“A cave?” Visions of rock slabs, bats, and spiders filled her mind. “Your first time with Alexander was in a cave?”
“Aye.” Catriona laughed as she handed Willa over to Mercy, then motioned for her to pat and rub on the child’s back as she did to William. A pair of loud burps popped in rapid succession. Catriona tucked her breasts back inside her gown, stood, and sauntered around the room with William held to her shoulder. She cast a glance back over at Mercy. “Trust me, lass, when the loving’s right, it doesna matter where ye are. All that matters is that ye are.”
“Oh, my.” Mercy held Willa to her shoulder, rubbing and patting as she walked alongside Catriona. “How did you know what to do?” she whispered.
“Believe me when I say…” Catriona smiled. “Ye will know.”
That’s what Mama had always said. Mercy snuggled her cheek to little Willa’s silky head, breathing in her sweet baby fragrance. She idly rubbed the contented baby’s back as she walked. “I’ll know,” she repeated under her breath. I certainly hope so.
Chapter Seventeen
“Ye’re sure ’tis Campbell they’ll be sending rather than the king’s army?” Alexander asked as he held out a whisky.
Graham pulled the clean tunic over his head and yanked it down in place before accepting the wee dram. He downed the fine, golden whisky, welcoming the familiar burn in his throat. “Aye. According to Mercy, the best way that Edsbury could figure to pay his debt to Campbell was giving him free rein here with the king’s blessing.” Barefooted, he strode across the bedchamber and refilled his glass. “Ye ken as well as I that King William would prefer the clans kill each other so he didna have to bother with them.” He held up the bottle to Alexander. “Another for ye, brother?”
“Aye.” Alexander held out his glass, scowling at the bottle like a witch studying her potion. “But Marsden insists Edsbury has since fallen from favor. Said the king appeared determined to make a good match for your lady. Even went so far as to arrange one for her.” Alexander gave Graham the sobering look that only an elder brother could give. “Reckon His Majesty would give ye his blessing for today?”
“I dinna give a rat’s arse if he blesses us or no’.” Graham pulled on his boots and reached for his waistcoat. A grunt escaped him as he shrugged it on, pulled it snug, and buttoned it. Damned old Elena Bickerstaff. She’d stirred the pain in his wound by cleaning it out and stitching it shut. He motioned for Alexander to hand him his neckcloth. “I mean to make Mercy my wife, and we’ll sort out the rest later.”
Alexander nodded and strolled over to the lone window facing the inner courtyard in front of the large cave that served as Clan MacCoinnich’s stables. “Sawny’s bound to Fort William with a message to Crestshire. The man willna make the wedding, but I feel certain he’ll arrive within a few days. After all, ’tis his duty to uphold peace and the king’s justice in the Highlands.” Alexander grinned and raised his glass in a toast. “He tossed Jameson’s arse in the Tolbooth once before. He can do so again. A wedding present for ye and your lovely bride, aye?”
“Aye.” Graham accepted the toast, emptied his glass, then plunked it on the table and reached for his best coat.
It wasn’t nearly as fine as the men at court wore, but was the best he had. He arranged his plaid over one shoulder and pinned it. He raked his fingers through his damp hair, smoothed it back, and braided it, securing the end with a leather tie. He smelled a damn sight better. Felt better, too. They’d made it to the safety of Tor Ruadh, and he was about to claim Mercy for his bride. He turned and held his hands out to his sides. “Tell me true, brother. Will this do for her? Remember, she is a fine lady.”
“Ye’re missing one thing.” Alexander reached into the black, leather pouch attached to his belt and withdrew something hidden inside his hand. “The MacCoinnich crest.” He held out the pin with a proud smile.
A sense of awe, pride, and wistfulness filling him, Graham took the pin in both hands. “It’s like Da’s.” Their father’s crest had been lost in the upheaval of their clan during the plague that had decimated them and handed their lands to the bloody Campbells.
“Aye.” Alexander took the pin out of Graham’s hands, removed the one holding the plaid to Graham’s shoulder, and replaced it with the MacCoinnich crest. “’Tis identical. I described it to the silversmith, and he made it so for me, but I wish ye to have it. I’ll have another made for m’self.”
