by Alisa Adams
The breakfast room was one of the places in the house that she rarely visited, preferring to have her first meal of the day brought to her room every morning. Today, however, she was going over the house with a fine-toothed comb, sniffing out dust, spiders' webs, mouse droppings, and anything else that would spoil her carefully crafted illusion of domestic perfection. She sniffed around until she found the source of the stench in a small bottle with a stopper under the table. It had been a vial of perfume, but it certainly did not smell of perfume now. It smelled of garlic. Probably no-one else had noticed it, but Lorina had always had a nose like a bloodhound.
Probably the most offensive smell in the entire history of mankind, she thought. She held it between two fingers at arms' length and gave it to a housemaid. She took it to one of the kitchen staff who carefully rinsed it out and polished it. However, no matter how much they scrubbed it they could not get rid of the smell and the gray stain inside it. Glass was still relatively rare and quite expensive, so Lorina kept it and stored her sewing needles in it.
The day of the wedding was glorious. There was, for once, a clear blue sky and the temperature had climbed by a few degrees. The guests had shed their thick winter furs and there was a general air of carefree festivity about Lyle's house. They had gathered there before wending their way to St. Ninian's, the church in the village, where Father Anthony was going to perform the service. Lyle came up to them as the service was about to begin.
"How are you, milady?" he asked Una. There was a note of concern in his voice.
"Fine, Lyle," she replied, smiling sadly. "It is the old story, I have good days and bad days."
Lyle looked at her with sympathy. "Time heals, milady." He smiled and walked away to wait for the bridal couple.
In her gold dress, Maura looked regal, and Grant's face was a study in delight as he saw her. The congregation saw him whisper something to her just before Father Anthony started speaking. She blushed but smiled at him and the service began. It was brief but moving and as the bride and groom walked out of the chapel amid many cheers and congratulations, Davina could see that they were hardly looking at anyone else but each other.
Now she was wildly angry. This had all been denied her and still, she did not know why. It was not fair. It was just not fair. She clenched her teeth and pinned on a happy face as Maura and Grant passed them, then went outside by herself to calm down. She felt like screaming, smashing something, even hitting someone. She had never felt so furious.
Athol had seen her leaving and went out behind her. She was striding across the garden on the way to the dry, stone wall that separated it from the pasture land beyond. By her agitated movements, he could see that something had angered or shocked her and he ran after her, grabbing her arm. She spun around and he was astonished to see that her face was contorted with rage.
"Don't touch me!" she hissed, but Athol had taken hold of her other wrist. "Let me go!"
"When you calm down." His voice was quiet and soothing, the kind of tone used to calm down a fretful horse. She beat her fists against his chest again and again, but he stood firm. His grip was too tight for her to break free and eventually she realized that he was too strong for her and stopped struggling. He let her go but held onto her elbow. There was a wooden bench beside the stone wall and he sat down, then gently pulled her down to sit beside him. Then he waited. She was trembling, but she was calming down. At last, he spoke.
"What has upset you, Davina?" he asked gently. "I know a lot of people cry at weddings, but not like this!"
"I'm not crying!" She turned to face him. Her cheeks were dry, but her eyes were blazing with anger.
"I do not know what to say to comfort you." He shrugged helplessly. "Tell me."
It took a few more minutes, but eventually, she began to talk. "It is not fair," she said grimly, "I could have been doing that. I could have - should have - had my father on my arm giving me away to a man I loved. And all those lairds in there think I'm a whore! They think I have a child somewhere! Why is all this happening to me—to us?"
There were tears in her eyes now, but they were tears of rage. He took her arm and walked with her around the corner of the church where they could not be seen. Then put his arms gently around her and laid his cheek on her hair, while she broke down and wept against his shoulder. He stood patiently waiting for her to finish, then, when her sobbing had stopped, he tilted her face up to his.
"I love you, Davina," he whispered, "I know you do not want to be with me, but I had to tell you anyway. Marry me. I cannot make you love me if you do not want it. I just want you to be near me."
"If I say 'yes' now, it may not be for the right reasons…" Her voice was unsure, but she sounded desperate to be convinced.
"You have said that before," he reminded her, "I will not force you to make love with me. I will not even make you share a bed with me, although God knows I want to. Just be near me. And in time, who knows? You may just grow to love me."
"I may," she murmured, thinking. "Are you sure this is what you want, Athol? There are much prettier girls out there."
He looked at her, perplexed, for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Davina, why do you think you are ugly?" he asked.
"I'm so fat," she replied, looking away from him.
"You were never fat, just a little plump," he said and smiled, "but that was not what I meant. I have always thought you had a lovely face and a gentle heart. I was just too full of my own concerns to see it. And I was distracted by more exotic beauties while the woman of my dreams was right under my nose. I do not know what changed, but I think you and Lyle had something to do with it. Davina, give me an answer. Please."
She took a deep breath. "My answer is yes, Athol," she replied, but she was frowning. "Only on the terms you mentioned and out of respect for my father I would like to keep it very quiet."
"Of course." He was smiling so widely he thought his face would crack. "When?" he asked.
