When Craig turned around he could not believe his eyes. He had expected Malle to look pretty on her wedding day, but she was the loveliest thing he had ever seen. She smiled at him once then lowered her eyes modestly as her father put her hand into Craig’s. “Look after her,” he warned.
Malle stood by his side, then he turned to her and took her hand and whispered, “You are absolutely radiant, my Malle. I am the most fortunate man in the world.”
“And you are magnificent, Craig,” she replied. “No woman is happier than I am at this moment.”
For one perfect moment it seemed that there were just the two of them there, gazing into each other’s eyes and cocooned in love. Eventually they had to draw apart as the priest arrived—his old, seamed face radiant with joy.
They were being married at MacEwan Castle, but the ceremony was being conducted by Father John Baxter, at the request of the bridal couple.
After the blessing, he welcomed the congregation—who had come from both castles—to see the marriage: every last chambermaid, stable hand, and gardener was there, as well as tenant farmers and their wives. The chapel was simply too small, so they were having the nuptial Mass in the courtyard.
“Never in all my years as a priest has it given me so much pleasure to join a young couple in Holy Matrimony,” he said happily. “Why? Because not only are two souls and two families joining together, but an ancient wound is being healed. The MacEwans and the Dunbars will no longer be enemies but united in the best bond of all; the bond of love, as Craig and Malle say their vows and join their lives together forever. Let us pray.”
The Mass continued, but neither Craig nor Malle heard much of it until they came to the vows.
“Craig,” Father John invited, “as the provider and protector, please go first.”
Craig’s smile was infinitely loving as he looked at the woman who was his whole world. “Malle,” he began, “I adore you, but it has not always been so. When we first met we thought that we would be enemies, but somehow love crept up on us and brought us together, as we were meant to be. So today I pledge my life and all that I have to you, and I vow to love you and be faithful to you for the rest of my days. Please tell me you will be my wife.”
“I will be your wife, Craig,” she replied, looking into his eyes and smiling. “For you are the only man I have ever loved, and the only one I could ever imagine walking beside on life’s journey. You are the only man whose children I want to bear. There has never been anyone else for me, and there will never be. I swear to be a loving and faithful wife to you, and if we are blessed with children, the best mother I can be. Will you be my husband?”
“I will,” he replied, his voice trembling with emotion. Then he slid the golden ring on her finger and they were married, and despite the solemnity of the ceremony, a great cheer went up from the assembled spectators.
The rest of the Mass could not pass quickly enough for them. Father Baxter, sensing their urgency, performed the rest of the ceremony a little more quickly than usual, and soon it was over. They then shared their first loving kiss as husband and wife.
Craig looked down into her eyes with their long black lashes as he caressed her cheek, and said, “Lady Malle Dunbar, I cannot wait to make you mine.”
“And I cannot wait to be yours, Laird Craig Dunbar,” she smiled lovingly.
“Then let us eat and be courteous to our guests for a while,” he suggested, “then we can slip away. All I want to do is have you in my arms, all to myself in our bed.”
“Then we want the same thing, Laird of mine.” She laughed and kissed him, then they went into the throng of guests to be hugged, kissed, and congratulated by hundreds of eager guests. Everyone had been provided for, even the most humble of the servants, who had never eaten so well.
They had been very abstemious with their drinking, watering down their wine and taking only a little whisky, whereas the rest of the guests were becoming distinctly tipsy. After an hour or so, they saw their chance and slipped away. At the bottom of the staircase Craig swept Malle up in his arms and ran upstairs, carrying her in his arms without apparent effort.
At the top he put her down. “This is your castle,” he observed. “Tell me where to go.”
She pointed in the direction of the bedroom and began to tug on his hand, but he stood still, laughing.
“What?” she asked, baffled.
“Well as long as we are standing here, this is as good a place as any for one of these,” he said, as his mouth swooped down on hers.
