The laird of Culcairn was gently led to his place by his in-laws, his shirt whisked from him, causing him to almost dive between the sheets next to Ailis, allowing the wedding guests a most enticing, if brief, view of his flanks. The caudle cup was brought with much ceremony and drunk by all, beginning with the bride and groom, who, trying to ignore the lewd remarks and rowdy behavior of their family and friends, almost sighed with relief as they departed, sharing a first marital joke after little Mary Hamilton, drawing the door shut behind her, called out innocently, “God grant ye both sweet repose, Rob and Ailis.”
Ailis Hamilton looked at her young husband and giggled as he murmured piously, eyes cast to the heavens, “God forbid!”
Below in the hall the earl found his mother and said, “Arabella is coming home to Dunmor wi’ me tonight, Mother. We would like to depart as quietly as possible, and wi’ out fanfare, since our marital state is an open secret throughout the borders.”
Margery Fleming laughed softly. “Then I would suggest ye take yer wife, my Stewart son, and slip away now while the guests are still involved in their drinking and their merrymaking.”
He nodded with a happy grin.
“Hae ye told Arabella yet about her mother, Tavis?” his mother inquired.
“Nay, but I will tell her before the morrow. Like most maids, she is shy of her bridegroom, and I hae nae pressed her until now. I dinna want her to hae another excuse to deny me, Mother, and once I hae calmed her fears of the unknown, I shall be in a better position to comfort her in her sorrow,” the earl said.
Margery Fleming’s eyes were damp with tears as she said, “Ye canna remember yer father very well, Tavis, but ye are like him in many ways. History will remember my James as a hard and fierce man, but there was a kind, a gentle, and a thoughtful side to him as well, that he dared show to only a very few. I hae come to love Arabella, but her temper can be wicked, and often she acts wi’ out thinking. Ye will need to exercise all yer patience wi’ her. Ye will need to show her that part of ye that yer father showed me. It may nae be easy, my son.”
“Will I ever grow too old for yer advice, my lady?” he teased her gently.
“Of course not,” she said pertly. “Every man should listen to his mother no matter his age,” and then giving him a kiss upon his smooth cheek, she said, “I will send Flora and Lona to Dunmor tomorrow. Take yer wife and go.”
He kissed her hand, and with a smile moved away from her, his eyes seeking out Arabella, whom he spotted across the room in animated conversation with Meg Hamilton. Slipping his arm about his wife, he said quietly, “Bid Margaret good night, lassie. ‘Tis time to go, and I would make our exit as discreetly as possible.”
Meg’s eyes widened at the implication of his words, and seeing momentary panic rising in her friend’s eyes, she curtsied quickly, saying as she did so, “Good night, Arabella. Good night, my lord,” and she hurried off, looking for someone with whom she might converse. Lady Margery. Mary. Anyone.
“I have already spoken wi’ my mother, lassie. She says ‘tis a good time to slip away. Flora and Lona will return to Dunmor on the morrow.” His arm still about her tiny waist, he guided her from the hall. “Bring me lady’s cloak,” he instructed a servant in the reception area of the house, “and have our horses brought around immediately.”
“Aye, my lord,” came the obedient answer.
Arabella was almost numb with a combination of nervousness and fear. “My clothes—” she began weakly.
“Yer possessions will come wi’ Flora and Lona tomorrow,” he said quietly, and drew her into the comforting circle of his arms. “Dinna be afraid, Arabella Stewart. I love ye.”
“Enough to leave me here for but a little while longer, my lord?” she asked him.
He laughed gently. “Lassie, lassie, yer making a great to-do over little. I’m taking ye home to love ye, not eat ye alive. Ye’ve been my wife for over six months now, and I’ve been patient, but the longer we delay our coming together, the more dreadful the initial act will seem to ye. Hae ye heard any shrieks of terror or anguish from the bridal chamber above?”
Arabella shook her head saying, “But surely Rob cannot already have…” Her words died off.
He grinned wickedly at her. “Perhaps, and perhaps not, lassie, but one thing I know for certain, both he and my sister were hot to couple wi’ each other, even as I am hot to couple wi’ ye. Love is sweet, my wee English wife.”
“And bitter too, I am told,” Arabella said.
“Aye, at times bitter too,” he answered her honestly, “but ‘tis more sweet, I promise ye.”
Their conversation was terminated by the returning servant who brought their capes. The earl carefully draped an ermine-lined and trimmed velvet cloak that matched his wife’s gown about her shoulders. With sure fingers he fastened the closings and drew the fur-trimmed hood up over her head. Then he quickly drew his own cape about him, and taking his wife’s hand, drew her out of the door of Cheviot Court, where their horses awaited. Lifting Arabella up onto the back of her little dappled gray mare, he mounted his own stallion.
This was the moment of decision, Arabella thought, as panic again threatened to overcome her. What in God’s name was she afraid of? But she knew. Her mother’s actions had shown her that passion was as strong as any other weapon used by man against woman. She didn’t know if she wanted to be bound to this man, any man, by yet another chain. Helpless once more to decide her own destiny. Greyfaire’s destiny. Still, if a man could bind a woman to him in this fashion, was it not possible for a woman to bind a man in the same way? She had to take the chance if she was to know, and if it was not so, what else was there for her?
“Madame?” His tone was questioning.
Arabella looked up at her husband and smiled shyly at him. “I am ready to go home now, my lord,” she said.
Chapter Eight
Dunmor Castle was judiciously quiet as its earl and countess rode across its drawbridge into the castle courtyard. A stableman ran out to take their horses, bobbing a brief bow as he gathered up the reins in his calloused hand.
“Are ye hungry or thirsty, lovey?” the earl politely inquired of his wife as they mounted steps to the door leading to the entry hall.
“Nay, sir,” she answered him softly, and then gasped in surprise as he picked her up to carry her across the threshold of his home into the castle.
