by Cathy MacRae
Lady le Naper collapsed onto the floor with a groan. Brenna draped the chain over her neck and snatched the goblet back from Alish as chaos erupted.
* * *
Caz opened the bed chamber door and stuck his head through the opening. With great exaggeration, he peered up and down the passageway. Apparently satisfied, he turned back to the room and closed the door behind him.
“Is the wedding still on?”
Uilleam tossed his cloak over a chair near the hearth. “I cannae think why it wouldnae be.”
“Ye caused quite a commotion in the hall just now, bringing yer not-yet-bride home at a ridiculous hour—not to mention the fact François has all but refused to cook the wedding feast.” Alan inclined his head, one eyebrow raised in rebuke. “Ye’ve missed another meal.”
Caz shook his head sadly. “Breakfast was ruined.”
Uilleam rolled his eyes. “Remind me to never hire a temperamental cook.”
“Did ye at least get a gift for yer bride?”
Uilleam pointed to the parcel on his bed. “It appears the cloth has arrived.”
Caz gave him a startled look. “Ye bought the daughter of a cloth merchant cloth?”
Manfully hiding his irritation—and the urge to punch Caz in the shoulder—Uilleam untied the string and unwrapped the layers of protective covering. The cloth within matched his previous assessment as late morning light through the chamber’s window set the embroidery aflame and washed the silk velvet with a golden sheen.
Alan’s low whistle underscored his appreciation. “Set ye back a bit of coin, aye?”
“I think she’ll like it,” Uilleam replied, allowing a small smile to tug one corner of his mouth.
“Hmm. The cloth’s pretty enough. Though, ye could have gotten her something she doesnae have to sew herself,” Caz noted.
“Like this?” Uilleam drew the silver brooch from his sporran and tossed it in the air, admiring the flash of green as the stone caught the light.
Caz snatched the jeweled piece before it could return to Uilleam’s hand and studied it with a critical eye. “Verra nice. Might make up for the brouhaha ye caused earlier.”
“’Twas nae my fault. Or, at least, nae much,” Uilleam amended as he recalled the actual sequence of events. “I found Brenna on the quay. She’d got a hair in her brain about seeing the ships.”
“She went to the docks alone? Dressed like a sailor?”
Uilleam shrugged. “She was dressed as a lad when I found her. Captain Graham gave her his tunic after she fell into the river.”
Caz blew out a breath and shook his head, sympathy riding his words. “’Tis an unfortunate lass ye’re marrying. Seems to get into a bit of trouble.”
Alan nodded. “Rather easily, if ye ask me.”
“I . . . I caused her to fall in the river.” Uilleam manfully took the blame.
Alan sighed. “So ye werenae off anticipating yer vows?”
“Or plotting to run away?” Caz nudged Alan. “I thought that the more likely explanation.”
Uilleam ground his teeth. “We werenae plotting to run away.”
Caz’s eyebrows shot up. “Ye were anticipating yer vows?” he demanded, latching onto Uilleam’s apparent omission.
Uilleam waited a moment for his jaw to unclench. “I kissed her.”
The whistle and other rude noises of congratulatory disrespect caused Uilleam to scowl.
“Ye’ll keep a civil tongue in yer heads—both of ye. I need a bath before I dress for my wedding. Hie off and find someone else to pester.”
A knock at the door interrupted whatever Caz had been about to say—which did not displease Uilleam one bit—and three stout lads hefted a tub through the door and quickly set about filling it with steaming water while Caz and Alan made a sortie into the kitchen.
Uilleam allowed himself a long soak, replaying the morning’s events in his mind. He found the way Brenna had responded to his kiss most agreeable. The way her hands had fondled his cheeks and pressed against his chest quite arousing. His cock thickened and swayed in the hot water.
I dinnae think it possible, but the lass pleases me. His grin widened as he thought of a few ways she could please him further—this very eve.
Aye, I was wrong to judge her through others’ eyes and words.
Caz interrupted his very satisfying musings as he strode through the door, Alan on his heels. Setting a flask on the table, Caz upended his mug before pouring a bit more golden elixir.
