A Dangerous Love (43 page)

“A few by the south wall,” the woman replied.

“Will you have a bridal wreath made for her head?”
the laird said.

His companions chuckled and winked at one another.

“Be careful, brother; you might actually say those dreaded words to Adair if you continue on in such a tender manner,” Duncan teased.

Elsbeth chuckled. “I’ll see that it is done, my lord,”
she promised him, and then hurried from the hall. In the kitchens Flora and Grizel were waiting. “There will be a wedding on the morrow,” Elsbeth said. “Jack,” she called to Flora’s young son, and he came from the pantry, where he had been sharpening the carving knives.

“Aye, mistress?” he said.

“Early on the morrow go and pick some flowers from Adair’s garden for her bridal wreath, laddie. You must go early, for your mother will have to make the wreath.

My fingers are too gnarled and stiff now to do such work. The wedding will take place in midmorning.

Adair’s gown is the color of lavender, so pick flowers to match and blend.”

The boy nodded, and then went back to his knives while Elsbeth, Grizel, and Flora began preparations for the wedding feast. Coming from the pantry the boy saw how busy they were, and went up to the hall to clear the high board. Then he made up the bed spaces for the guests. Duncan and Murdoc shared a bedchamber on the second level of the keep. Jack saw the fire needed more wood, and he added it. The laird and his men were now dicing and drinking. He watched them for a moment, and then returned to the kitchens to wash the dishes. His mother and Grizel were still busy chopping
and sifting. Elsbeth was already kneading the extra bread they were going to need.

When the women finally found their rest that night, all was in readiness for the morrow but for the cooking, which would begin early. Jack had agreed to remain behind during the hour of the ceremony itself so that his mother and the others might slip into the church and see Adair married to Conal Bruce.

It was a bright and clear late October day when the sun finally rose the next morning. The men in the hall were served first, and the laird was pleased to see the day-old round trenchers filled with oat stirabout sprinkled with cinnamon, fresh bread, butter, bacon, and eggs cooked with heavy cream, cheese, and black pepper. He saw Elsbeth hurrying through the hall with a small tray, and smiled. Knowing how upset Adair had been, he had not gone to bed until late, and had risen early while she still slept. He wanted no altercations with her today if he could avoid it.

Adair was still sleeping when Elsbeth entered the bedchamber. She set the tray down on the oak table by the window, and gently shook her mistress by the shoulder. “Wake up, my child. It is your wedding day, and ’tis a fair one. I think it a good omen.”

Adair could hardly force herself awake at first, but then she finally managed to open her eyes and keep them open. She still felt weak and tired. “My wedding day,” she said wanly. “A third husband. Let us hope this one lasts longer than the others.”

“So you are resigned then to accepting Conal Bruce as your husband?” Elsbeth asked. “Good! Now you are being sensible, and all will be well, I promise you, my chick. Here is your breakfast. Eat it while it is hot.” She brought the tray to Adair and set it on her lap. “I’ve fed the men in the hall, and the wedding feast is being prepared.”

Adair gave her a weak smile. “And what am I to wear?”

“That lovely lavender wool gown we made this summer,” Elsbeth said cheerfully. “Jack picked some flowers, and Flora has woven a nice bridal wreath for your head.”

Adair began to cry again. “What is the matter with me, Nursie? I weep like a maiden at the least little thing these days,” she sobbed.

Elsbeth set the tray to one side and enfolded Adair in her arms, comforting her. “There, my chick, it is the way of a woman with a child in her belly. They weep, they rage, they are euphoric, and all without reason. It will pass, I promise you. Now eat your breakfast,” she said, putting the tray back.

“Take the trencher away,” Adair said. “I cannot bear the smell of the oats these days.” She buttered a piece of bread lavishly and laid some of the salty bacon on it, gobbling it down. Then she sipped at the watered wine Elsbeth had brought her, before she began to eat more bacon and bread. When she had finished eating Elsbeth helped her to wash in the basin, and then she donned the gown Elsbeth had fetched.

The gown was fashioned of soft light wool in a lavender color. The bodice was fitted, and it fell straight from just beneath her breasts. The neckline was a small, square opening. The sleeves were long and tight. The hem was sewn with a darker purple silk ribbon. The only decoration on the gown was the same ribbon edg-ing the neckline.

