by Jane Stain
Vange moved to bundle up the English renaissance faire costume she had spent every bit of her savings on not even three months before.
“Oh, leave it here, my dear. Carrying a bundle would ruin the lovely picture you do make in your new clothes.”
Telling herself she was being silly for worrying about them, Vange left her own clothes there and went on down to breakfast. She was immensely glad that she’d found Emily’s email and rescued it. Something told her she wouldn’t be seeing those clothes again.
The dining room was packed with people dressed in various forms of red MacLean plaid, and they all cheered when Vange came down the stairs.
Harking back to her drama days, she gave them a bow.
They cheered all the more.
She looked all over the dining room for Peadar, but her heart sank a little when she didn’t see him.
“Tsk tsk, my dear. You will not see him until we reach the kirk, but do not fash. We will go there after we break our fast.”
In a daze, Vange drank hot tea and ate eggs and toast and strawberry shortcake with the people of this fishing village. Instead of topping the berries with whipped cream, they poured liquid cream into the bowl, which soaked into the cake. It was delicious.
And then Saraid was pulling her up onto her feet.
“Thank you all so much,” Vange told the room at large. “It was a lovely breakfast.”
They must have been the happiest people on Planet Earth, because they clapped and cheered at her tiny speech as if she were a TV celebrity or something.
And then they all followed her—not only out of the public house, but all the way up a larger hill to the kirk—ringing bells and singing.
The kirk was a tiny stone building without any windows. It wasn’t big enough for half of the crowd that had bustled up the hill. The guards were at the door, and they only let in Vange and Saraid.
Vange could feel the big smile she had on her face as she stood there blind for a moment and allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim candlelight.
Once they did, she gasped.
Peadar stood there in the front of the kirk at the altar, glorious once more in a kilt. His huge smile matched the one she’d worn from all the singing and bell-ringing. He stood extra proud, and she noticed a claymore was strapped to his back once again.
“Welcome, my dear,” said an old priest in robes. “Come on up here, child.”
There wasn’t any music playing, and Vange giggled when she caught herself humming the ‘da dun da dun’ of the wedding march. She was sure that music hadn’t even been written yet.
Peadar took both of her hands when she got to the altar.
And that made this real.
This was her life, not some fairytale.
Vange looked up into Peadar’s eyes, searching them for… She would know it when she found it. She was on the brink of thinking she had when the priest started their vows.
Peadar said his ‘I do’ first.
Just after he did, his eyes got really big and he was smiling even wider than he had been before. He looked positively ecstatic to be marrying her.
This was flattering, but a little disturbing.
And then it was her turn.
She was about to promise to love-honor-and-obey someone she’d only known two weeks. And in this day and age, they really meant the ‘obey’ part. She shouldn’t have gotten herself into this situation. She should refuse to say the vows. What could they do?
Peadar would protect her anyway, she was sure of it. He was a good man. There was no reason—
But he looked so happy to be marrying her.
Was it because he loved her? Did he daydream about her, too? Darn. She should have asked him. But how could she have even brought that up?
And it was now or never.
A deep seated instinct told Vange that if she left the man at the altar—even just to say ‘not yet’—then his heart would be wounded and she would never be as close to him as she might have been.
Ulp.
It was a heady moment for Vange. Knowing this would change everything in her life and looking up into Peadar’s wildly happy eyes, she said the words.
“I do.”
Wow.
Now she knew why Peadar’s eyes had popped open.
She remembered now, all of it.
As soon as Vange said “I do” and joined her life with Peadar’s, all her memories of having time traveled came flooding back to her.
They had known each other for two months rather than two weeks, and it felt more like two years, with all they had been through together.
Vange knew that the two of them were staring at one another in that same way she had found so annoying whenever Emily and Dall were together, but she didn’t care. The people around them should all just go away and leave the two of them alone now anyway.
The priest put a hand on each of their shoulders.
OK, maybe not in a church.
“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
And then Peadar put his arms around her, and they were kissing. And she knew the physical part of her marriage would be … glorious. She couldn’t wait to get back to their room and start it.
Peadar seemed to be thinking similar thoughts, because he all but bounded out of the kirk with her.
But the crowd was still there, waiting outside the kirk for them, and when they emerged, the crowd cheered and rang their bells some more.
The village musician was there with his flute, and the impatient couple were made to dance folk dances with the villagers while they clapped and sang and rang their bells.
Someone brought out a case of wine, and the impatient couple were made to wait while everyone’s flagon was filled and then while several of the village elders proposed toasts to the newlyweds.
All the children of the village presented Vange with gifts of the flowers they had picked while she’d been inside the kirk. She politely sat for them while they wove the flowers into her braided hair.
Peadar was off with the men, getting many pats on the back.
Finally, the two of them were allowed to stand next to each other while all the other married couples gave them advice, which Vange was glad she couldn’t understand.