Alan waved his own cup in the air in a mock flourish. “Rise, oh soon-to-be-wedded one! We are returned to see that ye arrive at the chapel in time to nae cause yer bride a moment of trepidation.”
“Or at least, no more trepidation than she’s already been subjected to,” Caz corrected his friend with a grin and a sharp jab to the ribs. He strode to the tunic which lay folded on the bed.
“White?” He judged the cloth with a jaundiced eye that had seen the bottom of more than one whisky bottle already, if Uilleam had his guess. “Though the embroidery at the neck is nice.”
“When did ye become the fashionable one, Caz?” Alan asked, pushing him aside to sort through the other two tunics which had been cleaned and returned to Uilleam just that morn. He shoved a tunic dyed a medium blue beneath Caz’s nose. “I like this one.”
“He cannae wear that one, ye dolt. ’Tis the one he wore to supper when he was tryin’ to impress Lady Brenna.”
“The supper when she dressed like she’d been dragged through the privy?”
“Enough!” Uilleam roared. He stood, water sluicing from his body into the tub, then snatched a wide length of linen and dried himself as he stalked across the floor. He snagged the dark blue tunic from the bed. Brilliant gold embroidery shimmered at neck and cuff. He pulled it over his head then settled a gleaming cowl of chain mail over his shoulders.
“Ye need to cover yer arse,” Caz noted.
Not certain if Caz provoked him deliberately or not, Uilleam bent to the task of pleating his plaide before settling it about his waist with an intricately-tooled leather belt fastened with an engraved silver clasp. He drew his sword a hand’s span from its sheath, remarking the well-tended glow of the metal and the large golden-brown topaz set in the pommel.
“Ye’ll make her proud,” Alan said, his voice firm. He gripped Uilleam’s shoulder and gave it a small shake. “Ye make us all proud.”
A lump rose in Uilleam’s throat. “I’m glad to have ye both at my side.”
“’Tis time to go below stairs. The family chapel is in the east wing.” Alan motioned toward the door.
Uilleam quickly finished dressing then hurried through the hall past the garlands of greenery twined with white silk and festooned with red and white berries that hadn’t been there—or he hadn’t noticed—earlier. A short, stocky priest waited at the door to the chapel, a grin on his round face.
“We meet at last,” he said, his voice booming in the relative silence of the hall. “I wondered which of m’lord’s daughters would wed first.” He leaned forward as if to share a secret. “They’re a lovely bunch of lasses, like peacocks amid crows—but the chatter!” He guffawed.
“I’ve nae found her to be over-garrulous,” Uilleam replied, a stern look for the cackling priest.
“Then, ye’ll sign the contract?” He appeared rather surprised.
Uilleam again clenched his teeth. “Aye.”
Noise combining what sounded like the grunts of hungry pigs and the shrill shriek of indignant chickens rose from the west wing where the family resided and rolled through the main hall.
The priest peered around Uilleam then nodded. “Och, the family approaches.”
As if by magic, a host of people appeared, blocking Uilleam’s view of the procession. A cat wound about Uilleam’s leg, the tip of its tail tickling the back of his thigh.
“Be gone, cat,” he muttered, resisting the urge to scratch his leg. The cat rubbed its cheek against Uilleam’s boot.
Uilleam waved
the cat away then forgot about it as Brenna came into view.
She looked stunning. Her brocade gown was the color of peridots, trimmed at neck and sleeve with emerald green velvet, the perfect foil for her delicate skin and rosy cheeks. Raven locks caught in intricate gold combs fell down her back in a waterfall of curls. A hammered gold belt hung low on her hips. Her eyes met his and a smile quirked the right side of her lips.
The reliquary brooch nestled in the neckline of her gown.
“Isnae that yer sister’s brooch?” Alan asked.
Eyes on his bride, Uilleam nodded but did not elaborate.
Brenna leaned heavily against her father at her side, an uncertain step causing her to bobble. A pang of guilt sliced through Uilleam. Did the lass wish to avoid marrying him after all?
He eyed her as she continued toward him. Her gaze wandered as if taking in the decorations in the hall for the first time. Something about her actions set off a vague warning in the back of his head.