Graham ran his fingers over the engraved lettering of the weighty silver pin, oval in shape, and the image at its center of a fist clutching a sword raised to the heavens. “Je ressuscite. I rise again,” he whispered. Alexander couldn’t have given him a more perfect gift. He clapped a hand to Alexander’s shoulder and squeezed. “I thank ye, brother. For everything.” He’d endangered them all by coming here, but Alexander would not have had it any other way, and Graham appreciated it. Family meant everything, and he was more than a little thankful for his own.
A rapid pounding on the door startled them both. Duncan threw it open and gave them a stern look. “If ye dinna wish to sit through Father William’s sermon about timeliness being next to godliness, I suggest ye move your arses. Catriona won’t bring Mercy down from her rooms ’til she gets word that the rest of us are waiting in the chapel.”
“We’d best make haste,” Alexander said.
The three men hurried down the back stairway, the shortest route to the back of the keep and the path leading to the small chapel tucked into one corner of the skirting wall. The modest stone building with arched windows waited with its double doors propped open. Candelabras bathed the altar in a golden glow.
Father William, overly thin but resplendent in his white robes, stood in front of the altar, prayer book in one hand, and a folded length of ivory satin cloth in the other. His bushy, gray brows arched to the wispy remnants of his nonexistent hairline as Graham and his two brothers hurried into the room. “If ye wish to survive as a husband, Graham, ye’d best learn to no’ keep your woman a waiting.”
“Yes, Father.” Graham took a stance to the priest’s left, while Alexander and Duncan took their places to Graham’s right.
With a nod toward the smattering of villagers sitting on the benches, Father William leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Ye ken, if ye’d waited a few days, a better feast couldha been prepared and more gathered to welcome your bride into the clan, aye?”
“We dinna have the luxury of time, Father,” Graham said while keeping his gaze locked on the doors. Mercy would arrive any moment.
“Oh?” Father William gave him a judgmental scowl and pointed his holy book at him as though ready to drive out a demon. “And why not?”
“Because her father’s mercenaries, the king’s guard, and perhaps her betrothed, could be upon us at any moment.” Graham shifted in place, growing more anxious by the moment. “Alexander will explain it to ye later. Can we leave it for now, Father?”
Father William rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Always into some such mischief, ye are. Always. Ye MacCoinnichs never learn.”
Graham didn’t hear the rest of the priest’s diatribe because Mercy walked in the door.
Her beauty humbled him. She moved with the flawless grace of feather-white clouds skimming across the sky. She wore her long, black hair silky and flowing over her shoulders and down her back just as she knew he loved it. A simple gown of pale yellow and white had been hastily fitted for her, and it framed her dark beauty to perfection. The tawny gold of her eyes shimmered with the sheen of unshed tears, rivaling the sparkle of stars in the darkest night. Graham prayed her tears were borne of happiness. How could one such as her ever love him?
The bundle of ivy she held between her hands trembled as she made her way to him. She held herself poised, but Graham saw the way she caught her breath and wet her lips with a nervous swipe of her tongue. Lord Almighty, if she only knew what a rare blessing she was—the perfect heartmate Graham had never thought to find. He held out his hand as she neare
d, swallowing hard when she took it and handed her bundle of ivy to Catriona.
“Ye’re a rare woman, Mercy. I swear I’ll do my best by ye.”
Father William cleared his throat and held up a hand. “Ahh now…I’ll speak the proper vows first, if ye dinna mind.”
Mercy squeezed Graham’s hand but kept her gaze locked on the priest. “I have one request, Father,” she said in a tremulous voice.
“What is that, my child?” Father William leaned forward with the benevolent smile.
“Would you please use the name my mother gave me rather than Claxton?” She stole a glance over at Graham, the pleading in her eyes touching his heart. “It would mean a great deal to me.”
Father William pursed his lips, looked over at Graham, then nodded. “Most certainly. What was your mother’s name, child?”
