The Highlander's Bride (25 page)

“I can rectify that in just a few minutes, Laurel. It is your wish that we wait until Cole can be here.”

“I would like Colin to be here as well, but it would be dangerous for him to travel to and from the border country this time of year.”

“Choose. Do you want to sleep together married? Or do you want to wait for Cole?”

“Conor, you are not being reasonable.”

“I am probably being insufferable, too,” he added knowing how much she liked to use that word to describe him. He stood, walked over and lifted her to a standing embrace. “But I am going to be there if something happens to you at night, if you relapse, or get ill.” He kissed the top of her head.

Instinctively, she returned the embrace and rested her head on his shoulders. “I am fine, and you know it. You are just trying to get your way even though you have nothing to support your side of the argument.”

“One of the better things about being a laird,” he said, leaning back and looking at her as his lips broke into a wide grin.

“Ahh-hem,” interrupted the priest from the doorway. “Excuse me for overhearing.” In truth, when these two were at it, it was difficult not to overhear, he thought to himself, advancing into the room.

“One of the better things about being a priest is my authority over who gets married.” That got both their attentions.

“My Lady Laurel, you are correct to move back into your own chambers until after the ceremony. I have turned a blind eye to your current sleeping arrangements for too long.” He raised his finger to stop Conor’s impending eruption. “If you do not, I am afraid that I will not feel comfortable ordaining your union.” He felt somewhat guilty about deceiving his laird, but one did what one must with what one had, he told himself.

Laurel knew that only the priest’s intervention had allowed her to win this one. But she tried not to gloat as she moved back into her chambers.

Despite knowing that Laurel had recovered and seemed to be in full health, Conor still woke up several times each night and visited her room to check on her.

The two weeks flew by in a blur. With preparing for the winter, overseeing his clan, and training the warriors, Conor had much to do. It seemed someone always needed something or some decision from him. Laurel didn’t know how he could be so tolerant with his clansmen. It was no wonder that he lost his temper with her so much; he had no patience left by the end of the day!

Meanwhile, the making of her dress and preparations for the wedding celebration were keeping her busier than she anticipated. As she had promised, she limited her activities, often taking breaks in the afternoon. She hoped that her full strength and stamina would return soon.

On the first day she was allowed to leave the keep, she visited Aileen and her baby, whom they finally named Gideon. He had already grown so much in the few weeks since he was born.

“When is Cole due to arrive from Laird Schellden’s?” asked Aileen, eager for the wedding to take place. She knew that Conor and Laurel would eventually get married, but she knew an ill-timed argument could halt the wedding plans.

“Either tomorrow or the day after,” answered Laurel, helping Aileen prepare the afternoon meal.

“Is the chapel ready?”

“Enough. The benches are all now safe to use. Some were in deplorable condition with rot. The seats have been reupholstered in the McTiernay plaid. The altar coverings should be done tonight. Fallon is upset that the windows will most likely not be cleaned in time, but Conor will not delay the ceremony any longer. Even if Cole is not here the day after tomorrow, the ceremony will take place.”

“Are you not also eager to have the wedding?” Aileen asked, shifting Gideon to the other hip while she stirred the broth cooking on the hearth.

“Here, let me take him,” Laurel said, reaching for the little bairn. “Oh, I want to be married to Conor. I guess I am just a little nervous about the ceremony. So many people will be there, and I want everything to be just right.”

“From the gossip that I hear from Glynis and Brighid, it will be wonderful. Everybody is going to be there, and those who aren’t will wish they could be.”

“That is exactly my point. What was I thinking agreeing to such a large event? Conor and I should have just met with Father Lanaghly and said our vows quickly and privately.”

“Perhaps you were just unconsciously delaying your wedding night,” Aileen cagily prodded. Many knew that the laird had stayed with his intended during the time she was unwell. Some speculated whether or not the wedding was just a formality as their chamber rooms were just a few floors apart.

“I suppose so,” Laurel answered. She understood what Aileen was suggesting. She did not regret what she and Conor had shared, but she did not feel the need to explain or excuse their actions. She had noticed that Conor had also deftly evaded answering such queries coming from Father Lanaghly.

