar post in their own castle? That would mean that Chrissie could live with her cousins. That would be perfect!
Feeling his heart light with joy, he rushed up the hallway and to the stairs.
“Chrissie!”
She was waiting for him on the landing. She was wearing a pink dress of soft linen. He caught her in his arms and held her close. Her breasts pressed soft against his chest. Her lips on his were eager and soft, and she smelled sweet. He held her, feeling dizzy with longing. He wanted to carry her to her bedchamber right there and lose himself in the sweetness of her, the intoxication and the scent of roses.
He drew in a shuddering breath, fighting to restrain himself and his leaping imagination, and leaned back. Looked into those pale eyes.
“He agreed to it.”
“Blaine!” Chrissie gave a happy shout, and wrapped her arms around his chest, drawing him to her. “Oh! That's wonderful!”
Blaine squeezed her firmly against him, and then sighed. “Oh, Chrissie. I am afraid it will be a poor wedding.”
“Any wedding with you would be the best wedding,” she said firmly. She stroked his cheek. He smiled sadly into those wells of cornflower blue that were her eyes.
“I am sorry, my dear. Your uncle says he will not help us. He refuses to have the wedding here for us.”
“Well, then,” Chrissie said lightly. “I do have other relations, you know. We can have it at the Connolly estate. Why not?”
Blaine stared at her. He had not thought of that! Of course!
He hugged her in a crushing embrace, enfolding her in his arms. “You're amazing,” he whispered frankly at her. He giggled. She did too.
“You big lummox,” she said fondly. “Have you forgotten how my father's family dotes on me? They gave me my first horse, and every year they send bolts of cloth for my dresses.”
He chuckled, stroking her hair. “You move in high places. I had forgotten how well-connected my future wife is.” He beamed at her appreciatively, and she blushed, hands twisting her skirt like a much younger person.
“I suppose I have my uses...”
Blaine shook his head, voice ragged with feeling. “You are not a thing with uses,” he said, his voice raw. “You are the most precious being in my world.”
Chrissie kissed him, a tender, gentle kiss full on his lips. She ruffled his short, dark hair. She was crying.
“That is so dear of you, Blaine. So very, very dear.”
“It's true,” he said simply. The fact that such a simple, true statement could move her so deeply made him both angry and aroused a tenderness he had never thought himself capable of feeling. He stroked her hair and she moved against him, making a little sigh like a sleeping babe. He held her and her body pressed against his, the sweet rise of her breasts against his chest, the soft roundness of her belly just at his groin.
She moved against him and he moved with her. His body was responding fast, his loins aching as her own body slid against him, driving him to a place of arousal he had never encountered before. The scent of roses was in his nostrils and her soft body melted in his arms. He felt himself start to shake, and his body thrust against hers as he started to shake, and shake...
“Chrissie,” he said gruffly. “We have to stop this. Now.”
She looked up at him, eyes suddenly blazing. “Why?”
He sighed. “I love you, my dearest. I want you so badly. More than I have wanted anything throughout my life. Trust me. But we cannot.”
She sighed. She hid her face in his chest, her arms tight around his body. At length, face streaked with tears, she spoke.
“I know,” she said softly. “But I...I want you...I want to forget.” She looked away from him, eyes on the flagstones, body shaking as she relived whatever memories she had.
Blaine sighed.
“I know, sweet one. I want that too. I really do. And we will be married soon. Tomorrow, if you wish it. We will make it happen.”
“Tomorrow?” she giggled. “Really?”
Blaine smiled, relief flooding through him to see how she smiled at him. “Yes. Tomorrow? If you want that?”
Chrissie giggled. Whatever she thought, this seemed to be an amusing idea, for she laughed for quite some time. At length she slowed. “My dear,” she said quietly, “I am also in haste. But do you think perhaps we could wait for Tuesday? I need to sew a dress.”
Blaine laughed too, then, especially at the seriousness of her expression just then. They embraced and, clinging to each other, they laughed and laughed. The laughter was release, and relief. At the end of it, both their cheeks were damp.
“Well, then,” Chrissie said a little shakily. “I am going to have to find Ambeal. It seems,” she added, “as if I have a dress to make. And I must write to Uncle Sean at Glencurrie. He will make sure we have a wedding fitting of his brother's daughter.”
Blaine smiled at her and stroked her hair. “I am so glad,” he said. “You should have the most beautiful wedding in the world. You are so lovely.”
Chrissie laughed. “Flattery!” she accused lightly, but her eyes were warm. “Well, then. I must plan, and you must make ready, too. You also need a proper outfit. Oh! I am so happy...”She squeezed him, kissed his lips, and then hurried up the stairs, still laughing; Blaine thought his heart might break.
