The Guardian

by Margaret Mallory

  “This time, I’m determined to make love to ye slowly,” he said with a gleam in his eye, “and you’re going to let me have my way.”

  “I will,” she said, smiling back at him.

  Ian sat up and took her hand. “I have something I want to ask ye first.”

  The seriousness of his expression sent a frisson of anxiety through her. She sat up cross-legged to face him and pulled the blanket over her shoulders. “Aye, what is it?”

  Ian licked his lips. She’d never seen Ian look nervous before in her life, and it put her on edge to see it now.

  “What I want to ask ye is, would ye like to do it over again?” he said. “Get married, I mean. With friends and neighbors coming to wish us well, a big feast, music and dancing.”

  Sìleas was too stunned to speak.

  “I’d like to do it right this time,” he said.

  Tears stung at the back of her eyes. Her voice came out as a whisper. “Ye mean it?”

  “I do,” he said, his eyes soft on hers. “When I give ye my vows before all our friends and neighbors, they will know I give them freely and that I mean to keep them.”

  She had tried not to let what others said hurt her, but in an island clan where everyone knew everyone else’s business, it had been hard. Ian had found a way to restore her pride by honoring her before their clan.

  “Murdoc said that wasn’t a real priest who wed us that day,” she said.

  “Ach, I should have guessed my uncle would do that. Then we’ll ask Father Brian to bless our marriage.” Ian lifted her chin with his finger. “I want ye looking your loveliest in a fine gown, and every man eating his heart out because ye are mine.”

  Sìleas thought of the ill-fitting red gown that sagged at her bosom and made her skin look blotchy and her hair orange.

  “I’ll wear a gown of blue, the color of my true love’s eyes,” she said, letting a slow smile spread across her face. “It will be so gorgeous that the women will talk of nothing else for weeks.”

  “Ye will do it then?” Ian asked. “Marry me again?”

  Sìleas threw her arms around his neck. “I’d marry ye a thousand times over, Ian MacDonald.”

  Ian held her tight against him.

  “When I was a lad, Teàrlag predicted I would wed twice,” he said with a laugh in his voice. “Teàrlag could have saved me a good deal of trouble if she’d told me it would be to the same woman both times.”

  Sìleas looked up at him from under her lashes. “So which wife is it that ye intend to make love to slowly?”

  “It will have to be you, mo chroí,” Ian said, as he kissed her below her ear and eased her back on the bed, “and you again.”

  CHAPTER 43

  Sìleas and Beitris greeted the last group of women as they entered the gatehouse of Knock Castle. The women cooed and clucked as they surveyed the presents that were laid out for that very purpose.

  “Ach, the stitching on that pillow is lovely, Margaret,” one woman said to another.

  “But not as useful a gift for a bride as the fine iron pot ye gave her,” her friend replied.

  It was only three days since Connor was made chieftain, so the women had barely had time to prepare their gifts. But after Sìleas’s long wait for a real wedding celebration, none of them was complaining. Despite the mild smell of charred wood that lingered in the air, Sìleas was glad now that Ian had insisted they not wait until the keep was livable to have their wedding.

  Once the women had finished viewing the gifts and complimenting each other, Beitris called out, “Time for the washing of the bride’s feet!”

  Sìleas laughed as the women sat her down on a stool before a wooden tub—a wedding present from Ilysa—pulled off her shoes and stockings, and stuck her feet into the cold water.

  Sìleas had not grown up in the company of women. She had always felt awkward among them, particularly in the years when she didn’t fit in with either the unmarried lasses or the women with husbands. More than a few had made thoughtless remarks to her about Ian’s long absence. But today, she felt accepted for the first time—and she was enjoying herself.

  Sìleas watched as her mother-in-law twisted off her wedding ring and tossed it into the tub.

  “You have the happiest marriage I know, so your ring is sure to bring me the best of luck.” Sìleas took Beitris’s hand and smiled up at her. “I am blessed to have a mother-in-law who is like a mother to me.”

  Beitris sniffed and wiped her nose as the women cheered.