The next two days went by faster than any Laurel had ever known. Cole had arrived and was having a merry time with his brothers, who were constantly teasing Conor—the eternal bachelor—about getting married.

Laurel had remained so busy preparing for the wedding that—with organizing the feast, arranging rooms in the keep, and making her dress—she could hardly believe it was now
the
day. The early morning light was brightly streaming through the window curtains as she lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, grinning like a child on Christmas morning. Today, she was going to marry Conor McTiernay.

She rose and was putting on a robe when the door to her chamber flew open and a half a dozen highland women entered. Fluttering around for the next several hours, they bathed, washed, and pampered her. Someone would put her hair up, and then another would take it down. Arguments arose over flowers, the numbers of herbs to be carried, whether or not she should eat, and a multitude of other things.

After a while, Laurel felt overwhelmed and asked everyone except Aileen to leave while she caught her breath. It was her wedding day, and a bad case of nerves was setting in.

A few months ago, Laurel never dreamed she would ever get married, especially to a man like Conor. Her only focus had been to find a safe harbor with her grandfather. Since then so much had happened and, in the past two weeks, even more had transpired. The newfound ability to seek and grant compromises that she and Conor had achieved was creating a life of happiness and hope. Sometimes she was afraid she would wake up and realize it was all a dream.

Aileen was standing near the bed, looking at Laurel’s wedding garments and accessories. She reached out and fingered the fragile cloth. “This is the most beautiful wedding dress I have ever seen. You have created a masterpiece.”

Laurel smiled but did not move, attempting to focus on the view from her window. “Not I. Brighid.” Aileen decided not to contradict Laurel although she knew the truth. Brighid was very skilled with a needle and her embroidery was superb, but it was Laurel’s hard work and design that made the ensemble so exquisite.

“I suppose it is time to get ready,” Laurel sighed nervously, not moving from her single point of solace. The idea of marrying Conor brought her joy and peace. But the thought of becoming Lady McTiernay was quite daunting.

Conor was the chieftain of a powerful highland clan. She had only realized how large and powerful it was these past several days. All week, there had been a continual stream of men coming to pay Conor respect in regard to his upcoming nuptials. Hundreds of warriors, dozens of lairds from smaller nearby allied clans, and countless highland men and women had come to wish them both well. Laurel’s growing apprehension spiked when Finn explained that Conor could easily call over twice that many to battle. His personal army was over a thousand warriors strong.

What made her think she could be the next Lady McTiernay? What was Conor thinking when he asked—no, demanded—that she become his wife?

She had become uncharacteristically nervous the past few days, repeatedly seeking Conor’s affirmation that he wanted to marry her. And, each time, he had been able to convince Laurel that he was absolutely, positively sure.

As Laurel stared out the window, her hand crushed the velvet gold curtains she had pushed aside. She longed for just one more of his assurances.

She let out a barely noticeable groan.

“Laurel?”

“Hmm?” she responded absentmindedly.

“Come here and sit down with me.”

Still deep in thought, Laurel replied, “What?”

“I said, come and join me. I know a nervous bride when I see one, and there is no doubt that is what you are. So come, sit, and let’s talk.”

Laurel let go of her grip on the gold cloth and sat down in the other chair facing the hearth. She bent her knees and tucked her feet underneath her.

“Tell me about England,” Aileen casually requested.

Laurel blinked and cocked her head. “England?”

“Aye. I’ve never been there. You once mentioned it, and I would like to hear more.”

Laurel raised her brows, shrugged, and began talking about her childhood home. Laurel spoke about Cheviot Hills in Northumberland, and how it was recognized as the main barrier between England and Scotland.

“Much of it is treeless, and there is a lonely eternal breeze that blows over the ridges of its rough grass. I used to sit for hours, comforted by the sound. Hadrian’s wall—built by the Romans—was supposed to keep the Scots and English apart, but it never did. Both sides are always climbing over it or ignoring it.”