At last, Brenna and Lord le Naper halted before the priest and Brenna’s hand was placed in his. To his astonishment, it did not quiver, though she swayed slightly like a leaf caught in a faint breeze. She gifted him a beauteous smile.
Caz leaned close.
“Damned if I dinnae guess yer bride is drunk!”
Chapter Twelve
Uilleam stared at his bride. The over-bright eyes. The half-tilt to her grin that likely reflected her tipsy state, not the memory of their kiss aboard the Mar.
Brenna tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Bonjour, Uilleam.”
Her family gathered behind her, brilliant in their finery like peacocks on a close-scythed lawn. Lord le Naper met his gaze with a hard look. A warning to say naught about his daughter’s condition? Lady le Naper’s eyes glanced away, her fingers fluttering with her veil. A mother’s reaction to giving her daughter into the care of a man?
His head hurt. Did they wish to back out of the marriage contract? Brenna certainly seemed to have no reservations. He smiled at her. She giggled.
Her sisters gathered close, the two eldest with wide-eyed—amazement? Reverence? They giggled. Kari shoved between them with a bump of her hips, arms wrapped about her puppy. The terrier barked then wriggled from her grasp. Landing on the floor, she bounded forward, yipping as if she’d discovered an entire mischief of rats.
The hiss and scream of what could only have been a cornered wildcat shredded Uilleam’s ears. Fire shot up Uilleam’s leg. With a bellow of pain, he shoved Brenna into Caz’s arms for safe-keeping, then reached beneath his kilt and grabbed the cat which had only moments before wound lazily about his ankles and now sought refuge somewhere north of his knees.
The terrier dove at the unfortunate feline. The cat beat a hasty retreat up Uilleam’s arms, leaving rent cloth in its wake, and perched precariously on his shoulder, hissing and spitting at its nemesis which danced about Uilleam’s feet spouting canine curses. The chain mail of his cowl gave Uilleam a moment’s respite as the cat’s claws dug into the metal links for support.
Uilleam stalked to the door of the hall where he spent several minutes disengaging the twelve-legged cat from the links before setting it free outside. A bit of dodging and fancy footwork kept the remorseless terrier inside the hall as Kari shrieked for the puppy’s return. Uilleam twitched his kilt aside and studied the claw marks which striped his leg from calf to thigh. Keeping his own curses beneath his breath, he inhaled deep, forced a smile to his lips, then returned to his bride.
The priest’s face flamed as he bit his lip. Uilleam scowled. Brenna giggled. Caz leaned against Alan and shook his head, his body convulsing with barely concealed laughter. Lady le Naper sagged into her husband’s arms. Jennet and Elesbeth fanned their mother with embroidered bits of linen. Kari dragged her reluctant puppy away from the door.
“Bad Poppy! Ye mustn’t chase the cat!” She cuddled the little demonized rat-catcher to her chest and stroked her head.
Cold air hit the scratches on Uilleam’s legs, making them itch and burn.
The priest cleared his throat. The clamor in the hall silenced as all attention turned to the priest.
“Is there any among ye who see reason why Lady Brenna le Naper and Sir Uilleam MacLaren should not be joined as man and wife?”
* * *
Brenna melted against her new husband. He’d seemed so stern at the chapel door—so unlike the kind, passionate man she’d parted from that morning. His gaze had caused her to wobble. It couldn’t have been the glass of wine she’d drunk—or had it been two glasses? She couldn’t recall, and shaking her head caused her eyes to cross.
Acrobats similar to those she’d encountered in the village the day before bounded across the room to the raucous approval of those seated at the tables. A fire-eater spewed flames from his mouth. A real fire-eater! Papa had spared no expense for her wedding feast.
Just watching him made her mouth dry, so she reached for her goblet. She frowned. Who kept drinking from her cup? She signaled a servant to refill it and happily shifted her attention to François’ creations which crowded the tables. Steam rose from the soup kettle which had replaced Maman’s dearly departed tureen. The aroma mingled in a heavenly blend with the baskets of fresh bread.
Lads staggered beneath platters of freshly sliced venison and trays of eel and fish. Brenna turned her nose up at the eel, but spooned a light creamy sauce over the fish on her platter without spilling a drop on the spotless table cloth—though why that caused a sense of accomplishment, she didn’t know.