Malle clung to him, loving the warm sweet pressure of his lips moving on hers and the gentle invasion of his tongue as it stroked hers. It was heavenly, but all too soon it ended, and she took his hand and began to lead him to the room that had been prepared for their first night together. It was magnificent, and he looked around in awe.
The bed was made of richly carved mahogany, and the luster of the rich brown wood was repeated in the rust satin coverlet and fat pillows that rested on it. The hangings were a warm buttercream color which was echoed in the earthenware bowls of mountain avens, daisies, and heather perching on round mahogany tables scattered around the room.
There were hanging embroideries of horses and hounds, flowers and landscapes, and scenes of everyday life, and then Craig looked out of the window to Loch Erin, its navy blue waters ruffled by the breeze blowing in from the sea, which was a misty smudge on the horizon a few miles away.
He turned to her and put his arms around her waist, then gathered her into his arms with a deep sigh of satisfaction. “My lovely wife,” he whispered. “Alone at last. Do you know what I want to do first?”
“No,” she whispered, then she gave a nervous gulp of fear.
“I want to hold you, just hold you, till your fear is gone,” he said gently, looking into her eyes. “Because I know you are afraid.”
“I am...a little,” she admitted.
He turned her around and began to undo the laces at the back of her dress until she was wearing only her chemise, then pulled the coverlet on the blanket back so that she could climb into bed. Once there, she pulled the bedclothes up to her chin and watched him unfolding his plaid and taking off the silver brooch that pinned it to his shoulder. Soon he was wearing nothing but his shirt. It reached the middle of his thighs, for which she was thankful, because she was not yet ready for the sight of his whole body.
He pulled back the covers and lay down beside her, then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close so that she buried her face in the crook between his neck and shoulder. His flesh was warm and firm, and he smelled of lavender oil and his own natural musk, which was like perfume to her. It was like being in heaven, she thought, cocooned in warmth and love.
When he began to kiss and stroke her, she was no longer afraid, and when they came together at last he eased her past the pain to the ultimate pleasure beyond it. Afterward, they lay, sated with love, lost in the afterglow.
“Now you are mine,” he murmured, lost in her eyes. “I do not know what I did to deserve you, but you are, Malle Dunbar.”
“And you are mine.” She caressed the bristle on his cheek, relishing the ticklish rasp under her palm. “Oh, my love, I never realized it was possible to be so happy.”
“It is a revelation for me too,” he said in wonder. “And now that our families are friends, there is a bright future ahead.”
“Especially if we have children,” she murmured, her eyes twinkling.
“Hmmm...yes.” He smiled, then folded his arms around her and kissed her again. “Shall we make a little Isobell?”
She nodded happily. “And if we fail this time we can go on trying until we succeed!”
His eyes widened in mock horror. “You will kill me!” he said fearfully.
She giggled and kissed him softly. “But at least you will die with a smile on your face!”
The day after the wedding, Malle picked some mountain avens from the hillside just outside the castle gates. It was a bracing but su
nny day, and she felt as though the sun was shining out of her. She was married, really married at last to the man of her dreams, and she knew in some mysterious way that it was Isobell and Donnan whom she had to thank.
When she got to the gravestone, which she had scrubbed with her own hands to restore it to its former pristine state, she kissed it. “Thank you, Isobell,” she whispered, “from one wife to another.”
She laid the flowers tenderly on the grave and felt tears sting her eyes. She could not contain all the joy she was feeling; it was completely overwhelming her. Presently, Craig came up behind her and gently lifted her to her feet, then folded his arms around her and laid his cheek on her hair.
“I think she was looking after us,” Malle murmured. “She and Donnan. I am sure they were there when we needed them, and saved our lives.”
“They were,” Craig agreed. “Now, Lady Dunbar, I am hungry.”
“You are always hungry!” She laughed. “I swear that you could empty the castle stores singlehandedly!”
“When I said ‘hungry’,” he said mischievously, eyes twinkling, “did I mention food?”
