Jean laughed. “We have always been generous to the Church. Even the pastor of the Reformed kirk in our village trusts us, and ye surely know how virulent they can be. Besides, no act of magic can be attributed to us. The reputation we have gained is simply assumed to be our way. Indeed, here in the west we are considered the mediators for others. It is thought our judgments are impartial and equitable.”
“I can see the Fergusons of Duin are extremely clever,” Annabella remarked.
“We are.” Jean laughed. Then she said, “We must go down now. We are riding into the village, where Jamie will marry ye to Angus in the kirk surrounded by our clan folk. Afterward, there will be a feast in the hall, and gifts for all.”
“But we were married at Duin when Matthew stood proxy,” Annabella said.
“Aye,” Jean replied, “but Angus will not feel properly wed to ye unless the rite performed is that of the old Church. Fortunately, Jamie is here, as we no longer have a priest at Duin. But soon Jamie will leave Scotland. He has been invited to Rome. Our sister Mary’s convent has already relocated to France. For all the queen’s generous words, the old faith of our ancestors is no longer welcome in Scotland.”
Of course he wanted to be wed in the faith he practiced, Annabella considered. She had been baptized in the old faith, but when John Knox managed to make the Catholic faith illegal, her parents had quietly turned to the new kirk. Annabella had never been quite comfortable with the hard man preaching such a hard faith. She followed Jean back through the windowed corridor and downstairs to the hall. She could see through the windows as they passed by that the afternoon was advancing quickly.
The earl and Lord Bothwell had already gone on to the church, but Matthew was awaiting her. Leading her outside into the courtyard, he settled her upon her horse, then put Jean upon another beast before mounting his own horse. They departed the courtyard, crossing over the drawbridge and onto a narrow path that led to the village.
“Your yellow skirts are very pleasing,” Matthew noted of the velvet now spread over Snow’s plump flanks.
“Thank ye,” Annabella said. The afternoon sun was warm on her face.
No one spoke again as they rode toward the village. They saw no one, and, entering Duin, Annabella found the streets deserted. Arriving at the church, Matthew dismounted, then lifted the bride from her saddle. Jean slid from the back of her horse easily. She hurried into the church, followed by her brother and Annabella. It was filled with the Ferguson clansmen and -women, and she was suddenly grateful for her new finery. She had seen the difference it had made in her appearance when she had looked into the mirror. Plain she might be, but she now looked every inch how she thought a countess of Duin should look. A little lass stepped forward to hand her a small bouquet of white heather.
Annabella bent, whispering to the child as she gently touched her pretty face, “Thank ye, my dearie.” She kissed the rosy cheek of the child. Then, standing again, she allowed Matthew Ferguson to lead her down the aisle of the church to where the earl stood waiting for her. Angus Ferguson, she noted, had also changed his garments. He was now garbed in rich brown velvet with a fine velvet doublet that was embroidered in gold and copper threads, its slashed puffed sleeves showing cream-colored satin.
He took her hand, and together they knelt before the priest, James Ferguson, while the ceremony was performed and lengthy prayers were intoned for their long life together along with a fruitful union. A copy of the marriage contract was displayed, and then read to those in attendance. The clan folk were asked if they approved their lord’s acceptance of both the terms and the virgin Annabella Baird. The clansmen and -women answered in the affirmative, not that they would have said otherwise. The question to them had been a courtesy practiced by the Ferguson lords for centuries. Then Annabella and Angus were pronounced man and wife. The blessing upon their union was pronounced. Rising, they turned to face their audience.
“Kinsmen and -women, I present to ye yer countess,” Angus Ferguson said.
Annabella smiled a shy smile as those in the church cheered enthusiastically.
Then, hand in hand, the bridal pair walked from the church to their waiting horses and began the return to the castle, led by the two Ferguson pipers, who were now playing a lively tune as they marched ahead of the newly wedded couple. Behind them, the entire village followed, laughing and chatting. Their earl had finally taken a wife. Oh, she was plain, they all noted, but her kindness to the wee lass who presented her with her bridal bouquet had been noted with communal approval. Plain the bride might be, but instinct told the clan folk that her heart was good and true. And God’s mercy! Was not Angus Ferguson beautiful enough for them all?
Chapter 4
As they rode back to the castle, he complimented her. “Ye did well, madam. Thanking little Una and kissing her cheek will be remembered kindly. Ye have made a good beginning with our clan folk.”
Annabella felt a flush of warmth at his words. “I am glad if I have pleased ye, my lord,” she told him.
“I like the gown ye chose. It suits ye far better than that drab gray with its black beading. Why did ye pick such an unflattering color?” he asked her.
“It was the only material remaining in my father’s storeroom,” Annabella said. “Da has not yer means, my lord, and two of my sisters will soon wed. I could not take the fabrics I knew they wanted, but because I was to wed wi’ ye, the embroidery and beading were lavished upon me. Their gowns will be much simpler, for all the threads and beads are now gone. Aye, the color was dull, but there was much love in that gray gown.”
He was not used to being scolded, and in so gentle a manner too. His plain-faced bride had spirit, and was obviously used to speaking her mind. “Ye shall send yer sisters a generous supply of such fripperies at once then,” he told her. “The chatelaine’s keys will be given to ye this very day, and Jean will take ye to my storerooms. Ye will know best what will suit the materials yer sisters have chosen for themselves.”
“Ye are too good!” Annabella exclaimed, delighted. “I know such small things do not overly concern a man, but they are so important to a woman. Thank ye!” They had reached the drawbridge of the castle once again. “Oh, stop!” Annabella cried. She stared past the low stone walls to where the sun was beginning to set over the dark sea.
“Ahh,” he said, understanding, a smile touching his sensuous lips. “Aye, ’tis beautiful, isn’t it? I never grow tired of the sunsets at Duin.”
The autumn sky was aflame with vibrant color: rich deep orange, fiery scarlet, and rich dark purple streaked with lavender and yellow. A wash of peach running into the pale blue sky was topped by pink clouds edged in gold. A tinge of pale green just above the horizon was touched by the great red globe of the sun preparing to set.
“I have never seen such a sunset,” Annabella said softly.
“’Tis the sea that makes it different,” the earl told her.
After a moment or two more, remembering the entire village was behind them eager for the wedding feast, Annabella urged Snow forward again. In the courtyard her husband lifted her from the mare. The sensation of his strong hands about her waist sent a blush to her pale cheeks. He noted it but said nothing.
In the great hall, the four stone fireplaces with their great metal andirons, with bronze heads fashioned like dragons, held enormous logs now fully ablaze, warming the space. The trestles were laid with fine white cloths, with pewter cups and spoons for each guest to use and, afterward, take home as their very own. The guests thronged in, men, women, and scampering children.
The earl escorted his bride to the high board, which was set with an embroidered white linen cloth edged in fine lace. Upon the table, tall carved golden candlesticks holding pure beeswax candles had been set, along with a silver gilt saltcellar in the shape of a thistle. By each place setting was a fine linen napkin, a gold spoon, and another implement she did not recognize that had a gilt handle from which sprang three slender gold prongs. Angus Ferguson seated his wife on his right. Jean was seated next to her, with Lord Bothwell next to the earl’s sister and Matthew and James to the earl’s left. Pastor Blaine found himself next to Matthew. A modest man, he was a bit taken aback to find himself at the high board. He was no kin to the Fergusons, and had not expected to be invited. Still the earl was a fair-minded man. So when asked, the pastor stood and offered the blessing in a voice easily heard at the back of the hall.
“These Protestants are surely heard as far as heaven itself when they open their mouths in prayer of any kind,” Jean murmured softly to Annabella, who giggled.
