Orva was already in the hall. She looked her mistress over critically, noting a faint damp spot on the skirt’s hem. She shook her head at Cicely, but she was smiling.
“It will dry,” Cicely said. “I couldn’t resist the meadow or the stream. It’s the most perfect day, Orva. Do you think that bodes well for this marriage?”
“I think it does, my lady,” Orva answered her mistress.
Descending the stairs into the hall, Kier Douglas heard Cicely. For some reason he found her words encouraging. Was it possible she might just be learning to like him? He hoped it was so, for while he might say he didn’t like her, the truth was that he had come to like her very much. But as she always responded in kind to him, he would not tell her of this change of heart he was having. At least, not until she admitted to liking him. His father had always warned of giving a woman the upper hand. He walked into the hall where the king, the queen, and Lord and Lady Grey were now waiting.
“Good morrow, my liege, Your Highness.” He greeted the royal couple with a bow. Then he turned, and his breath caught in his throat for a moment. He had never seen Cicely look so beautiful. “Good morrow, madam. Are you ready to wed me without further ado?” He bowed to her.
He was handsome. There was simply no denying it. That coal black hair. The bright blue eyes. They would have beautiful children, she thought. “Good morrow, my lord,” she greeted him. “Aye, I am ready to wed you.” He was wearing dark wool breeks and a white shirt, and his gray-black-and-white Douglas plaid was slung across his chest, held by his silver clan badge—the family motto,Jamais arrière,meaning “Never behind” engraved about its circular shape. On his head was a black velvet cap with an eagle’s feather, which denoted his position as laird in this place.
Father Ambrose hurried in, carrying the marriage contracts. Hebowed to them all, and then spread the parchments on the high board, where an inkstand and quill had already been set. “This family will be honored if you and the queen will witness these documents, my liege,” the priest said. He looked about the hall. “Where is Sir William?”
“I am here, Ambrose,” the bridegroom’s father said, stepping from among his men.
The priest handed the inked quill to Kier Douglas. The laird signed and handed the quill back to Ambrose Douglas. Re-inking the quill, he handed it to Cicely. She signed with a delicate flourish. Then came the witnesses. King James. Queen Joan. Sir William and Lord Grey. “ ’Tis done,” the cleric said, sanding the signatures. “Now let us get to the Mass, and I will give this couple the Church’s blessing.”
The wedding party walked from the hall and out into the bright October day. The entire village had turned out to see them. As they reached Glengorm Church, Mary Douglas stepped forward to press a small bouquet of late pink roses mixed with white heather into Cicely’s hand. The bride smiled and thanked her clanswoman.
Everyone who could crowded into the church. Mab’s great-nephew Gabhan acted as Father Ambrose’s acolyte. The sun shone through the narrow windows of the church. They had no glass, and in the winter, even with the shutters closed tightly, the church was cold and drafty. Today, however, the last of midautumn’s warmth made the building habitable. The air was filled with incense today. Beeswax candles, not tallow, flickered on the small altar. Only the wedding party had rough seats. The rest of the congregation stood until the Mass was concluded. Then Father Ambrose blessed the newly married couple, who departed Glengorm Church, their clansmen and -women following behind them.
In the hall trestles and benches now covered the floor. The entire village crowded in, joining the king’s men at the tables. Casks of October ale were broached. Everyone had brought some sort of drinking vessel to use. There were fresh-baked cottage loaves on all the tables,with crocks of sweet butter and small wheels of hard yellow cheese. Platters filled with rashers of bacon and slices of ham were brought for the guests, along with hard-boiled eggs. At the high board Mab had prepared a special breakfast of poached eggs in a cream sauce that was flavored with marsala wine. The was a platter of sliced salmon, another of ham, and trenchers filled with a vegetable potage, along with warm cottage loaves, butter, cheese, and plum jam. The wine cups were never allowed to be less than half-full.
The final course served below the salt were platters of plump baked apples sweetened with both sugar and cinnamon. This was a very rare treat, for both sugar and spices were not available as a rule to the clanfolk. But at the high board Mab herself brought in a platter of pears poached in white wine and honey, to be served with delicate sugared wafers. The meal finished, Duncan Douglas, Mary’s husband, stood up.