Epilogue
Craig saw Malle riding in the distance and laid the sheep he was carrying on the ground, where it skittered away and was soon lost in a flock of a hundred others. He strode up to her as she sat watching him, loving the sight of him, muddy and dressed in his rough torn, filthy working clothes. She would rather have seen him like this than in his best kilt and finery, because he was working hard on the land, doing things a normal laird would never do, and was not afraid to get his hands dirty. She was so proud of him.
Now he came up to her, smiling from ear to ear. “Milady!” he cried delightedly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Then he wiped his hands on his hose and looked at them. “I cannot hug you like this,” he said regretfully.
“Pfft!” She flapped her hands at him. “It’s only a bit of dirt! Do I have to stay on this horse all day?”
He laughed, then put both hands on her waist and helped her down. To his surprise and delight, she pulled his head down to kiss him, long and tenderly, ignoring the whistling and words of encouragement from behind them. He put his arms around her and sighed with satisfaction. The workers knew that such behavior would have been unacceptable to most lairds but theirs was special, and so was his lady.
Malle smiled at them as she pulled out of Craig’s arms. “What would you all like best right this minute?” she asked mischievously.
“Milady, is this really fit for yer tender ears?” Mick, one of Craig’s oldest workers, asked apprehensively.
Malle cast her eyes heavenwards. “I am sorry. That was a silly question.” She giggled.“To drink!”
“Whisky!” all six of them chorused at once.
“Then it is a good thing I brought some with me!” she cried, undoing the flap of one of her saddlebags and taking out an earthenware flask. “A little something to wash down your lunch.”
The sheep shearers chorused their thanks and Malle handed the flask to them.
“Not the Laird first?” Craig asked, somewhat taken aback. “What are we celebrating, Malle?”
She gave him a long look then took his hand and they walked away a little to where the workers could not see them. She took his hand and put it on her stomach. “This,” she said quietly, and watched his face as he realized the meaning of her words.
He shook his head in disbelief and for a moment he could not speak. He had thought he was happy before, but this was the most miraculous thing that had ever happened to him, and he was speechless.
“A baby?” he asked, his voice a husky squeak. “My baby?”
“Our baby,” she reminded him. “Are you happy?”
“Malle...” He was almost unable to speak now. “I have no words to say how happy I am!” He kissed her. “Thank you.”
“You helped!” She smiled. “I would have waited till you came home but I simply couldn’t wait to tell you!”
“Have you told anyone else?” he asked.
“I thought you should be the first to know,” she replied.
“I do not care who knows now—unless you do?” He studied her face anxiously.
“No! But you know that if you tell the estate workers it will be all over the village by tomorrow? And our estate? And Scotland, and probably the world?”
“Good.” His voice was firm. “Because I want it to be. I want the whole world to know that Isobell Dunbar is on her way, and now I want to take you home so that we can tell everyone!”
He took Malle’s hand and led her back to Arthur, beaming over his face.
“Lads,” he said, calling for silence. “We are going to be a mother and father. My beautiful wife is having our first baby!”
“Milady, M’laird, whit gey good tidings!” Mick held up the flask of whisky then gave it to Craig, who took a healthy swig of it. He raised his eyebrows to Malle in a question.
“None for me, thank you,” she replied, shaking her head. “I feel too sick for spirits.”
“Aye, my missus wis the same, Milady,” Dougie, another one of the men, agreed. “Couldnae keep anything doon for months.”
There was a chorus of agreement from the others, and many heartfelt congratulations as Malle mounted Arthur to go home.
“Go slowly,” Craig said anxiously.
“I will,” Malle replied, then rode away at a slow trot.
Craig watched her until she was out of sight, then turned back to his men again. They patted him on the back and told him, as men do, what a stallion he was, and how fortunate his wife was to have married such a potent man. They went on for so long that he was obliged to tell them to get back to work.