"When the mourning period is over," she said quietly, "two more months."
"So be it," he said gently.
"Do not tell anyone yet except our families and Lyle please," she pleaded, "I want to get used to the idea myself first."
"Of course not," he whispered, gathering her further into his embrace. Despite all her doubts, and she still had many, it was comforting to be in the arms of a strong, dependable man.
"God, I am so happy!" He breathed, then he laughed. "Do you like the name 'Davina Murray?'"
"Yes, I think it is lovely." She felt as though she could stand there all day and not move, but Athol was too restless.
"Can we tell your mother right now?" he asked happily, "and mine? And my father? And Lyle? You don't have to wait until you get used to it before you tell them, surely?" He was looking down into her face with such a boyishly silly expression that she laughed.
"I suppose not." She shook her head and smoothed down her dress. "I am ready."
They were all shocked but in the best possible way. Not one of the two families nor Lyle and Mary had a discouraging word to say to them. Una embraced her daughter joyfully.
"It is not too soon?" Davina asked anxiously.
"No." Una kissed her. "Your father would have wanted it this way, I promise."
Lyle came over and kissed her too. "Thank God," he said fervently, "I thought it would never happen."
Davina laughed. "Why not?"
"Because between you and me, Davina." He drew her aside and lowered his voice. "He was too much in love with himself to love anyone else. But I think when he saw you again it made him start to think. He thinks a little slowly, but he gets there eventually! And maybe we can take some of the credit too for giving him a stern lecture now and then. Mary and I are so happy." His eyes shone with love as he smiled at his betrothed, and she smiled back.
"A good example, you mean?" Davina smiled. "Definitely, Lyle. The best."
"What about your betrothal ceremony?" Mary asked and Davina thought how beautiful love h
ad made her. Lyle was as fair as a Viking warrior, but Mary was a Celt, small with black hair and dark blue eyes.
"I don't want one," Davina replied firmly.
"Maybe just for us?" Una suggested hopefully.
Davina shook her head. To her complete surprise, Athol said nothing. The truth was he was so afraid that she would change her mind that he was not going to say anything to upset her. Anyway, betrothal ceremonies had always been a waste of time in his opinion. He thought about the promise he had made. I will not force you to make love with me. I will not even make you share a bed with me. He would never force her but he hoped that the promise he had made would be easier to keep than it had sounded at the time he had made it. He watched her talking to Lyle. Her face was calmer, thank God. She turned and saw him watching her and they looked at each other for a long moment. Then she smiled.
61
A Big Decision
The first mare gave birth in the middle of May since she had already been pregnant when Davina bought her. The others would not be due for months yet. Davina had been at the birth and she laughed as she saw the leggy little creature stagger to its feet. She had seen foals born dozens of times before, but every time it was a new miracle and now was no exception. Eventually, the baby got to its feet and began to suck vigorously at its mother's teat.
"It's aye like the first time, mistress." Mungo's face creased into a wide smile. "Ye never get tired o' watchin' a new life comin' intae the world."
"No," she agreed, "I love horses."
"Me an' a', mistress." He smiled. "They are lovin' creatures an' there is nae bad in them. Ye'll think me daft, but I wid be very happy tae live in a world where there wis naethin' but horses."
"That's not daft at all, Mungo," she replied and laughed. "Sometimes I feel the same."
They stood watching mother and baby for a while longer, then Mungo took his leave and went back to his other duties. Davina was starving, having missed lunch to go to the foaling, so she walked back to the castle. While she was waiting for her food to arrive, one of her servants brought her a note. From the seal, she could see that it came from Athol. She tore it open and read the brief missive inside, then groaned. It read:
Darling Davina,
I am sorry to have to tell you this, but I am afraid our secret is out. One of Mary's cousins overheard us talking and immediately told a few close friends. The close friends told a few more and the news spread like wildfire, so now everyone knows our intentions. I am letting you know so that you can prepare yourself for the barrage of congratulations and questions. People can be so inquisitive. I will see you as soon as my sheep stop popping out lambs!
Your loving Athol
Davina sighed. This was the last thing she had needed or desired. She had wanted the wedding to be a small and quiet affair with only a few close family and friends in attendance so that the rest of the world would know last. She was evidently not going to get her wish. She wrote back to him.
Dear Athol,
This is exactly what I had feared. I still do not want to get married in front of a big crowd, many of whom I will not know or care about. I do not want pomp and ceremony. I will have to discuss the matter with Mother and I will be in touch again as soon as I can.
Your Davina
They were eating lunch when Davina told Una what had happened. Her mother was furious. "To think that at this time when we want to have a private family celebration, half of Scotland will now know about it!" she fumed, then got up and started to pace up and down.
"Mother, you will wear the rug out!" Davina caught her arm. "It is not as bad as all that. Nobody will know when and we can still have our small wedding. I just wanted it to be a surprise for everyone, that is all. There will be no friends of friends and cousins of cousins there!"
Una poured herself a glass of whiskey.