With a sense Maman was watching, Brenna added a few vegetables, covering them liberally with an aromatic sauce that would hopefully add flavor to the bland things. She also waved for a servant to again refill her cup and glanced about to see if she could determine who was drinking from it when she wasn’t looking.
Uilleam’s arm bumped against hers. She shot him an adoring glance. He smiled and she marveled at his blue eyes and the way a thick lock of his dark red hair fell across his forehead.
We’ll have beautiful children. She sighed happily.
Lord le Naper rose, goblet extended. “A thousand welcomes to my new son by marriage! May ye and my daughter be blessed with long life and peace . . ..”
Brenna’s sisters tittered.
Lord le Naper quelled them with a look. “And may ye grow old together with goodness and with riches.”
Uilleam stood, tilting his mug toward Brenna’s father. “The honor is mine. I will return the trust ye’ve given me with the excellent care of yer daughter.”
Lord le Naper appeared happy with Uilleam’s response and returned to his seat.
Caz stood—swaying slightly, but with a determined look on his face.
“May the future hold happiness and health for ye both—and may yer arms hold a bounty of bairns in the near future!”
Lady le Naper gasped, her hands setting her veils to fluttering once again.
Uilleam nudged Caz. “Sit down,” he hissed. “Ye’re upsetting my mother by marriage.”
Caz nodded sagely and leaned close, exhaling enough whisky fumes to ignite the overhead chandelier. “She thinks ye compromised her daughter this morning.”
Caught mid-sip, Uilleam sputtered, wine burning the inside of his nose. “I did nae such thing.” His cheeks warmed. “How do ye know this?”
Caz stared at the le Naper lasses who huddled together, clucking like hens. “Elesbeth told me.”
Uilleam filed that bit of information away. Of all the sisters, he would have bet Elesbeth would have been the last to speak with the wayward, incautious Caz.
“I kissed Brenna. Surely her ma knows that’s hardly compromising.”
Caz shrugged. “Mayhap. She’s enough bairns to have figured it out.” He inclined his head to Uilleam’s bride. “But does yer new wife know the difference?”
“For the love of . . ..” Uilleam glanced at Brenna. She appeared happy enough—not at all like an innocent young woman approaching the uncertainty o
f her wedding night. Then again, the grin on her face could be from the three . . . no, four goblets of wine he’d seen her drink since they sat for the feast. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t worry about such a thing. She may have imbibed the contents of a wine skin or two, but she’d also devoured a good bit of food. He scanned her platter. Had she actually eaten? It didn’t appear she’d taken more than a bite.
Shite.
Brenna clapped her hands. “I have a gift for ye, Uilleam.” She sent him a sultry look, though a burp rather ruined the effect. She rose with only a slight sway betraying the state of her inebriety. Noise in the hall died.
She placed a hand atop his and, with a voice unimpeded by wine or awkwardness, sang.
That heart my heart hath in such grace
That of two hearts one heart make we;
That heart hath brought my heart in case,
To love that heart that loveth me.
For one the like unto that heart
Never was, nor is, nor never shall be,
Nor never like cause set this apart
To love that heart that loveth me.
This knot thus knit, who shall untwine,
Since we that knit it do agree
To loose not nor slip, but both incline
To love that heart that loveth me?
Mesmerized by her beautiful voice, the crowd remained silent for long moments after the last words died away. Uilleam lifted her hand and brought it to his lips. He then rose and raised her hand as he gave a formal bow.
“May our lives together be ever as beautiful as ye are this day.” Again, he kissed her fingers, then drew her against him. With purpose, he bent to her lips, capturing them in a fierce kiss which left no doubt he was in agreement to this marriage.
Brenna’s sigh was swallowed up by the roars of approval and the encouraging stomp of feet on the stone floor. With little effort, he swept his bride into his arms and turned from the table. He only tripped once over the lengthy trail of her velvet sleeves, and righted himself without mishap. He noted Caz and Alan keeping the well-wishers at bay as he climbed the stairs to the family’s wing. Brenna draped her arms about his neck and snuggled against him.