He had just been given everything he had ever wished for. It was every bit as sweet as he imagined.
Now all he needed was a job. That would, he thought, be the perfect wedding present.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
PREPARING FOR A MARRIAGE
PREPARING FOR A MARRIAGE
Chrissie walked briskly along the upper hallway, her heart soaring with love. She had sent a rider, heading off as fast as he could go, towards Glencurrie and her family there. She had exhorted the man to change horses as often as he could, for, though the ride could take three days, she needed the answer soon, before next week.
“Uncle will agree to my request.”
She knew he would. Uncle Sean and Grandfather Ulrich spoiled her. She would not want for anything. He would make provision for her cousins from here to be housed there, too. Amabel and Alina could attend her wedding!
She rushed to the bedchamber to ask Ambeal for her advice. They had little time, but they had a store of bolts of fabric – those gifts from Sean which had not yet been used – to use. They would find some fabric for a wedding gown.
Ambeal was astonished. She squealed, hands covering her mouth. Then she stared at Chrissie.
“My dear lady! But we cannot possibly be ready so soon...”
“Yes,” Chrissie said firmly. “We will be. We have a week. We can make it happen.”
They went up to the attic where Morne, the old steward, kept the household things. Coughing as they were revealed from dusty oilskin covers, Ambeal and Chrissie exclaimed in delight as bolts of silk and damask, lace and satin and linen came to light for the first time in years.
In the end, they settled on a butter-yellow silk. It would take little time, for the rich fabric would speak for itself. They chose a plain style, a high waist and slightly gathered skirt harking back to a much earlier fashion. She would wear a long lacy veil.
“Oh! This is so exciting...”
Chrissie could not keep the wonder from her voice as Morne cut the fabric and then they skipped downstairs, brandishing their treasures. They would not sew a trousseau – what was already made would have to be sufficient, they decided. They would focus on the dress and have it all done and ready by Saturday, when they would have to set out for her uncle's home. That gave them three days.
“We can sit in the turret room,” Chrissie offered. “There's more light there, and the fire is warmer.”
“Yes, milady,” Ambeal nodded, her strawberry curls tousled as she ran a distracted hand through her hair.
Chrissie embraced her impulsively. “I'm sorry to have been so wild, Ambeal.”
“Oh, milady!” Ambeal blinked rapidly, blinking back tears. “'Tis nothing, so it is. Nothing at all.”
They embraced and then Ambeal fetched the silk and they started to cut the dress.
As Chrissie stood in a shaft of sunlight, Ambeal cutting the panels while the cloth draped her, she wished Blaine could have been here to see. He would like what they had chosen, she thought. At least, she hoped he would...
Stop being silly, Chrissie. Blaine will like it. Yellow suits you. And this silk is most becoming.
She smiled at herself in the slightly-warped silver mirror across the room. It showed her a pixie-like face, peering out from a cloud of blonde curls, her cheeks flushed, and her mouth a prim bow of pink. She smiled, rearranging the pixie-like features.
Mayhap I am pretty after all.
Later, she and Ambeal sat in the turret room and sewed. Ambeal had invited another maid, called Stella, to come and join them. They all sat together and sewed and the two women chatted while Chrissie worked, content to listen.
“...and I hear the McDonnell are all in disarray. Something about the laird...”
“Hush yersel', do!” Ambeal said, flashing her eyes at her and then directing her gaze towards Chrissie who sat sewing, pretending to be oblivious to their chatter. She had guessed something, then, of the encounter. Chrissie was pleased she sought to protect her, though also annoyed. She could face news of him, despite what he had done to her.
He is dead, and they are lost without his guidance.
Chrissie was surprised by the flush of pleasure she felt, knowing the Laird of the McDonnell was dead. She had never felt that about any living creature before. However, now she did.
“Whist, Bell. We should all know. It means the threat of war's gone.” Stella said.
Chrissie nodded quietly. It did. Her family was safe, and so were Amabel and Alina. At least from that quarter. Who knew what else would happen, for the nature of the clans was always volatile, and the Lochlann holdings were so extensive, so long established, that there would always be some to dispute their rights to them.
I no longer need to be concerned, Chrissie thought, feeling a strange sense of aloofness as she listened to the maids whisper among themselves. She sewed the silk, marveling at how the needle glided through so easily – so different from working with linen or velvet – and knew herself utterly divorced from the news of Lochlann.
