“But you’re not going,” Bessie complained.
“I helped his mother birth him,” Mab said. “I know what he has.” Then, she shooed her two giggling helpers into the pantry and locked the door behind them. “Use your time to organize the dry food stores,” she called to them through the door. Then going back into the kitchen, she handed her master a sliver of soap and a rough towel.
“Aren’t you leaving too?” he asked her mischievously.
“You’ve nothing I haven’t seen, my lord, and if I go who will be left to prepare the wedding breakfast?” she said to him. Then she went about her business.
He laughed. Then, stripping off his garments, he stepped into the small round tub.Aye,he thought as he sat down.We need a much larger tub, and I did promise my ladyfaire to have the cooper build one. He can spend the rest of the winter doing it.Taking up the small washing cloth, he soaped it, and then scrubbed himself. His knees poking up touched his chin as he leaned forward to wash between his toes.
“Scrub that mop of yours,” Mab said. “I’ll rinse it for you.”
He followed her advice, gasping as she poured first one, and then a second pitcher of lukewarm water over his head. Finally satisfied withhis ablutions, he stood up, the water sluicing down his body. Reaching for the toweling, he rubbed himself as dry as he could before stepping from the tub onto the stone floor of the kitchen, wrapping the cloth about his loins.
Tam came back into the kitchen. “I think I have what you want, my lord,” he said nervously. He lay the laird’s clothing upon a chair by the table.
Ian Douglas nodded, reaching for his clean, soft linen chemise. It had long sleeves, and came to just below his thighs. He put it on, and then drew on one of the new silk shirts Cicely had made for him, lacing the neck up neatly. The shirt had wide sleeves but was fitted at the wrists. Next he picked up a length of gray-black-and-white plaid, and wrapped it about his loins, securing it with a wide black leather belt.
“I’ll help you with your stockings, my lord,” Tam said, kneeling and rolling them up his master’s calves. The laird stepped into a pair of heelless dark leather shoes the serving man placed before him.
“Sit down!” Mab ordered him. Then to his surprise she pulled a wooden comb with large teeth from her pocket, and combed his damp hair out over and over until it was almost dry. Satisfied, she tied the length with the narrow length of leather he used daily. “You’re ready,” the serving woman said. “Now go up into the hall and await your bride.”
Ian Douglas bent and gave the old woman a kiss on her withered cheek. “Let the lasses out of the larder now, old woman,” he said with a grin.
Mab swatted at him. “As if I’d forget them,” she said, pretending to sound offended. “Get along with you now, my lord!”
He ran up the stairs into the hall to find his uncle had arrived. There was a narrow linen cloth down the center of the high board, and a crucifix between the two silver candlesticks that usually decorated the table. The marriage contract was spread out upon it, along with an inkstand and a quill.
“God’s balls!” the priest swore. “You’ve washed your entire body! This certainly is a special day, nephew. I suppose the bride is still primping. We’ll eat after this folderol is all over with, I assume. Mab is doing something wonderful in her kitchens, isn’t she? I’m ravenous!” He snatched up a goblet of wine from Artair’s tray. “Your lady will have to do something about the villagers. There were but three at the Mass this morning. She’s going to have to start setting a good example for them.”
Lord Grey and his wife came into the hall.
“Cicely is almost ready,” Maggie said excitedly.
Suddenly the laird’s face grew panicked. Turning, he dashed back down to the kitchens. “Mab! There are no flowers!” he said to her.
Without so much as a blink Mab handed him a bunch of dried purple and white heather tied with a narrow white ribbon. “I was wondering if you would remember,” she said. “ ’Twill please her muchly that you did.”
“If I weren’t in love with my ladyfaire, old woman, I vow I would marry you!” he told her, and, taking the heather, dashed back up the stone stairs to the hall, where Cicely was just entering the room.
Her gown was lavender brocaded velvet with a low V-shaped neckline, a laced bodice, and fur-trimmed sleeves. Its undergown, which showed in the front, was of violet silk. She wore her thick auburn hair loose and unadorned.
“No need to tell the world what you’ve been up to,” Orva had said sharply as she helped her mistress dress.
Cicely came almost shyly into the hall, but, seeing Ian Douglas standing so tall and strong, she managed a small smile.
“Come along, lassie!” Father Ambrose called to her, beckoning her to the high board where the marriage contract lay. “Make your mark there.” He pointed.
“I can write, but first I will read what has been written,” Cicely told him. She bent over the table, her eyes scanning the parchment. They widened just slightly as she found what she sought, and, raisingher head, she looked at the laird. “Thank you for keeping your promise,” she said softly.
“I will always keep my promises to you, ladyfaire,” he replied.
Cicely took up the quill and signed her name. Ian then signed his, followed by Lord Grey and Father Ambrose as their witnesses. The couple then stood before the priest, Cicely clutching the little bouquet of dried heather Ian had tendered to her, and their union was blessed, the priest declaring them married until death separated them. Then, with the help of the two manservants, the priest removed the cloth and the crucifix from the high board so the breakfast might be served. The household’s men-at-arms had eaten earlier, at first light.
Mab herself brought a large platter of eggs that had been poached in marsala wine and cream, setting it before the newly married couple. She was grinning a broad, toothless grin. Small round trenchers of oat stirabout with bits of apple and spice were placed before the guests. There was a platter covered with rashers of both bacon and ham, fresh bread still warm from the oven, a crock of sweet butter and one of plum jam. This morning there were two small wheels of cheese: a hard round yellow, and a soft ripe French cheese.
Cicely raised an eyebrow. “Where did that come from?” she wondered aloud.
“Mab buys things now and again from passing peddlers,” the laird answered. “She must have been saving this for a special occasion.” He chuckled. He caught her hand up and kissed it as his eyes met hers. “I love you, my lady wife,” he told her.