  Then all the women in want of husbands gathered around the tub. Sìleas shrieked as they took turns scrubbing her ticklish feet and searching the bottom of the tub for the ring. Though Ilysa was younger than she and a widow, Sìleas was surprised to see her standing in line to take a turn. Ilysa had never shown any interest in remarrying before.

  Ilysa, however, never got her turn.

  “I have it!” Dina shouted. The other women exchanged glances, for they were all quite aware of how Dina lost her last husband.

  “Good luck to ye, Dina,” Sìleas said. “May ye be as happy as I am.”

  The women finally deigned to notice Ian and the other men who, by tradition, were crowded around the doorway, joking with each other and trying to peek inside. Ian let the women drag him into the room and sit him down on a stool on the other side of the tub from Sìleas.

  Ian’s gaze was warm on hers as he put his hand over his heart and mouthed, a chuisle mo chroí. There was a good deal of sighing from the women, but that didn’t stop them from covering his feet in ashes before putting them in the tub.

  The feet washing and gift viewing were supposed to take place the eve before the wedding, but they had decided to do it all on the same day so Father Brian could be on his way.

  Ian took her hands and helped her to her feet. As they stood together in the tub, he gave her a kiss that made her forget the others were watching—until she heard them shouting their approval.

  “I think he could give my Donald a lesson or two,” one of the older women said, causing another round of laughter.

  “Out with ye, Ian Aluinn,” another woman said, and Ian let a matron half his size push him out the door.

  Before they could close it on him, he blew Sìleas a kiss. “I’ll be waiting for ye in the yard, a chroí.”

  “You’re a lucky lass,” Dina said, as the women helped her out of the tub and dried her feet. From the way the other women’s eyes had followed Ian, Sìleas suspected Dina wasn’t the only woman in the room who would have been more than glad to change places with her.

  Sìleas wondered where Beitris had gone when she saw her return from the corner of the room with a shimmering silk gown the color of bluebells.

  “Ahh, it’s gorgeous,” Sìleas breathed, as she fingered the fine material. “When did ye have time to make it?”

  Beitris’s smile was so broad she looked as if her face might split. “I started working on it the night Ian came home from France.”

  Sìleas didn’t bother asking how her mother-in-law had known she would be needing it. She lifted her arms as two of the women pulled her gown over her head, leaving her in her chemise.

  “Beitris, this one will give ye many grandchildren,” an old woman with pure white hair said, as she pinched Sìleas’s hip.

  “She’ll have beautiful babes,” Beitris said, as she dropped the gown over Sìleas’s head.

  The gown floated over her in a swirl of cool silk. It fit perfectly, clinging to every curve as if it had been stitched by faeries. Sìleas met Beitris’s eyes and knew they were both thinking of the awful red gown she had worn to her first wedding.

  “Thank ye, Beitris,” she said, as they grinned at each other.

  “Ach, such luck you’ll have!” the women exclaimed again and again, for a wedding gown that fit well was a sign of good luck.

  The women slid thin stockings up her legs and combed her hair. As a last touch, Ilysa tied a sprig of white heather in her hair, another token of good fortune.
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  Then all the women cooed and sighed, telling her, as they did all brides, that she was the loveliest bride they’d ever seen. When she stepped out into the bailey yard and Ian looked at her, she felt as if it were true.

  He was so handsome that the sight of him made her feel as if something had slammed against her chest. The crystal she had given him had been fashioned into a pin that held his plaid at the shoulder, and he wore a sprig of white heather in his cap like the one she wore one in her hair.

  Duncan, Connor, and Alex were next to him, dressed in their best and looking fine. Being young and healthy, they were recovering quickly from their injuries, though their bruises still told the tale.

  When Duncan raised his eyebrows at her, she nodded and he began to play. His pipes filled the bailey yard with a song of hope and joy. All eyes were on her as she joined Ian to stand before Father Brian.

  “I, Ian Payton MacDonald, take ye, Sìleas MacDonald, to be my wife. In the presence of God and before these witnesses, I promise to be a loving and faithful husband to ye until God shall separate us by death.”