Where they would go, she and her husband, she was not sure. Blaine had suggested Dunkeld, and privately she thought it was a wonderful notion. Her family – Alina and Amabel – were there. The children were there. It would be a haven, the place she would have wished to live most.
“...an' so, now there's no threat from the north, you'll be goin' across country?”
“Aye,” Ambeal replied easily, not looking up from her work. “We're goin' south for the weddin', so we are.”
“At her da's place?”
“Aye.”
Chrissie smiled to herself. She imagined the wedding. It would be a winter wedding, with a long sleeved dress, and holly and ivy in the church, for good fortune. The night after...
She smiled. She was surprised at how eager she felt. She would have expected herself to be afraid, to be revolted. To hate the idea of a man touching her the way...the way...but it was Blaine. Blaine was her love. The man she had, she realized, always wanted. She was not afraid of him. She knew it would be wonderful, with him.
Sitting with her stitching, listening to the maidservant's chatter, her imagination full of thoughts of Blaine, wedding nights, and wonder, she was content.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A WINTER’S WEDDING
A WINTER’S WEDDING
The wedding was brief. It was held in the small, stone chapel at Glencurrie, the wintry light filtering blue-dark through the high windows on a day so dark it was almost night without.
The candles flickered on the altar, the scent of pine and ivy filling the church while, closer, the scent of roses flowed off the bride.
When the priest came to the end of his interminable Latin, Blaine turned to his bride. Chrissie. He lifted the gauzy lace of the veil. He kissed her mouth.
His tongue slid between the soft lips and he knew that moment that his life was truly blessed.
The crowd who greeted them was subdued: relatives of Chrissie's whom he did not know, a strange, pinched, solemn man and a much older one, with a shock of pale hair and wide eyes that seemed almost blind. Amabel was there, her long red hair piled up artfully, and Broderick. Alina was there, and Duncan. Alina looked terrible – gaunt and white. Chrissie seemed shocked and Blaine was sure she was very ill. He planned to ask Duncan about it when he saw him alone.
At this moment, though, they were all sweeping out of the hall, he at the head. He tossed the coins for the gathered cottagers, feeling odd. I am not a lord. This is not my place. However, he was marrying a lady. He had to do what was proper.
They went to the great hall for the banquet. It was dark and smelled of smoke, but the meal was excellent. Blaine was too overwrought, and could only pick at his food. All he could think about was Chrissie.
She overwhelmed his thoughts, each aspect of her filling his senses, driving his body to a point of screaming urgency he knew he would not much longer be able to withstand.
He watched her sip her ale, the fluid leaving a trail of moisture on her lips that he had to clench his hands to stop himself leaning forward to lick up. Her hand, soft and flower-scented, brushed his as she reached for marzipan and he groaned, feeling the satiny softness of it slip
across his skin. He could not help imagining what it would be like when they were upstairs, alone, and he could slowly slide that dress down her sweet body, and kiss her skin and...
“A toast!” the sorrowful looking man exclaimed. “To the newlyweds!”
“Hurrah!”
“Slainte!”
“Slainte!”
The hall filled with cheers, congratulations, and the sound of feet, stamping on flagstones, or men thumping the boards. Blaine felt his heart fill with pride, but he also felt slightly queasy. They had to finish dinner soon! The last course was being eaten already. He had to get upstairs and...
“Well, my friends! 'Tis time to put the newly wedded pair to bed. What say you?”
“Aye!”
“Hurrah!”
“Yes!”
Blaine winced. Chrissie had gone as white as buttermilk, her pallor contrasting with the buttery yellow of her gown. He knew that the crudity and comments, the thought of witnesses, even if on the other side of the door, was overwhelming to her. They were the last thing she needed.
“I propose you give us a head start!” he said, standing unsteadily. They likely thought him the worse for drink; so much the better. They would humor him them.
The whole company laughed, as he had expected. Chrissie glared at him, as if he intended to humiliate her further, then she seemed to realize what he was doing, and she leaned against him.
“We'll foil them,” he whispered to her. He glanced across at his lordship, her uncle, but he seemed oblivious.
The company gave them their head start, as he had requested. Instead of heading upstairs to the fragrant bedchamber that had been set aside for them, the maids spending hours strewing the floor with scented herbs, they headed left and up, to the bedchamber that had been his during his stay.
It was tiny, but the fire warmed it well. It was also private. Theirs alone.
They hurried through the door and shut it. Then they were alone.
Blaine turned to Chrissie. He looked into her eyes, his forehead resting on hers for a moment. Then he kissed her. He shuddered as he tasted her mouth, sugary from dessert, her lips clinging and eager as his tongue separated them.
The Highland Hero (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 13