“Yumiko.” Mercy bowed her head, pulled in a deep breath, then blew it out and lifted her chin. “And the name she gave me when I was born was Kimiko Mercy Rowena Etain.”
Graham’s heart ached for Mercy. His dear woman had lost so much. Heritage. Family. He strengthened himself with the knowledge that she’d bear his name now. Clan MacCoinnich would be her own.
Father William cleared his throat again, stood as tall as his small frame would allow, and peered out over the congregation. “We gather here to bear witness to the union of these two before Almighty God.” He made a regal nod toward Mercy. “Kimiko Mercy Rowena Etain, as christened and blessed by your beloved mother, Yumiko, do ye hereby take this man, Graham Cauley Evan MacCoinnich, to be your beloved husband, bound together until death shall part ye?”
Tears slipped down Mercy’s cheeks as she whispered, “Yes, Father, I do.”
With a nod, the priest turned to Graham. “Graham Cauley Evan MacCoinnich, do ye take this woman, Kimiko Mercy Rowena Etain, to be your beloved wife until death parts ye?”
“Aye, Father, I do.” A sense of peace, a feeling of things coming together as they should, swept over him. Graham exhaled a relieved sigh and extended their clasped hands for Father William to wrap with the binding cloth.
Over and under, Father William wound the length of satin around their hands, symbolically tying their lives together, joining them the old way. Pressing his hand atop theirs, he nodded to Graham. “Now say the words of your heart to the lady.”
Turning to Mercy, Graham took hold of her free hand and pressed it to the center of his chest as he stared into her eyes. “My heart beats for ye alone. With every breath, I need ye. Ye are my blood. Ye are my bone. I canna live without ye. I give ye the protection of my name, my body, and my heart. Even in death, I shall find a way to ye. Never will I leave your side. I swear it upon my soul.”
Lips parted, Mercy hitched in a sharp intake of breath and took a step closer. Pressing her hand harder against his chest, she smiled up at him, blinking away the tears. “Never have I known such love. Never have I known such acceptance. Always, I shall be bound to thee—today and forevermore. I accept your protection. I accept your love. And I swear to you that our children and our children’s children will sing of the great eternal love we shared.”
Graham leaned forward and sealed their vows with a sampling of Mercy’s sweet lips. Aye, this was right and true. Thank God above for that summons from the king.
The strength of his hands holding hers was all that kept her standing.
A subtle trembling had overtaken her as soon as she’d donned the lovely dress Catriona had altered for this special day. A strange jitteriness shook her insides as though her heart had sprouted wings and was about to take flight.
Graham, handsome and strong, saying words she’d never dreamt anyone would say to her. Those precious vows had worsened her condition. So much love filled her. It was all she could do to keep from weeping with joy.
His eyes, the deep, dark blue of them, held her transfixed. And then the kiss to seal their vows. The enormity of what had just happened exploded within her at the touch of his warm mouth to hers. She was wife to Graham. The man she loved. The man this union so endangered.
“I fear for us.” The whispered words escaped her as soon as Graham lifted his mouth from hers. The thrilling happiness of the day marred by the destruction that could overtake them at any time.
Graham shook his head, then pressed his forehead to hers. “Not today, love,” he said in a gentle whisper. “Today, we celebrate each other. Tomorrow, we shall plan a way to end this madness, aye?”
“Aye,” she said with a helpless sigh. How could she deny them both this day, this stolen bit of time when nothing mattered but the two of them? She bowed her head and squeezed Graham’s hands.
“I hereby proclaim the two of ye man and wife,” Father William said. “Let no man dare put asunder what God hath joined together.” He removed the binding cloth and folded it. Looking to Graham, he arched a brow. “I would tell ye to kiss your bride, but since ye’ve already done it, I’ll be waiting for a fine whisky to toast ye.” He graced Mercy with a smile. “Dinna fear, lass. Ye’ve married a fine man.”
“Yes, I have.” Mercy never doubted that fact.
Graham offered his arm. “Might I lead ye to our banquet, wife?”
His words thrilled through her. Mercy took his arm and hugged him to her. “Yes, husband.”