Vange turned her puzzled face to her new husband.
“Do Scots always do this at the weddings of strangers?”
“Nay, lass,” Peadar said. “Tis as if we were family to them. Tis passing strange.”
Shrugging, Peadar turned with his arm around her waist to walk down the larger hill to the inn.
Vange noticed Saraid falling in right behind them. And the crowd followed again, bells ringing and voices singing.
It was nothing like the wedding Vange had been planning for herself in the back of her mind since she had attended her first wedding when she was five, but it was wonderful, none the less.
When they got to the inn, Saraid spoke up.
“Come down to the dock. I have a ship waiting for you.”
Vange looked at Peadar to see if this was a surprise to him, too.
It was.
Her new husband looked disappointed at first too, which made her smile at him. He smiled back, and then he squeezed her waist and rubbed her back a bit through her bodice.
“We thank you, Saraid—for the ship, the wedding, the room, and the meals. If—”
“Do not mention it. Now come, I say. Verily, the ship has been waiting.”
Vange cast one longing glance up toward their room—and not only because her costume appeared destined to remain there without her—and then she, Peadar, and Saraid led the ringing and singing parade down onto the dock.
The ship was about fifty feet long, and by the way all the villagers admired it, Vange gathered it was big for this time period. Unlike the little men’s boat, this ship had those cool forward-facing sails, which were all up and flapping in the ample wind. Several port holes lined its side, which told her the ship had several rooms below d
eck.
The captain stepped out onto the dock to meet them.
Saraid whispered so that only Vange and Peadar could hear her.
“Do play along, or it will go ill for you. I give you a good life. Best you enjoy it.”
Neither Vange nor Peadar had the chance to respond before Saraid went on from behind them in a much louder voice that at least the whole dock and perhaps the whole village could hear.
She spoke in Gaelic, but Peadar translated it for Vange.
“Captain. As the promised gallowglass in the service of Shane O’Neil, I send with you my grandson, Peadar MacLean—along with the wife he wedded this day.”
The villagers all rang their bells and gave a hooting cheer which shook Vange’s bones with its familiarity.
Peadar’s grip on her tightened. “Sae sorry, lass.”
“Let’s just make a run for it.”
Vange turned to jump off the dock into the water and swim away from all this. The waves here were small compared to when her parents had taken her and Emily on vacation in Hawaii one year and they’d all learned to body surf. She and Peadar could swim around the island to the side that faced the mainland and hitch a ride from there, maybe even swim across.
She almost made it, too, except that Peadar had a hold of her waist.
She teetered on the edge of the dock over the water for a moment, and then he pulled her back up so that she was standing beside him again.
All the villagers were gasping, wide eyed.
And Peadar laughed.
It was a nervous laugh, the kind of laugh that said you were embarrassed by something. Or someone.
Vange was back to being afraid she was in this all alone, that her marriage to Peadar was a sham and that he didn’t really care for her. Although what his motive was, not even her fear could imagine.
And then he spoke to the captain in English, and there was no reason for him to do that unless he wanted Vange to understand, so she listened.
“I pray you, forgive my wife, Captain. Of course the lass is nay a witch who can swim. I would never marry such a person, I assure you. Howsoever, my wife does have a deathly fear of leaving the mainland. She has never been to Ireland, but I trust that we will be happy there.”
Only witches could swim?
Really?
From the safety of Peadar’s embrace, Vange looked at all the villagers. It seemed to be true. They shrank from the sides of the dock as if they were … deathly afraid of drowning should they fall in.
But right now, everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to hear the captain’s verdict.
“I forgive her,” he said.
Everyone let their breath out at the same time, audibly.
The captain went on.
“And I shall do my best to make your wedding voyage a happy one. Now, come aboard.”
As they walked up the gangplank, Vange whispered to Peadar.
“What’s a gallowglass? And who is Shane O’Neill?”
14 Vange & Peadar 2
“Later, lass, I shall explain the new duties I have been assigned in Ireland,” Peadar whispered.
And then, arm in arm, the two of them followed the captain down the deck and into a door. They had to go single file down a narrow wooden staircase, and then the captain stopped in front of another door below decks.
“Now, Lady MacLean,” said the kilted captain matter-of-factly in English, “I did promise to do my best to make your wedding voyage a happy one, and I shall keep my word. He looked at Vange then as if she were made of glass and might shatter any second.
That was when Vange realized he meant her when he said ‘Lady MacLean’. Of all the luck. It was hard enough pretending to be from this backward time period where husbands spoke for their wives and being able to swim made you a witch. She was just beginning to feel like she could handle that much. And now she had to pretend to know the first thing about being an honest-to-goodness lady?
But the captain expected a response from her.
Unsure if she should be speaking to him, she started to look up at Peadar’s face for his reaction.
But using the arm he’d almost always had around her today, their wedding day, her new husband patted her back.
