Adair gave her a weak smile. “And what am I to wear?”
“That lovely lavender wool gown we made this summer,” Elsbeth said cheerfully. “Jack picked some flowers, and Flora has woven a nice bridal wreath for your head.”
Adair began to cry again. “What is the matter with me, Nursie? I weep like a maiden at the least little thing these days,” she sobbed.
Elsbeth set the tray to one side and enfolded Adair in her arms, comforting her. “There, my chick, it is the way of a woman with a child in her belly. They weep, they rage, they are euphoric, and all without reason. It will pass, I promise you. Now eat your breakfast,” she said, putting the tray back.
“Take the trencher away,” Adair said. “I cannot bear the smell of the oats these days.” She buttered a piece of bread lavishly and laid some of the salty bacon on it, gobbling it down. Then she sipped at the watered wine Elsbeth had brought her, before she began to eat more bacon and bread. When she had finished eating Elsbeth helped her to wash in the basin, and then she donned the gown Elsbeth had fetched.
The gown was fashioned of soft light wool in a lavender color. The bodice was fitted, and it fell straight from just beneath her breasts. The neckline was a small, square opening. The sleeves were long and tight. The hem was sewn with a darker purple silk ribbon. The only decoration on the gown was the same ribbon edg-ing the neckline.
“It’s too tight,” Adair complained as the garment settled itself.
“Where?” Elsbeth asked, and then she saw. Adair’s breasts were growing larger in preparation for her child.
“Stand still,” she said, and she carefully pulled some stitches out on the side of the gown beneath Adair’s arm. “Is that better, my chick?”
Adair took a deep breath in, and nodded. “We must hope the gown will not burst all its stitches before the day is over, Nursie,” Adair remarked with some small show of humor. “The laird is a jealous man.”
The door to her bedchamber opened, and ConalBruce came in. “Go downstairs now, Elsbeth. I will bring my bride when the time is right.” He turned from the older woman to Adair. “I have brought you your bridal wreath,” he said, handing it to her. “I see you have not fixed your hair yet. Sit down, and I will brush it for you.”
She did not know what to say to him. She had already said it all. Wordlessly she sat down and handed him the pear-wood brush he had bought for her at the midsummer fair. Slowly, carefully, he began to brush her long sable hair. The brush slicked down her tresses from the top of her head to the ends of her hair. She actually found it quite relaxing, and closed her eyes briefly.
Finally he stopped and said, “How will you dress it?”
“As I always do. In a single plait,” she responded.
“Let me. I have watched you do it enough. I think I can,” Conal replied, and proceeded to weave her hair into the thick single braid she favored. When he had finished he bound the ends with the bit of silk ribbon she handed him. “Give me your wreath,” he said, and she handed him the circlet that she had been holding in her lap. He set it upon her head. It was fashioned of several small pink late roses, some lavender, and white heather.
The fragrance from it was elusive but there. “There.
Now you are ready, and I am ready to take you to the priest.” He stood up, drawing her to his side.
Adair’s hand was icy cold. And then she realized that when she married Conal Bruce the lady of Stanton would cease to exist. But Stanton was already gone. She was not quite ready to forgive him for his high-handed behavior toward her, for his inability to say he loved her, but the truth was, she had had no real choice in either of her previous marriages. Few women did. She could have been killed that day William Douglas came raiding. She might have been sold into a brothel to be used by man after man until she had died. And no whore mistress would have honored the year and a dayof servitude. Fate had treated her in a kindly fashion. “I am ready to go down,” she told him.
He led her downstairs and out into the courtyard, where he set her upon the saddle of his great stallion.
Then he mounted behind her, one arm holding her gently before him, the other gloved hand filled with the animal’s reins. They rode out from the keep’s courtyard, followed by Bruce clansmen with their red-and-black plaids blowing behind them. Leading the party was Prince James, Patrick Hepburn, and the laird’s two brothers. And behind the procession came a cart carrying Elsbeth, Grizel, and Flora. There was a light wind, but the sun shone brightly, and the sky above them was bright blue.
There was something exciting, Adair considered, about riding beneath such a clear sky on such a beautiful day in the arms of her lover. And he was obviously and patently proud of this marriage that was about to be formalized, she realized, given this public display. He was not ashamed that his bride was English, or that she had been his servant. He publicly exhibited his love for her.Love? Aye, love!He did love her! Would he have been so bold otherwise to brandish their wedding day like a great banner before his clansmen and -women?
But she still wanted to hear him say the words to her, Adair thought. She would teach him to say them. She smiled to herself.
They reached the village over the hill from the keep, and when they arrived at the small stone church they stopped. The laird dismounted and lifted Adair from the saddle. The priest was awaiting them at the door. Blessing them, he led them into the church, which was crowded with villagers. Elsbeth and her party were distressed to see there seemed no place for them, and then a pretty woman of undetermined age came forward and led them to the front, where places were made for them and they could see all.
“Thank you, mistress,” Elsbeth said.
“Agnes Carr,” the woman answered.
Elsbeth nodded. “Elsbeth Radcliffe,” she returned the introduction. She, like her companions, had heard of Agnes Carr and her warmhearted nature. That good nature obviously extended to much more in her life than just the lads, Elsbeth decided. She gave Agnes Carr a friendly smile, and then turned to where Adair and Conal now stood before the village priest.
As the bride’s legal guardian it was Prince James’s duty to release her into the custody of her husband now.
He did so, bowing elegantly to Adair and kissing her on the cheek. Then, putting her hand in Conal Bruce’s, he stepped back. The ceremony was quickly concluded, for there was no Mass, as standing for too long a period was difficult for Adair of late, and the laird had the utmost consideration for her. Having been proclaimed husband and wife under God’s law and the law of Scotland, the newly wedded couple turned, walking down the short aisle to exit the church.
“Hardly seems worth all the fuss,” Agnes Carr said with a chuckle. “She’s a bonnie lass, your mistress. And from the look on his face it isn’t just because he’s given her a big belly. The laird loves her, and I can tell you that he’s never loved a lass before.”
“She loves him too,” Elsbeth said. Well, here was a bit of gossip to cheer Adair with the next time she fell to weeping.