The few gathered in the small chapel cheered, following the couple as they made their way to the main hall of the keep. As they walked through the archway, Mercy came to a halt, staring at the view before her. The sight touched her heart and flooded her with so much emotion, she struggled to speak. “H-how?”
Catriona appeared at her side, smiling proudly. “It’s amazing what can be done when we set our minds to it.”
Bundles of thrift, rose, and cowslip, bound with ribbons and intertwined with braided ropes of ivy filled every nook, corner, mantle, and archway of the room. The yellows, pinks, and soft purples of the blooms made the deep green of the ivy leaves even more vibrant. The head table glowed with the finest silver candelabras, polished and lit with the glow of beeswax candles, their scent mixing with the delicate fragrance of the blossoms. Two, high-backed chairs waited at the center of the main table on the dais, draped with flowers as well.
Music filled the air. A fiddle accompanied by the jaunty drumming of a bodhran. The lively tune of a pair of flageolets, the whistles played by a pair of young men hopping in time to the song. The wail of bagpipes filled the air, coupled with the clapping of the crowd as Mercy and Graham entered the room.
Mercy pressed a hand to her throat, happiness overflowing as Graham helped her into her seat. She leaned forward, looking down the table at Alexander and Catriona. “I can’t begin to tell you how much all this means to me. Your acceptance has touched my heart.”
Alexander lifted his glass. “Any woman brave enough to take on Graham has our admiration! Welcome to the family!”
All in the great room lifted their tankards and cheered.
Mercy scanned the crowd, her heart swelling as they smiled back at her. These people accepted her. So few had tolerated her back in London, yet every person in this room seemed to look upon her with genuine kindness.
Graham leaned close, took her hand, and kissed it. “Ye’ve gone a bit pale, dear one. Are ye unwell?”
“No.” Mercy squeezed his hand, cupping it between both of hers. “I’m overwhelmed by the open hearts of these people.” There was no way she could explain how it felt. It was like finally finding home after searching through a blinding storm.
“Quaich!” The shout started from the back of the room, then grew in strength, rippling forward until all who were gathered, young and old, servants and clansmen, chanted the word.
Father William emerged from the shadows of the gallery, the two-handled silver bowl in one hand, and a bottle in the other. He walked to the main table and took a stance in front of Mercy and Graham. With a ceremonious bow of his head over the silver bowl, eyes closed and lips moving, the hall fell silent. In a deep, resounding voice that Me
rcy never would have imagined coming from the priest, he said, “Blessed Three we bid thee protect them, guide them, and bless them.” He opened the bottle and poured some of the golden liquid into the quaich, then made the sign of the cross over it. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” Lifting the quaich by the short handles on either side of the bowl, he passed it to Graham and nodded.
Graham accepted it and turned to face Mercy, holding the quaich between them. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” he said while staring into her eyes, then took a sip and handed the bowl to her.
Mercy wet her lips and repeated, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” She drank the golden whisky. The heat of the liquid warmed through her, bringing with it a sense of calm, a feeling of peace and well-being she hadn’t felt in a very long while.
“Amen,” Graham whispered.
“Amen,” Mercy said with a smile, still holding the bowl aloft.
Father William took the quaich, lifted it high in the air, then turned toward the crowd. “And all God’s people said?”
“Amen!” everyone responded.
Father William turned to Alexander and nodded.
“Feast!” Alexander proclaimed. Servants appeared bearing platters of meat, cheeses, vegetables, and breads. Glasses were filled with wine and plates were overloaded. The mouthwatering aroma of roasted meat, smoky and fresh from the spit, filled the air.
Sitting to Graham’s left, Mercy stared down at her plate as servants filled it. Surely, they didn’t expect her to eat? Not after such a day. She stole a glance at Graham. And how could she eat when soon, she and her husband would retire to what would henceforth be known as their wedding chamber where they would consummate their vows? She nearly choked from a nervous swallow of wine. Picking at a crust of bread, she popped a small bite into her mouth. She should eat, she supposed. It wouldn’t do if she fainted due to lack of sustenance.
The Age of Knights and Highlanders: A Series Starter Collection Page 72
