Amanda Scott (30 page)

When Fin saw Molly step into the doorway, his breath caught in his throat. He had always thought her beautiful, but now, at
this moment, her beauty was almost ethereal. Her magnificent red-gold curls fell in a cloud to her hips, and the simple, well-fitting,
sky-blue and gold gown looked like something an angel might wear. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. Her hands were
clasped at her waist over her silver-gilt kirtle, from which dangled a silver mirror and her pomander.

Mackinnon moved to stand beside her, ready to escort her to the dais where Fin, Patrick, and Dougal Maclennan stood beside
the makeshift altar. Sleat stood nearby, for even as forceful as he was, he had not had the temerity to suggest that he, and
not her foster father, should stand up with her.

Mauri preceded them as Molly’s sole attendant, and the scent of rosemary wafted through the air. Not only had village women
strewn the herb among the rushes on the floor but they had provided each person with sprigs of it—dried, since the season
was yet too early for fresh rosemary. Even the men wore bits of the herb tucked into their shirtfronts or caps, or elsewhere
on their persons.

As Mackinnon led Molly forward, her skirt clung to her softly rounded hips and swirled around her dainty feet. Fin could not
take his eyes off her, and when she looked at him and smiled shyly, he felt as if his body would betray his lust for her right
there in front of everyone.

Molly looked straight at Kintail as she approached the dais and its makeshift altar, thinking that he looked particularly
splendid for the occasion. He wore a gold-and-green-embroidered black velvet doublet over a kilted basc made from the black
and green tartan favored in the area, and black trunk hose. His sleeves were puffed and slashed with dark green satin, his
square-toed black shoes embroidered with matching green silk. The sword at his side and the two eagle feathers gracing his
flat black velvet cap reminded everyone of his power and rank.

Molly moved to stand beside him, and Mackinnon stepped back. As always, she was struck by her instant reaction to Kintail’s
nearness. Vitality radiated from him, making her feel certain that she would recognize his presence though he approached her
through the blackest of nights without making a sound. Nonetheless, when he took her hand in his, she started and looked up
at him. His eyes were twinkling, and his expression warmed her. It was as if everyone else in the hall faded away, leaving
them so completely alone that she might have spoken to him then about her worries, had the priest not spoken first and broken
the spell.

Much of the ceremony was in Latin, but for certain key portions, Dougal Maclennan spoke the Gaelic. As Molly repeated the
words he commanded her to speak, and heard Kintail speak his bits, it seemed to her that her share included a great number
of awkward promises to obey and submit, including one to be always meek and obedient in bed and at board. Was that the sort
of marriage it would be, one of convenience for him and total submission for her?

Kintail’s share certainly contained no such words. He promised only to take her as his wedded wife, for fair and foul, rich
and poor, in sickness and health, until death parted them, and that only “if the holy Kirk so ordains.”

The twinkle in his eyes remained throughout, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Slipping an intricately engraved gold ring on her finger, he announced that now, with the ring, he was wedded to her. Then
he promised to worship her with his body and to honor her with his worldly chattel, but although he sounded perfectly sincere
and even touched her arm in an intimate, reassuring way, she heard naught of obedience, submission, or even ordinary consideration
for her wishes.

It occurred to her that God did not have a wife, so what could he possibly know of women’s wishes or needs? Startled by the
sacrilegious thought, she shot a wary glance at the priest.

He had lapsed into Latin again, however, and was paying her no heed. Slight warm pressure on the hand Kintail held drew her
gaze to him.

He was smiling again, but the smile was different and the gleam in his eyes as they looked into hers sent warmth flooding
through her—and something else, too, nerves stirring again in those places she had never expected to feel such things.

Moments later, the priest presented them to the assembly as man and wife, and a great cheering broke out, only to be drowned
out by the triumphant skirling of pipes from the back of the hall.

Gillies and maidservants hastened to turn the altar back into the laird’s high table, after which the bride and groom, their
primary guests, and upper members of the household took places there. Servants bore in platters and baskets of food, and the
bridal supper began with a toast from Constable Ian Dubh to the couple. One from Kintail to the company followed, and many
more followed thereafter.

Merriment and feasting continued through the afternoon, while the bride and groom sat chatting with Mackinnon, his lady, Patrick
and his kinsmen, and—because of his rank— Donald the Grim. All the while, a steady stream of well-wishers approached to welcome
the bride and congratulate their laird.

Molly was so occupied with friends and guests that not until Kintail took her hand and stood up did thought of the bedding
ceremony flash into her mind again.

She realized then that she had not yet spoken privately with him, and thus had not revealed her strong aversion to the horrid
ceremony. Now, looking at him, her nerves suddenly reeling, she could think of no proper way to express her feelings. His
friends and tenants surrounded them, and Mackinnon stood within earshot. So did Donald the Grim, looking exactly as one might
expect.

Kintail made a slight gesture toward Sir Patrick, and that gentleman jumped onto a bench and raised both hands, shouting for
quiet.