“This fleece will not drop off the sheep,” he informed them. He could not keep the smile from his face for the rest of the day.
When Malle told her mother she was going to be a grandmother, Margaret almost collapsed.
“My wee girl is going to be a Mammy!” she cried, then hugged Malle so tightly that her ribs hurt. She laughed and pushed Margaret away, sitting down.
“You are eating for two now,” Margaret said firmly. “You must eat properly.” She began to bustle and fuss, and fetched Malle ale and oatcakes before she had a chance to protest.
“Let her be!” Kenneth laughed. “Malle’s body will know what to do, just as yours did!” He turned to Malle, smiling as he caught her hand in his. “How does Craig feel?” he asked.
“Craig has never been so happy in his life!” said a deep voice behind him, as Craig strode in, beaming from ear to ear. He pulled Malle up and gave her a smacking kiss, then embraced Margaret and accepted a huge tumbler of whisky from Kenneth. He was still filthy, and looked exhausted, but he would not leave Malle’s side, and when he put his arm around her shoulders, she leaned on his chest and sighed. The best place for her would always be in Craig’s arms.
Malcolm Dunbar was almost in tears when he put his arms around his daughter-in-law. “I never ever thought that my grandchild would be born of a MacEwan,” he said in disbelief, shaking his head and grinning. Then he held up his tumbler of whisky. “Sláinte mhath! To our new grandchild, be it lad or lass, long life to you.”
“Father, it is not yet born,” Craig pointed out.
“When it is,” Malcolm said comfortably, looking around himself. “This is a miracle—a Dunbar sitting in a MacEwan Castle.”
“Two Dunbars,” Craig reminded him.
“And a Dunbar-in-law and a Dunbar-to-be!” Malle said, stroking her still-flat stomach as she looked up at Craig. “Go and have a wash, you.”
“Come with me,” he asked her. Malle stood up, and oblivious to everyone else, they walked away.
“That is the last we will see of them tonight!” Margaret remarked. “Stay for dinner, Malcolm. We have a bedroom ready for you tonight.”
“I would love to,” he replied graciously. How things have changed, he thought.
The baby, a boy, was born after a short labor and lit
tle effort on Malle’s part, on a chilly late spring day in May. Fortunately Craig had been practically dragged out of the castle by Malcolm to a livestock market, and by the time he got back all the fuss was over. He had been unbearable in the last few days before the birth, hovering over Malle and watching every move she made, slowly driving her mad with frustration.
She had begged her father-in-law to get rid of him for a while, despite his strenuous protests. Her mother and father were visiting that day, so the timing was fortuitous.
Craig sensed that something had happened as soon as he came in. Malle usually came to wrap her arms around him, but there was no sign of her this evening. A sudden overwhelming realization came to his mind, and he rushed upstairs to their bedroom, which the wise woman, Mistress McVey, was just leaving. Her smile told him everything.
He went in and saw the most beautiful sight of his life. Malle was sitting on the bed, her face pink with exertion, and there was a tiny baby attached to her breast who was suckling lustily with snuffles and tiny grunts.
Margaret had been sitting at the side of the bed, but now she rose, put a hand on Craig’s arm, and said softly, “Well done Paw.” Then she tiptoed out and left them alone.
Craig kissed his wife and leaned his head on her shoulder for a moment. He was speechless as he looked at the little red-haired creature who was suddenly his whole life. A fierce love had invaded him, and he knew he would kill or die for this child. “Malle, I love you, both of you,” he said hoarsely. “Thank you, my sweetheart.” Then he frowned. He had been so lost in admiration he had forgotten to ask the baby’s sex. “Son or daughter, Malle?”
“Son,” she replied. “So we cannot call him Isobell.”
He sighed, smiling. “No, but we can call him something strong and masculine, for he will be a big man like his father some day.” His voice was proud as he climbed into bed and put his arms around both of them. “My family,” he whispered contentedly.
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