"You are drinking a lot of that, Mother," Davina's voice was concerned. She jumped back in fright when her mother slammed her goblet down on the table and turned to her, eyes blazing with anger.
"I am an adult woman and I will drink what I like!" she shouted.
Davina, shocked, took a step backward. Una was immediately contrite. "Sweetheart, I am so sorry!" she cried, wrapping her arms around her daughter. She paused, breathing heavily for a moment, then said, "I get so angry sometimes. I would feel better if I knew who killed my Ruaridh. maybe I could heal then."
Davina kissed her cheek. "I was furious the day of Maura's wedding," she said bitterly, "I kept thinking, why can't this be happening to me? Knowing it was a deliberate campaign made it even worse."
"But then Athol proposed," Una said, "so the day turned out well. But you never say much about Athol, Davina. Are you happy to be marrying him? Do you love him?"
Davina sighed. "I will learn to," she replied heavily, "he has promised to make no demands on me physically until I am ready and he is an honorable man. I can trust him."
"Hm!" Una managed to inject a large dose of sarcasm into that one syllable. "An honorable man is still a man." Then she shook her head, angry with herself. "We must think about what to do now. I think we must bring the wedding forward."
"Why?" Davina was puzzled. "You are still in mourning, Mother."
"I will be in mourning for much longer than another two months, darling," Una said bitterly, "this is just what I need now and everyone else will be overjoyed. This way it will be over before anyone even knows about it."
That idea did appeal to Davina. After all the happenings of the last few weeks, more fuss was the last thing she wanted. "What will people think?" Davina asked doubtfully.
"I am past caring what people think." Una got up and paced restlessly to the window, looking out at the wild North Sea. Looking at the waves always calmed her, no matter how rough the water was. "But this will be your day, my darling, not mine. What would you like to do?"
Davina thought for a long time. Athol was very, very busy, but she was sure that she could prise him away from his pregnant sheep long enough to give her his name. She went over to the window and put her arm around Una's shoulder.
"Do you think Father Anthony will be free in two days?" she asked.
"We can ask him," Una replied, "but hadn't we better ask Athol too?"
"I had almost forgotten about him!" Davina laughed. "I'll write to him."
She wrote:
Dear Athol,
In view of the fact that the news of our marriage has managed to spread before we wanted it to, Mother has suggested that we move the wedding forward so that it will be done before anyone knows about it. She is quite comfortable with us being wed within the mourning period and so am I. If you agree, I will ask Father Anthony to come and perform the ceremony the day after tomorrow at our chapel. If we do it early enough in the morning you will have time to deliver a few more lambs before nightfall! Tell me if this is acceptable to you.
Your Davina
Athol's answer came in the form of Athol himself, galloping Jock at a furious pace over the drawbridge and into the front gate of the castle. He leapt off the big horse and ran inside where he found Davina and Una sitting chatting by the fire. He skidded to a stop in front of them and they looked up in astonishment.
"The day after tomorrow?" His eyes were shining with happiness. "It suits me very well, my love."
"Good," Davina replied, she poured him a glass of spiced wine and smiled at him. "You could have just sent a note, you know."
"I wanted to see you. Have you asked Father Anthony?"
"He says he is available unless there is an emergency," she answered, "I think an early morning service will be best, then you can get back to your sheep."
Athol threw back his head and laughed, then swept Davina up in his arms and whirled her around the room before setting her down and giving her a smacking kiss on the lips. He was smiling from ear to ear, Davina was laughing helplessly, and Una was giggling.
"I think," Una said at last, "that we had all better calm down a bit. There are plans to
make and a huge amount of cooking to do."
"Mother, there are only about a dozen of us!" Davina protested.
"Let your mother enjoy herself!" Athol laughed. "It is not every day her daughter gets herself wed."
"I suppose not," Davina admitted, smiling. "It feels very strange, thinking about being a married lady."
"Think about it tonight and tomorrow," Athol advised, "and dream about it. I will." His voice was husky, and for the first time, Davina felt a tremor of desire. It scared her.
"I have to go," he said, "milady." He bowed to Una. She smiled and curtsied, then watched them walk out together. Athol had his arm around Davina's waist and his head was touching hers as he spoke softly into her ear.
She laughed and looked up at him. Una noticed that Davina had, in fact, lost quite a bit of weight and was looking as pretty as she had ever seen her. If only Ruaridh was here, she thought sadly, he would have been so proud.
She had no idea how she was going to get through the ceremony without sobbing her heart out, but she would manage for her daughter's sake. In years to come, she did not want Davina's abiding memory to be her mother sobbing an accompaniment to her wedding vows.
When they got to the stables, Athol cupped her face in his hand and looked down at her as if to etch every one of her features into his mind. "Davina," he murmured, "are you sure?"
When she looked into his eyes and saw the helplessness in them, she suddenly realized that she had an enormous amount of power over this big, strapping man. He towered over her by at least nine inches yet he was hers to do with as she pleased. She felt a surge of triumph. "Are you?" she asked, smiling.
"Absolutely certain."
"Then so am I," she said and smiled at him, "go on, laird. Your sheep are missing you!"