Laurel found herself relaxing. “England is beautiful but, just as these picturesque highlands are hard and rocky, the Hills are also difficult. Much of Northumberland is made up of salt marshes, peat bogs, and broad rivers. But there is also beauty to be found in the green wooded valleys and deserted beaches.”

For the next few hours, Laurel continued answering Aileen’s questions and forgot her fears and need for reassurance.

Just as Aileen was going to suggest it was time to dress, Laurel’s helpers arrived, saying that everyone but her was ready.

Laurel smiled, realizing that with Aileen’s help, she, too, was now ready for the day’s main event. She stood and walked over to the bed, lifting her garments, taking in their beauty and meaning.

Glynis rushed over. “Ho, now. We are going to help you with that.”

“Glynis is right, milady. You just stand there and let us help you do everything,” Brighid added, removing Laurel’s robe.

Laurel, now calm, was able to withstand the eagerness surrounding her. Moments later, the diaphanous undergarments were placed on her, followed by her gown.

The outer portion of her wedding dress was made of a luxurious ivory silk damask that showed off Brighid’s intricate embroidery. The gown’s inset was a simple light gold satin and was lavishly embroidered around the hem. The needlework on the waist, cuffs, arm, and neck line was beautifully enhanced with crystals. Most of Brighid’s embroidery was about an inch or more in diameter and contained a mixture of blue for purity and gold to match Laurel’s hair.

The front of the gown was cut in the shape of a
V,
which rounded and closed in the back between her shoulder blades. The back ties that stitched the fabric together were made of the same material as the gold inset. The detailed belt hung high on her waist in the back, delicately draping and tying in the front to match the V-cut of her gown.

The gown’s short, puffed sleeves were bound in the same embroidered pattern. The inner, tightly fitting sleeve was made of a light satin and silk mix, while the outer sleeve was made of thin chiffon, lined with a smaller width of embroidery.

Laurel decided to leave her hair long and loose, displaying its natural curls and waves. She wore a six-point gold tiara that had belonged in the McTiernay family for decades. On the front, it had a Celtic design embellished with blue crystals, pearls, and silver. Attached to the back of tiara, five strands of pearls made of blue and gold beads draped elegantly over her hair, accenting the blue needlework in the gown.

Last to be donned was a necklace that had been in Laurel’s family for generations. It was one of the few items that she had sewn into her undergarments for safekeeping when she left England. It was a fairly simple, but striking necklace, made of white pearls, accented with a gold-tone star and a floral motif in a center pendant.

A knock echoed, and a clanswoman dressed in her very best opened the door.

“It’s time?” Laurel asked, feeling nervous all over again.

“Aye, milady,” whispered the woman.

“Milady,” said a tearing Glynis, “you do us McTiernays proud today. Aye, you do, lass.”

Everyone then surrounded Laurel, lifting her gown so that it would not drag upon the floor or stairs as she descended. When she arrived at the bottom of the tower and walked outside, she noticed that the courtyard, battlements, walls—everywhere a man could stand—were filled with highlanders. The chapel could not accommodate anything close to the number of men who had arrived on this cold day. The snow had melted away, but the frigid air remained.

She stood just past the tower doors, staring at the crowd, overwhelmed that these men had risked leaving their homes, their keeps, their families during the winter months to partake in this event.

Suddenly, Finn was by her side to escort her to the chapel. The huge man was fighting tears. “You are pure beauty, milady. I fail to understand, looking at you now, how I didn’t recognize it that first night you stumbled onto our camp. But I am glad that my laird was not so remiss.”

Laurel smiled at the memory and wiped her friend’s tears away. “That is because you have the stunning Aileen to keep you company.”

He nodded and grinned at his wife who was standing just behind Laurel, helping the others keep her gown from falling on the melted snow. As always, his heart fluttered a little when he captured his love’s eyes.

It was true that Finn had found his own highland beauty, and that he would want no other. But he was not blind, and neither were any of the men in the courtyard. Each looked like he had been struck by lightning as they gazed at the vision before them.

As Laurel began walking towards the chapel, every soldier moved his sword upwards in salute. There they remained, motionless, except for those making a path for her, until she vanished from view. The gesture of respect initially stunned and then deeply moved her.