“It’s too tight,” Adair complained as the garment settled itself.

“Where?” Elsbeth asked, and then she saw. Adair’s breasts were growing larger in preparation for her child.

“Stand still,” she said, and she carefully pulled some stitches out on the side of the gown beneath Adair’s arm. “Is that better, my chick?”

Adair took a deep breath in, and nodded. “We must hope the gown will not burst all its stitches before the day is over, Nursie,” Adair remarked with some small show of humor. “The laird is a jealous man.”

The door to her bedchamber opened, and Conal
Bruce came in. “Go downstairs now, Elsbeth. I will bring my bride when the time is right.” He turned from the older woman to Adair. “I have brought you your bridal wreath,” he said, handing it to her. “I see you have not fixed your hair yet. Sit down, and I will brush it for you.”

She did not know what to say to him. She had already said it all. Wordlessly she sat down and handed him the pear-wood brush he had bought for her at the midsummer fair. Slowly, carefully, he began to brush her long sable hair. The brush slicked down her tresses from the top of her head to the ends of her hair. She actually found it quite relaxing, and closed her eyes briefly.

Finally he stopped and said, “How will you dress it?”

“As I always do. In a single plait,” she responded.

“Let me. I have watched you do it enough. I think I can,” Conal replied, and proceeded to weave her hair into the thick single braid she favored. When he had finished he bound the ends with the bit of silk ribbon she handed him. “Give me your wreath,” he said, and she handed him the circlet that she had been holding in her lap. He set it upon her head. It was fashioned of several small pink late roses, some lavender, and white heather.

The fragrance from it was elusive but there. “There.

Now you are ready, and I am ready to take you to the priest.” He stood up, drawing her to his side.

Adair’s hand was icy cold. And then she realized that when she married Conal Bruce the lady of Stanton would cease to exist. But Stanton was already gone. She was not quite ready to forgive him for his high-handed behavior toward her, for his inability to say he loved her, but the truth was, she had had no real choice in either of her previous marriages. Few women did. She could have been killed that day William Douglas came raiding. She might have been sold into a brothel to be used by man after man until she had died. And no whore mistress would have honored the year and a day
of servitude. Fate had treated her in a kindly fashion. “I am ready to go down,” she told him.

He led her downstairs and out into the courtyard, where he set her upon the saddle of his great stallion.

Then he mounted behind her, one arm holding her gently before him, the other gloved hand filled with the animal’s reins. They rode out from the keep’s courtyard, followed by Bruce clansmen with their red-and-black plaids blowing behind them. Leading the party was Prince James, Patrick Hepburn, and the laird’s two brothers. And behind the procession came a cart carrying Elsbeth, Grizel, and Flora. There was a light wind, but the sun shone brightly, and the sky above them was bright blue.

There was something exciting, Adair considered, about riding beneath such a clear sky on such a beautiful day in the arms of her lover. And he was obviously and patently proud of this marriage that was about to be formalized, she realized, given this public display. He was not ashamed that his bride was English, or that she had been his servant. He publicly exhibited his love for her.
Love? Aye, love!
He did love her! Would he have been so bold otherwise to brandish their wedding day like a great banner before his clansmen and -women?

But she still wanted to hear him say the words to her, Adair thought. She would teach him to say them. She smiled to herself.

They reached the village over the hill from the keep, and when they arrived at the small stone church they stopped. The laird dismounted and lifted Adair from the saddle. The priest was awaiting them at the door. Blessing them, he led them into the church, which was crowded with villagers. Elsbeth and her party were distressed to see there seemed no place for them, and then a pretty woman of undetermined age came forward and led them to the front, where places were made for them and they could see all.

“Thank you, mistress,” Elsbeth said.

“Agnes Carr,” the woman answered.

Elsbeth nodded. “Elsbeth Radcliffe,” she returned the introduction. She, like her companions, had heard of Agnes Carr and her warmhearted nature. That good nature obviously extended to much more in her life than just the lads, Elsbeth decided. She gave Agnes Carr a friendly smile, and then turned to where Adair and Conal now stood before the village priest.

As the bride’s legal guardian it was Prince James’s duty to release her into the custody of her husband now.

