He opened the door, but before he could say anything, she protested, “Daenae start giving me any grief! This is yer wedding day, and ye will have a feast!”
“Ye didnae have to, Astrid, but I am grateful for what ye have done,” he replied sincerely.
The cook stared at him, her expression softening and her voice cracking with emotion. “Ye go to the kirk. Ye daenae want to be late.” Her sweat-covered face then broke into a slight smile.
Arran nodded and left the kitchen.
The walk to the church was short, and many of his clansmen met him on the way.
“Blessings, Laird MacArthur!”
“A fine day for a wedding, me Laird.”
“Congratulations, me Laird!”
He nodded and smiled before returning their greetings.
Once in the kirkyard, Arran was again surprised. The grass was clipped, and a large wreath of primrose, heather and ivy hung on the door to the chapel. At the door, the priest and an elder from the council stood waiting.
But he didn’t go in. There was something he needed to do. He walked around the kirk and into the small cemetery. At his mother’s grave, he knelt down. Visiting her resting place was something he often did, usually when he was facing an important decision.
And today was important. Today, he would be married.
“Maither,” he spoke softly. “I am marrying today. Her name is Skye, and she comes to this union under some duress. She’strapped, ye see, and it’s nae safe for her otherwise. I can only hope we’re doing the right thing.”
He paused for a moment before he added, “But I think ye would like her. Everyone does. Fionn would marry her himself if he could. Wish me well, Maither, for I want this to work. I wish ye were here. Ye would surely ken what to say to calm me racing heart.”
Arran lingered there for a moment, and then he stood up and joined the men at the kirk’s entrance.
“Ye’re lookin’ fit and well, Laird MacArthur. And it’s an honor to witness yer marriage,” Boyd, one of the elders of his clan, remarked.
Father William nodded, but then added, “There’ll be nay marriage until I know the Council approves, me Laird. Did ye send for the papers?”
“Aye, I sent Fionn this mornin’. But the whole thing is a bit rushed, ye ken.”
“The lad will be here. We’d have heard if there was a problem.”
But Arran worried. Blackwell would arrive soon, and the ceremony had to be completed.
“Hurry, ye fools! I willnae be late!”
His thoughts were interrupted by Elsie’s voice.
His elderly aunt, garbed in her best dress and wrapped in her green and black tartan shawl, was waiting for him to help her down from the carriage.
Two of his men rushed to help her down, but she refused their assistance to walk.
Arran approached her and offered her his arm, which she accepted immediately. “Come, Auntie. I’ll escort ye inside. Skye will be here soon.”
“Is she a lovely lass, Arran? I daenae remember meeting her.”
“Aye, she is, Auntie. And ye met her yesterday afternoon, at the noon meal,” Arran reminded her gently.
Elsie pursed her lips in thought and then smiled. “Aye, ye are right. She is beautiful. And spirited, too.” She laughed softly. “Reminds me of meself… so many years ago.”
“Ye are still beautiful, Auntie, and spirited.”
“I was full of surprises for yer uncle.” She nodded. “He said he never could keep me under control.” She grew silent then, lost in the past. “And yer Skye, she is strong. She’ll vex ye, ye ken?”