  Sìleas said her vows in turn. When the priest had blessed them, Ian kissed her and the crowd erupted into cheers.

  Connor was the first to congratulate them. “May ye be blessed with long life and peace.”

  Sìleas squeezed Ian’s hand. Between the rebellion brewing and Hugh’s escape, peace seemed unlikely, but she would hope for a long life together.

  “May ye grow old with goodness and with riches,” Duncan said, giving them another of the usual blessings.

  When it was Alex’s turn, he said to Ian, “Ye saved yourself a lot of trouble by marrying a MacDonald. As they say, ‘Marry a lass and ye marry her whole clan.’ ”

  “I’m glad ye mentioned that,” Connor said, resting his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “That is precisely the reason I need ye to marry a woman from another clan. I’ll be calling on ye soon to do your duty.”

  “Not me,” Alex said, putting his hands up and taking a step back. “I live by the saying, ‘The smart fellow’s share is on every dish.’ ”

  They all pretended not to hear Alex’s parents, who had gone off to the far end of the bailey yard to shout at each other.

  They had the feast in the yard, too, since the guardhouse was too small for all the guests. Though it was chilly, it wasn’t raining, and the food the women brought was tasty and plentiful. They warmed up afterward with music and dancing. All the men kissed Sìleas, giving her pennies, until Ian put a stop to that particular tradition.

  “Let’s get the priest,” he whispered in her ear.

  They found Father Brian and sneaked away without anyone noticing—or at least they pretended not to notice. When they reached the makeshift bedchamber Ian had set up for them on the upper floor of the gatehouse, he carried her over the threshold.

  He set her down, and they waited while Father Brian sprinkled the bed with holy water.

  “Do your part,” he said to Ian with a wink, “and ye will have many fine children.”

  As soon as Ian closed the door behind the priest, Sìleas burst out laughing. “I already put the fertility charm Teàrlag gave me under the bed.”

  Ian pulled her into his arms. “We’ll have to do our best not to waste so much luck.”

  EPILOGUE

  NINE MONTHS LATER

  Fear was an unnatural state for Ian.

  His mother came downstairs periodically to report that his wife was well and all was proceeding as expected. Despite her reassurances, an unfamiliar sensation of panic flooded through his limbs every time he heard his mother’s step on the stairs.

  “Sit down, Ian, before ye wear out your new floor,” Alex said.

  Why had he got Sìleas with child? What was he thinking? It wasn’t of children, that was for certain. But God help him, her mother had died in childbirth.

  “She is a strong lass,” his father said. The sympathy in his eyes showed that he understood in a way the others, who had no wives, could not.

  Sìleas screamed again, and his heart stopped in his chest.

  “ ’Tis only when they’re too weak to scream that ye have cause to fret,” his father said.

  His father could be lying to him, but the strength of Sìleas’s voice was reassuring.

  “I think I hear her cursing,” Duncan said, looking nearly as worried as Ian. “That’s a good sign, aye?”

  “How long does this take, da?” Ian ran his hands through his hair as he paced. “I shouldn’t have brought her back here to Knock Castle. What if it’s bad luck?”

  “First ye had Father Brian bless every nook and corner,” Alex said. “Then ye kept poor old Teàrlag here for three days making silly spells for protection.”

  “That was to comfort Sìleas,” Ian said—and ignored the snorts from the others.

  “If the two of ye have been unhappy here,” Connor said, “you’ve done a good job of fooling everyone.”

  They’d been too happy. Ian feared they’d made the faeries jealous.

  “Ian,” his mother said from doorway. “Ye can come up now.”

  She stepped aside to let him run by her, and he took the stairs three at a time. When he entered their bedchamber, Sìleas was propped up on pillows, flanked by Ilysa and Dina.

  His wife looked tired but radiant. Praise God! He never wanted to go through this again.

  Ilysa moved aside so he could take her place next to the bed. “We’ll leave ye alone,” she said. “Just call if ye need me.”