As she approached the chapel doorway, Laurel mentally reminded herself to stop twisting the herbs and flowers she carried. The women had put much effort into selecting the ones that symbolized fidelity and spiritual protection.

Conor was laughing with his brothers about something when Laurel entered the chapel. Both instantly became aware of each other. Nothing could have prepared Conor for the breathtaking vision that was venturing towards him.

This morning he had risen from bed and gone to the stables, thinking a long ride in the cold air would help him focus and stay composed. It was just a wedding—his wedding—but a wedding nonetheless, and he had been to plenty of those. But the private ride only caused his mind to race. He decided to seek companionship.

It had been a long while since Conor had spent any time in the lower hall. Mostly, the stench had driven him away. But today the idea of camaraderie and a drink were appealing. Both Fallon and Finn had found their laird drinking with the younger soldiers, telling them of glorious battles. Each taking an arm, they marched the groom to the North Tower.

At the base of the stairs, Conor pulled his arms free. “Where do you think you are taking me?”

Finn walked up to try again. “Now, laird, it would be better if you would just…laird?” Finn took a couple of steps back and eyed Conor, who now stood quite composed with his arms folded across his chest. “You aren’t drunk?”

Conor eyed them both and asked again, “Where the devil did you think you were going to drag me?”

Fallon immediately took charge. “
We
are going to the tower’s solar, of course.”

“I’d prefer my own chambers, thank you.” Conor replied sarcastically, his stance firm.

Standing just as resolutely, Finn replied, “Well, you may prefer them, but you aren’t going near them. So you might as well give in now and follow Fallon.”

Seeing the large furrow form on Conor’s brow, Finn quickly added, “Now you may be laird, but your bride is getting ready in that tower, and Aileen made it absolutely clear that if even a toe of yours enters that part of the castle, I am going to die…painfully. So, unless you want to take on my wife, and Glynis, and Brighid, and a half a dozen other women other who are there right now, I would just give in. We gathered your clothes, and they are upstairs now along with a hot bath.”

They both stood staring at each other for what seemed several minutes before Conor silently turned and ascended the staircase to the North Tower’s solar. The tension radiating from him was palpable.

After his bath, he dismissed everyone from the room and lay down to think. Why was he so on edge? He and Laurel had gotten along so well the past few weeks.

He raked his fingers through his hair and stood to get dressed. The door opened, and Finn entered.

“Laird?”

“Aye.”

“Seamus is outside. You requested him?”

“Aye.”

“Is there something I need to know about, laird?”

“No. Send him in. Then check and make sure that all is ready.”

Finn wondered at his laird’s strange behavior, but did as Conor requested.

After speaking with Seamus and gaining his pledge, Conor felt somewhat relieved. His promise would soon be fulfilled but, until then, he would not feel completely at peace until he saw Laurel again.

Now, watching his bride coming towards him, Conor felt all his worry, frustration, and responsibilities fall away. His heart began to pound in his chest. Part of him felt intense pride at the vision that was coming towards him to be bound to him forever. The other part desired only to banish every last person, especially the men, from the chapel and his keep. There were no other women to compare. She was an angel sent down from heaven to save him from a life of solitude and loneliness. His only goal was to make her happy.

Laurel looked at the man who was about to become her husband. All of a sudden, her fear dissipated. She did not see the great Laird McTiernay, only Conor, her friend and protector. With him, she could finally allow herself to trust completely and totally. Never would she have to rely solely on her skills and abilities to survive. She could focus on loving her highlander.

By the time Conor and she left the large reception party for their solar, Laurel was quite anxious. She had been nervous all night, and with every dance, every toast, and every kiss from a well wisher, her anxiety grew.

Laurel had inwardly laughed when Aileen had suggested that she would be apprehensive about her wedding night. She thought the idea naive since she and Conor had already been intimate. But, in reality, knowing exactly what to expect did not alleviate her nerves. Instead, it excited them. She wondered if their lovemaking would be as intense, powerful and all-consuming again. After all, last time was a product of passion resulting from a fight.