“You’re afraid. Despite what you believe, I do understand. I’m afraid too, but sometimes you have to trust that what you see in a man is a true reflection of his character.”
Lavinia glanced up, her lips curving into a soft smile. “Your Mr. McTaggart’s character is beyond reproach. You’ll have many years of happiness with him.”
“You could have the same with Lord St. Ambrose. You just need to be brave.”
“I don’t want to talk about me anymore.” Lavinia pushed herself up from the floor and returned to the chair across from Edith. “Tell me about your wedding. Have you chosen a day?”
Edith paused, saddened by the realization her friend likely would miss her nuptials given her impatience to return to England. “Mr. McTaggart wants a church wedding.”
“This could take longer than I expected,” Lavinia mumbled, as if speaking to herself. She raised her sculpted eyebrows in Edith’s direction. “Is there a way to rush the crying of the banns?”
“I am afraid it’s not possible, even in Scotland. I’ve been told I needn’t be a member of the Church of Scotland to marry Mr. McTaggart, so at least there is no delay from that end. Still, there are fifteen days between the first crying of the banns and the last.”
“I see.” Lavinia nibbled her bottom lip, appearing to mull this over. Eventually, she shrugged. “Very well. I see no alternative. You cannot marry without your family bearing witness.”
Edith’s breath hitched. “Does that mean you are staying?”
“Nothing would keep me from your wedding,” she answered, smiling broadly.
Edith let out a shrill shriek and leaped from the chair to hug her friend.
Chapter Fourteen
Fergus’s breath formed a fog in the crisp January air as he stepped from the carriage Lord Thorne had sent to collect him. Three weeks had passed since Eddi had accepted his proposal, and their wedding day had finally arrived.
He had come early to the church to ensure Reverend Adair had built a fire large enough to warm the chapel, so his bride wouldn’t catch a chill. Despite the blinding sunlight reflecting off the fresh snow, the wind froze him to the bone. It would be another frigid night, but he wouldn’t complain. Any excuse to keep Eddi in bed was one he’d take gladly.
Upon entering the church, he found his sister and cousin Leana had already arrived. Ismay looked up from the pink and white flowers she was arranging as he ambled down the aisle. “Where did you find flowers, lass?”
“Lady Thorne said I could visit the hot house and take whatever the bride might like.” Ismay grinned and returned to the arrangement. “I didn’t expect to see you so close to sunrise. I wagered with Leana you’d still be bundled up in bed with your betrothed.”
Fergus grunted. “Never you mind what me and my betrothed were up to.”
Last night, he and Eddi had practiced the old Scottish custom of bundling, passing the long, cold hours snuggled together in his bed at the cottage. When his mother had first suggested the tradition, he’d scoffed. Neither he nor Eddi were young, and he’d expected his betrothed to recoil at the thought of tying her legs together to preserve her virtue.
Eddi surprised him, however, by finding the custom charming. Except for the ropes. Fergus heartily agreed to forgo that part. He didn’t want his woman trussed up like a turkey, especially when he’d ached to explore every inch of her.
He’d behaved himself, though, and observed the part of the tradition about speaking with his bride to become better acquainted. Even though he’d already spent every possible moment with her during their betrothal, it was a tradition he didn’t mind following. Once they were wed, his inquiries would be far more intimate, like where she liked to be touched. The moment couldn’t arrive quickly enough for him.
Ismay pulled a pink lily from the bouquet, tucked it in a different spot, paused to study her work, then grabbed the lily again.
Fergus frowned. “Shouldn’t you be at the castle helping Mistress Gallagher dress?”
“I have plenty o’ time. Every wedding needs flowers, and your bride will thank you.” She replaced the lily with a satisfied smile and clasped her hands to her chest. “Perfection.”
Leana abandoned her task of securing massive bows to the pews and came over to view Ismay’s handiwork. “You should move this one to here.”
She reached for a white flower, but Ismay smacked her fingers, making Leana draw back with a pouty glower.
“You shouldn’t keep my bride waiting,” he said, wrapping an arm around each of their waists and guiding them toward the double doors. “The carriage will take you back to the castle.”
“Verra well,” Leana grumbled, throwing on her pelisse. “You can finish the bows.”
Ismay draped the McTaggart tartan over her head to create a makeshift hood. “Mistress Gallagher will be a vision in her dress. She made it herself. Talented, that one.”
“Aye, she is.” Fergus smoothed a hand over his jacket sleeve. The new clothes Eddi had made for him fit better than anything he’d ever owned.
Once the lasses were gone, he went in search of Reverend Adair and found him in the back of the church, bent over a waning fire in the hearth.