Hm. She knew what that pat meant somehow. This was weird and kind of cool.
He meant she should respond, but not really say anything.
She felt a slight smile forming on her face when she did respond to the captain, because it amused her that without so much as talking about it, she and Peadar had worked out this communication system of pats and waist squeezes.
“Uh, thank you?”
“Howsoever,” the captain’s smile was condescending as he paused.
He couldn’t condescend to a lady, could he? Surely not with her lord right there to hear it?
But before Vange even tilted her head to look at him, Peadar squeezed her waist.
So she was not to comment on the captain’s tone. OK.
“Please do give us your howsoever, and we shall endeavor to meet with your approval,” said Peadar in a polished English she’d had no idea he possessed. It matched the captain’s, which was quite good.
Trying something new, Vange patted Peadar on the back.
Her husband chuckled, but only in his throat, at so low a volume that Vange felt sure only she could hear him.
“Very well,” said the captain. “Howsoever, I do know your wife be foreign, and I can tolerate a foreigner’s foibles, yet there be something … not quite right about her. See that it does nay show aboard this ship.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“This be your cabin here. Your trunk has already been installed within. We shall sup at sunset in my quarters, next door down. Until then, I bid you good day.”
The captain said that last with a slight leer, but he covered it up well and once again had on a professional face as he climbed up the narrow stairs.
“Well enough,” Peadar called up to the captain.
And then he whispered so only Vange could hear, lest part of their secret be discovered, “Mrs. MacGregor.”
And on that note, he simultaneously pushed the door open and swept her off her feet so that he could carry her inside, where the two of them spent an extremely pleasant afternoon.
Peadar had taken Vange’s braid out, and he was combing through her hair with his fingers as they cuddled in the tiny bed of their honeymoon cabin, both fully relaxed.
“Aw, I am nay so bad a lover as that, am I?”
“What do you mean?”
The sea lashed up just as Vange tried to roll onto her back so she could see his face, throwing her into him.
He laughed and cuddled her close.
“Heh ha ha. This be more to my liking.”
Vange tried to tickle him, but it didn’t work. Drat. He had to have some weakness she could tease him about.
“More to your liking than the past four hours? I find that hard to believe.”
She finally succeeded at looking into his face.
He smiled at her.
“Nay, naught could be so satisfying as that, lass. Howsoever, you were laughing a few moments gone by.”
“Oh.”
Vange hugged Peadar tight. It was wonderful to be here alone with him. For a few hours, she’d been able to forget the panic that had started to seep into her the moment that thief had grabbed Emily’s phone.
Now that panic was coming back.
She put on a funny face and forced a giggle for his benefit. No sense in being weepy. She might lose him, and his was the only real company she had.
“Hehehe. I was laughing because this cabin is about the size of my bathroom.”
“Ha ha. If yours is anything like the one Da and Emily have, then aye, tis true.”
They lay there caressing each other, looking up at the shelves built into the one straight wall and at the curved wooden hull with its one porthole near the top, fitted with a metal cover.
Vaguely, Vange reme
mbered the captain yelling at them to close that during one particularly rough point in the voyage. She also dimly remembered Peadar pulling the bed down over the trunk that had been the only thing inside the cabin when they had arrived.
Knock knock knock.
There came a loud banging on their door, followed by the captain’s voice.
“On with your supper clothes, loveys, and meet me in my quarters.”
Softly so that only her husband could hear, Vange joked about this.
“Do we have to?”
But of course he was unfamiliar with that joke. He put on a grave face.
“Aye, lass. The captain has great powers out here at sea. Do not anger him.”
“I won’t.”
“Oh, but ‘tis very likely you will, lass.”
He sighed, finished combing her hair, got them up of the bed, and folded it up and away.
“Now my love, you are a married woman who can wear the am breid on your head.”
From the trunk, he took out a perfectly triangular piece of finely handwoven white linen, embroidered around the edges in vines and flowers, a gorgeous garment.
“Breid?”
“In English, they say kertch.”
“I like breid better.”
He smiled at her.
Vange took it and stood there not knowing what to do.
He partly closed the metal door over the porthole so that she could see her reflection in the shiny metal.
Vange stared at herself there in his arms.
It was like staring at another woman from a different age, and her mate.
They were dressed in fresh matching embroidered leine shirts. He wore a fine plaid kilt made of many colors and she had a fine skirt of the same cloth plus an overdress that worked as both bodice and outer skirt.
And then Peadar spoke to Vange, and the reflection solidified in Vange’s mind as yes indeed herself and her new husband.
“The breid is the highland islands version of your wedding ring. It says you be married, and fully an adult person who does have a say at clan meetings, and who can go to court on her own behalf. Wear it proudly, Vange.”
As he spoke, he tied the breid around her head like a scarf, twisting the long ends at the top of her head and then tucking them under the twist so that three points stuck out in back. He touched them one after another and then crossed himself.