“God rest Laird Ian, and God bless Laird Kier and Lady Cicely!”
There was the scraping of benches as all in the great hall arose to raise their mugs, shouting with one voice, “God bless Laird Kier and Lady Cicely!”
The king leaned over, murmuring to Kier, “You have won their hearts. I am glad to know that Glengorm is in safe hands. Now sire a son on your good lady so these lands are secure unto the next generation.”
Cicely heard the king’s words. Her eyes met those of her husband, and she blushed as he said, “Now that, my liege, is a command I fully intend obeying with all my heart.”
James Stewart chuckled, leaning back in his chair and reaching for his queen’s small hand as Owen the piper began to play for their entertainment. “And when that son is born, Kier Douglas, I will stand as his godfather. That is my gift to you both this day.”
Chapter 16
Their wedding day had been declared a holiday. There were games both rough and gentle. The men played one in a meadow, kicking a sheep’s bladder that had been stuffed with straw towards goals set up at either end of the field. Even the king joined in, and was very adept at getting this ball to its goal. In another field archery butts had been set up, and shooting contests were held. Both Cicely and the queen were excellent archers. Kier was amazed, for he had not considered that his bride might be adept at such a sport. Footraces were run. There was one contest in which the men heaved large round stones as far as they could, the stone reaching the greatest distance being declared the winner. And there was even a caber toss, but few were adept at it, and Mary Douglas’s husband, Duncan, battled with Father Ambrose until the priest beat him. Both men were gasping with their efforts, and dripping with perspiration as they filled their mugs with ale and toasted each other’s sportsmanship.
“The priest is most familiar with the people, isn’t he?” the queen remarked. She almost blushed, admiring Ambrose Douglas’s muscled, hairy chest.
“He is related to almost everyone in the village,” Cicely explained. “He is one of them, and that is good. He was Ian’s uncle.”
“Ah, so that is why he could not take the lairdship for himself,”Joan Beaufort said, and Maggie nodded, agreeing. “He’s certainly a fine figure of a man, Ce-ce.”
“He couldn’t have had it anyway, Jo. He was born on the other side of the blanket, the last of his father’s bastards, but most favored,” Cicely explained.
And throughout the day there was music. Several men in the village played the pipes; there were two with small reedlike instruments, and a man with drums. They joined with Owen, Glengorm’s official piper, in playing for the bride and groom. And there was dancing. Holding hands, the wedding guests danced in circles to the music. Kier, Lord Grey, the king, and several other men danced the traditional sword dance, their booted feet moving gracefully between the crossed swords as they nimbly leaped and cavorted. The Glengorm folk were impressed that their king, who had spent most of his life in England, was so adept at this particular dance native to Scotland.
The trestles had been brought from the hall to be set up in front of the house. All day long those tables were filled with food that was eagerly eaten. Casks of October ale were set up and available to everyone. And then finally the day began to wane, the sun setting in a blaze of crimson and gold splendor behind the hills. The air grew cooler; the darkening sky above them was dotted with bright stars.
When night fell the hall was empty but for the king, the queen, the Greys—who would leave in the morning with Sir William—and the bridal couple. The king played a game of chess with the Douglas chieftain. The queen sat, her feet upon a stool, little Johanna in her lap. Finally there was nothing for it but to bid their guests good night.
Cicely bent and kissed the queen’s cheek. “Good night, Jo. I will send the baby’s nursemaid to take her. It has been a very long day for us all.” Turning, she curtsied to the king and Sir William. “Good night, my lords,” she said. Then Cicely looked to Kier. “You will see to the house, my lord?” she asked him politely.
“I will, madam, and join you when all is secure,” he told her.
Cicely departed the hall. Shortly afterwards a nursemaid came to gather up the baby. The queen arose at that point. “Good night, my lords,” she said. Then, putting her hand on her husband’s shoulder, she murmured, “Do not linger, my lord.”