When the general uproar faded to a rumble, he said, “The laird bids you all stay and make merry as long as you like. There
is plenty still to eat and to drink, and we will have dancing, as well, since no reformers were invited here today.”

Hearty laughter greeted this sally, but one wag bellowed, “We still ha’ the bedding to see to, laird!”

Kintail waved in the direction of the bellow, and Molly slipped behind him, grateful for once that he was so large. No one
would see her blushes or, for that matter, detect her rising fear.

Kintail said in an even voice but one that carried easily, “I will bed my own bride, lads. Tradition is all very well, but
you are here at my invitation, and anyone who seeks to create a nuisance on my wedding night will quickly learn that he should
not take my hospitality—or my amiable nature— for granted.”

Sir Patrick gestured to someone at the rear of the hall, and when a lone piper began to play a reel, Kintail grabbed Molly’s
arm and urged her through the doorway to the spiral stairs.

“Make haste, lass,” he said. “Patrick can hold them for a few moments, but most of them are already ape-drunk, and if you
give them encouragement by so much as flashing an ankle, they’ll be upon us.”

“We ha’ done it, Catriona,” Claud said with satisfaction as, from the laird’s peek, he watched Molly and the laird hurry from
the hall, then past them and on up the spiral stairs. “The Circle canna say now I were wrong tae put them together, no when
Kintail and my lady be married and all. Art pleased wi’ me, lass?” he asked, moving to put his arm around Catriona, who had
watched the proceedings with him. Now, he thought, perhaps he could spend more time alone with her.

As his hand brushed her shoulder, however, he realized that she was getting to her feet. “Come on, Claud,” she said. “I want
to see what happens above.”

“But, Catriona—!”

He spoke to air. She was already flitting up the stairway.

N
ervous and unusually aware of Kintail behind her as she hurried up the stairs, Molly gripped her skirts in one hand and the
stiff oiled-rope banister in the other. Even so, her steps were uncertain and she felt dizzy and out of breath.

Over her shoulder, she said, “I…I wanted to tell you that I didn’t think I could go through with that dreadful bedding ceremony.”
When she nearly tripped on the step before the landing, she added, “Faith, but the wine must have been unusually potent. It
seems to have gone straight to my—”

Her last sentence ended in a shriek as, without a word, he scooped her up from behind and carried her to his bed-chamber,
managing the door latch easily despite his burden, and nudging the door open with a foot. The mixed emotions that had been
building all day overwhelmed her, and she did not say another word.

A warm, orange-and-yellow glow greeted them from the cozy fire crackling in the fireplace and from candles burning in sconces
on two walls. The window curtains were closed, but those on the bed were not. The oblong tub sat where it had the day she
had surprised Kintail with Patrick’s sister, Bab, and in that first instant she assumed its presence meant that Kintail had
bathed before the wedding and someone had forgotten to empty the tub. She was thus surprised to see steam rising from the
water. More steam rose from a kettle hanging on the swey over the fire.

She had only a moment to take it all in before Kintail set her down and stood gazing at her. For a moment, she thought he
might be experiencing the same sense of disorientation that she felt, but she dismissed that thought the moment it formed.
He was too large, too vital, too decisive, and much too sure of himself to be concerned at such a moment about what might
happen next.

She looked searchingly into his eyes. A reflection of the firelight danced there, making them gleam, but firelight was not
responsible for the hunger she saw, a hunger that made her body hum with nervous anticipation.

He reached out and touched the left side of her face, slowly stroking her cheek and then the line of her jaw with one finger.

His hand was warm, the fingertip slightly rough against her skin.

Gently, he said, “Have you any notion of how beautiful you are?”

The world righted itself, and she said with an unexpected chuckle, “Now, how am I supposed to answer that? If I say ‘yes,’
you will think me conceited. If I say ‘no,’ you will think me insipid.”

“Never insipid, lass,” he said, his voice low and vibrant. “Many other things, perhaps, but not that.”

His hand slid around to grasp the back of her neck.

She smiled shyly, watching his expression for a hint as to what he would do next, and when he just smiled, she said, “Should
I know what to do now, sir?”

“Do you know what men and women do when they bed, lass?”

“Aye, somewhat,” she said, feeling fire in her cheeks. “It is like… like horses and such, is it not?”

He chuckled. “I promise you, I’ll try to behave in a more civilized fashion than any stallion at rut.”

A rap at the door startled them both, but Kintail smiled reassuringly at her and said, “Enter.”

Mauri breezed in, carrying a pewter goblet. “Good,” she said, looking around the room with a critical expression. “I see they
ha’ prepared the tub for ye, mistress.” Casting a pointed look at Kintail, she added, “Laird, they forgot the cold-water pail.
Would ye shout at someone, or better still, go yourself to fetch it? If ye shout, you’ll likely ha’ that lot below up here
demanding a proper bedding.”