He did so, bowing elegantly to Adair and kissing her on the cheek. Then, putting her hand in Conal Bruce’s, he stepped back. The ceremony was quickly concluded, for there was no Mass, as standing for too long a period was difficult for Adair of late, and the laird had the utmost consideration for her. Having been proclaimed husband and wife under God’s law and the law of Scotland, the newly wedded couple turned, walking down the short aisle to exit the church.

“Hardly seems worth all the fuss,” Agnes Carr said with a chuckle. “She’s a bonnie lass, your mistress. And from the look on his face it isn’t just because he’s given her a big belly. The laird loves her, and I can tell you that he’s never loved a lass before.”

“She loves him too,” Elsbeth said. Well, here was a bit of gossip to cheer Adair with the next time she fell to weeping.

“Agnes, my lass.” Duncan Armstrong put an arm about the woman. “Come and meet someone very special,” he said with a grin.

“You and your brother had best be back in the hall with the prince for the feast,” Elsbeth said sternly. Then she turned to Agnes Carr. “Come with us, Mistress Carr, and join the wedding feast. You can meet the prince at the keep.” Her look dared Duncan to argue, and he laughed.

“We’re coming now, Elsbeth,” he promised her. “You are a fierce old dragon, but you cook like an angel. I’d marry you myself, if you would have me,” he teased her.

“Well, I won’t!” she told him, chortling. “Why, a fine lad like you would be the death of me, though to die so would be wonderful, I’m thinking.” Then she let him help her into the wagon, shrieking with surprise when he pinched her bottom.

Laughing, Duncan Armstrong left the giggling

women, rejoining his brother and the prince. “Elsbeth didn’t want us to be late to the feast,” he explained to James Stewart. “But, mindful of your wicked nature, she invited Agnes Carr to the feast. There are plenty of nooks and crannies in the keep where you may take Agnes for your pleasure. She’s a grand lass with a big heart and a great appetite for loving, Jamie.”

The prince grinned, delighted. “She’s a buxom lass,”

he noted. “I’ll look forward to meeting her, Duncan.”

They returned to the keep, where the hall was ready to receive the wedding party. Elsbeth had hired several women from the village to aid them that day. Back in her kitchens she began to direct the service with the élan of a military commander at a battle. There was salmon, courtesy of the prince and Patrick Hepburn.

There was trout, freshwater mussels with a mustard sauce, and creamed dried cod. There was a whole boar that had been roasted with an apple in his mouth, a side of beef packed in rock salt and roasted over a slow fire, as well as venison. There were platters of grouse, and others of ducks roasted black and served in a sauce of pear and apple, as well as several capons stuffed with bread, sage, onion, and celery, and goose. There was braised lettuce and spinach. Fresh bread, butter, and two cheeses—one soft, the other hard. There were candied violets and rose petals as well as marzipan. The rich red wine never ceased flowing, and the October ale had only recently been brewed.

The guests were well fed and content when the men began to dance to the shrill wail of the pipes. They danced a dance celebrating the wedding, with the bridegroom leading them. They danced the sword dance,
skipping nimbly between sharpened blades, their tartans in red, green, black, blue, white, and yellow swirling about them. And amid the celebration, Duncan Armstrong and Prince James sought out Agnes Carr, leading her from the hall.

“You can have the chamber I share with Murdoc,”

Duncan generously volunteered, grinning.

“Join us for a while,” the prince invited as they entered the room. He turned Agnes about to him, and smiled down into her face. “Would you mind?” he asked her.

Like so many women before her, Agnes Carr, normally practical and sensible for all her profession, melted beneath the prince’s gaze. “ ’Tis fine with me, my lord. I know Duncan Armstrong, and if you are his friend then I know you are a gentleman too.” Her mouth curled up in a smile as she slid her arms about his neck and pressed her generous bosom to his broad chest.

James Stewart smiled back at Agnes Carr. “I had been told you were a fine and welcoming lass, Aggie, and I am happy to see the truth was spoken of you.” He undid the laces of her skirt first, and then her petticoats, lifting her from them. He undid the ribbons of her shirt and drew it over her head, stepping back to view her nakedness. “Aye, Aggie,” he drawled. “You are indeed a fine figure of a woman,” he said as he admired her full hips and her large breasts. He turned to Duncan. “I’ll race you!” he said, laughing as he began to pull off his own garments, and the two men were quickly naked, tumbling onto the big bed Duncan usually shared with his younger brother, where Agnes was already awaiting them.