  “I’ll say good-bye, because Gòrdan will be coming to fetch me soon.” Dina patted her own expanding belly and gave them a broad wink. “He’s a very… attentive… husband.”

  When Ian asked Gòrdan to watch over Dina, he never suspected he was fostering a lasting union. It appeared to be a love match as well. Having a steady man like Gòrdan had settled Dina, and Dina added a spark to Gòrdan. The shouting matches between Dina and Gòrdan’s mother, however, were the stuff of legends.

  When the door closed behind the two women, Ian brushed his fingers against Sìleas’s cheek. “Are ye all right, a chuisle mo chroí?”

  “I am,” she said.

  “Ach, ye sounded as if ye were being tortured.”

  “I was,” she said, but when she smiled up at him, Ian’s heart did a turn in his chest. Sìleas had an inner glow that made her unbearably beautiful.

  “Ye haven’t looked yet,” she said.

  The blanket over the bundle in her arm shielded the babe’s face from him.

  “What is it?” he asked. “A boy or a girl?”

  He hoped for a boy, only because the thought of having a girl frightened him half to death. What if she was a bairn like her mother, falling into trouble at every opportunity? He’d be an old man before his time.

  “Take your daughter,” Sìleas said.

  When he lifted the bundle from her arm, the babe weighed nothing at all.

  “She is a wee tiny thing, isn’t she?” He pushed the blanket back to see her face—and his daughter held his heartstrings from that moment. “Ah, but she is a beauty! She’s going to have lovely orange hair, just like you.”

  “My hair is not orange.”

  It was, but he didn’t argue.

  “Do ye want to see the other one now?” she asked.

  “What? There’s more?”

  “Just one more. Another girl.”

  He hadn’t noticed the bundle in his wife’s other arm until now. She lifted it up and rested it in the crook of his arm.

  “This one has orange hair, too,” Ian said as he looked at his second lovely daughter. He grinned at his wife. “There’re going to be trouble, aren’t they?”

  “More than likely,” she said, sounding quite complacent about it. “You’re going to be a wonderful da.”

  Sìleas always had such faith in him.

  “What shall we name them?” he asked.

  “I’d like to name one Beitris, after your mother,” Sìleas said. “What about Alexandra for
the other, after Alex?”

  “Fine,” he said, smiling down at his wee girls. “Duncan and Connor are not good names for a lass.”

  “We should have sons after this,” she said. “We’ll need at least four.”

  “Four sons? Why do we need any sons at all?” Overjoyed as he was with their two babes, he wasn’t anxious to risk his wife’s life again.

  “So we can name them after Connor, Duncan, Payton, and Niall, of course.” She touched his arm. “After being an only child, I want a houseful of children.”

  He nodded, hoping it would be easier next time, but expecting it wouldn’t. “If we do two at a time, it won’t take long.”

  He heard a tinkle of laugher and looked up to see what looked very much like a woman in a pale green gown floating above the bed.

  “It’s the Green Lady—she’s come back,” Sìleas said, sounding pleased at finding a ghost in their bedchamber. “I’ve never seen her smile before.”

  Ian decided he could live with a smiling ghost if it made his wife happy.

  As he leaned down with his babes in his arms to give his beloved Sìleas a kiss, he could have sworn that the Green Lady winked at him.

  HISTORICAL NOTE

  Last summer, I was lucky enough to take a trip to Scotland. One memorable afternoon, I drove across the Sleat Peninsula of Skye, from the ruins of Knock Castle to the ruins of Dunscaith Castle, on a one-lane road that had more sheep than cars. Seeing the castles I was writing about was an amazing experience, and the island is breathtakingly beautiful. The landscape hasn’t changed much over the centuries, so I found it easy to imagine my heroes traipsing over the hills or sailing the shores.

  Researching clan histories of five hundred years ago proved far more challenging. Not much was recorded in a written record at the time. While there is a rich tradition of oral histories, clans often have different versions of the same long-ago events. And clan alliances, including marriages between chieftains’ families, were made and broken with a frequency that is hard to follow.