The pipes started up again, and the men began to dance upon the gray stone floor. The fireplaces and the tapers smoked as the wind had risen outside, somehow managing to slip through cracks in the stone walls. Above Velvet were many colored banners and pendants. Francis leaned over to tell her that they were taken in various battles over the centuries by the Hepburns and their allies. The skirling bagpipes, the kilted clansmen dancing a dance she was told was the sword dance, the orange firelight shadowing the hall as it leaped in time with the pipes—all combined to create a savage splendor that she would not soon forget. This was what she would tell her children and grandchildren. It was all really quite exciting.
Then Lord Bothwell said quietly, “Maggie is outside the hall, Lady Gordon. She will escort ye to yer bedchamber.”
Velvet started at the address “Lady Gordon.”
“Is it time so soon?” she asked him plaintively.
“Aye, but remember what I told ye to do, lass. Face yer fate bravely and squarely. Alex has told me of yer parents, and I suspect beneath yer maiden fears ye’re their daughter well and true.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Go along now, my lady Gordon. I’ll be sending ye yer man in a few minutes.”
As Velvet stood to leave the high board, Bothwell raised his goblet and cried out, “The bride!” His words were echoed by the hundred men who were in the hall.“The bride!”was their toast. Her head held high, she acknowledged them with a return toast. “A Bothwell!” she shouted, and they cheered her as she drank. And then she made her way out of the hall to where Maggie and Pansy awaited her.
“God, she’s bonny!” Francis Stewart-Hepburn said admiringly after she had gone.
“Aye,” replied Alex. “And stubborn, and beautiful, and maddening, but, damn me, I want her!” He sighed. “I’m not so sure I should not have married a more biddable female.”
Bothwell laughed somewhat bitterly. “Biddable females breed up weak sons, cousin. This little wench of yers will give ye a litter of fire-eaters for BrocCairn. Have another cup wi’ me, and then go to her.”
While they drank of Lord Bothwell’s excellent Burgundy, Velvet was shown to the bedchamber she would share with her new husband. There she was divested of her finery by Maggie, while Pansy brought her a silver basin in which to wash her face, hands, and teeth.
“Have you eaten?” Velvet asked her tiring woman.
“Aye, mistress, I mean, my lady Velvet.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“Maggie is letting me stay with her, me lady,”
“Steer clear of Dugald, Pansy. He means to seduce you, I suspect.”
Pansy giggled at her mistress’s words. “I may be a country girl, me lady, but I’m wise to the likes of Dugald. He’ll get naught without a wedding ring for me finger first.”
Velvet was completely nude now and she looked surprised when the two women led her to the big bed. “My nightshift, Pansy,” she scolded the servant.
“Nay,” said Maggie. “ ’Tis the custom in the Border that ye greet yer new lord in yer bed without a shift, but as God has made ye, m’lady.” She tucked Velvet beneath the lavender-scented sheets and the soft fur coverlet. Then she plumped up the fat goosedown pillows behind her back. “There! Now ye’re ready, and just in time, I vow!”
In the hallway outside they heard men shouting, and then the door was flung open and the room filled up with laughing clansmen. Velvet clutched the covers to her bosom, drawing them almost to her chin.
God’s blood, Lord Bothwell thought as he looked at her gardenia skin, wide green eyes, and auburn hair. She’s exquisite! I’d best get my men from this room before there’s a riot. He shoved his cousin forward. Alex had been stripped down to just the lower half of his plaid. “Yer husband, Lady Gordon!” Bothwell announced. Then he said to his men, “Come, lads! There’s a troupe of gypsies outsideHermitagewalls this night, and I’m thinking we should invite some dancers in to entertain us.” He moved out of the room, and thus diverted, the two serving women and his retainers followed him.
The door closed behind them, and Alex, swiveling, shot the bolt before turning back to Velvet. He gazed at her for a long moment, and she reddened beneath his close scrutiny. Then he moved about the bedchamber blowing out the candles until only the one on the table by his side of the bed remained. A small, cheery fire burned in the fireplace. Without a word he pulled off his plaid and climbed into bed before she even had a chance to see him, except for a flash of taut buttocks.
Her heart was hammering wildly as she sat stiffly in the bed, next to him. She wasn’t sure she was even breathing. There was a fluttery feeling of anticipation in her stomach, and yet she was also afraid. She desperately wished now that her mother had not believed her to be too young to discuss the marriage bed before Skye had left for India. Velvet didn’t know what to do, or even if she should do anything, and she felt like a perfect fool. Her fingers clutching the bedcovers were white with her tension.
“Lower the bedclothes, Velvet.” Alex’s voice in the heavy silence startled her and she jumped. Gently he broke her death grip on the sheets and the coverlet, and her hands fell into her lap. She stared straight ahead, for she was terrified of looking at him.
Alex felt his breath catch in his throat. That one time all those long weeks ago that he had caressed her lovely body had not prepared him for such perfection. Free of any restraints, her beautiful young breasts sprang forth, as smooth and as round and as firm as young apples. Her skin was smooth in texture and creamy in color.
Velvet felt herself blushing again under his warm gaze. She wished he would hurry and do whatever it was he was going to do, and then leave her be. But when Alex reached out to caress one of her breasts, she was unable to restrain the little cry of fear that struggled from her tight throat as she tried to push his hand away.
“No, sweetheart,” he said softly, “don’t, for I love ye.”
“I am so afraid,” Velvet whispered.
He knew what that admission must have cost her. “Why are ye afraid, lovey? Ye know I won’t hurt ye.”
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she said miserably.
Laughter bubbled up in his throat. “Do? God’s blood, Velvet, the marriage bed is nae a performance.”
